Chapter 6: Knights, Nights, and Nightmares

“Weaving magic into matter is a tricky art. No matter the technique used, it requires specialized training, equipment, and materials. Most modern enchantments derive from the old Dwergaz Runic arts. With some hints of the Ochre and Bone techniques of ancient Humans complementing the… inflexible Dwarven traditions. But no matter the techniques used, Enchantments require a power source. The magically talented can, of course, act as this source, using enchantments to cast complicated spells quickly and effectively. But for those lacking that talent or seeking to save energy, other sources are useful. Particularly gemstones, which by some quirk of their structure drink in ambient energy from the Aether.” - From chapter two of Johannes Steinruck's “So you want to be an Enchanter''

:: Ten Days after Cole and Natalie met the Shohgard Pack ::

An army of corpses marched off to war, and Dietrich Freymond wasn’t joining them. The Scarlet Knight and his thrall stood on a small outcrop overlooking the main Roloyo road. Below them, Eight Legions of the Zaubervold Duchy marched in a never-ending column of armored bones. The magic animating the Eternal Soldiers kept them in perfect lockstep. Eight thousand pairs of feet stepping in unison. Creating an echoing drumbeat that reverberated kilometers around.

Dietrich frowned down at the marching legions. His missing fang, a phantom ache in his mouth. Worms of discontent stirred in his guts as he recognized numerous Battle Standards held up. Lesser warriors and commanders would be leading this force. While he was stuck chasing a cold trail.

Yara, his thrall, watched the procession with eyes wide. The village girl had never seen anything of the like, and it filled her with awe and terror. Sparing a glance for his thrall, Dietrich noted she looked healthier. While still skinny, she’d gone from emaciated to willowy. Her red hair was less stringy, and the bags under her eyes had shrunken. Ironically her time as his sole thrall and blood source had been good for her. Mostly in part to the better food and rest Dietrich insisted she have. Yara was his property and had proved her devotion. Ensuring her health and well-being was Dietrich's responsibility.

Fidgeting in the saddle of the skeletal horse she rode, Yara looked to her similarly mounted master and asked. “Where are they going, Master?”

Looking towards the column head in the far distance, he answered. “The Southern Marches. Our destination.”

Rage, as bitter as it was controlled, oozed from Dietrich's voice. The hunt for the Alukah and Paladin was not going well. The coming war would only make things worse. His prey was headed northwest into the Southern Marches and probably towards Vindabon. Full-scale conflict in the Marches would spread chaos and confusion. With the flow of refugees heading deeper into the Holy League being the perfect place for his quarry to hide. Dietrich needed to get ahead of the Army and make it deeper into the Southern Marches before the War started in earnest. Only then would he have any chance of catching his prey.

The window of opportunity was shrinking every night. Once the Paladin made it to Vindabon or another major city, Dietrich's odds of success became negligible. Even a pitiful excuse for a Paladin like Cole Restbringer could call upon significant resources once in Vindabon. Squeezing his armored fists tight, Dietrich felt another surge of anger at remembering Cole. The Paladin had snuck into his jurisdiction, exposed and foiled a conspiracy Dietrich hadn’t even guessed at. Then had the gall to spare him and escape with one of the most powerful relics of Vampire-kind.

With a thought, Dietrich commanded his Rattler horse and Yara’s to move. Yara clung to her saddle, a mere passenger instead of a rider. The undead horses padded down the trail on iron hooves. While ten Eternal Soldiers marched behind them. A token force, some of the scraps Dietrich had been afforded for his mission.

As they rode, dark wings fluttered in the night. Yara flinched as a great Owl flew down and landed on Dietrich’s shoulder. Information flowed from the Owl into the Scarlet Knight. A collection of sights, sensations, and memories he’d grown used to deciphering. While he normally preferred Bats and Crows for this work, Dietrich was quickly recognizing the value of Owls. Less numerous than Bats, dumber than Crows, and incapable of long flights, they, on paper, made poor scouts. But a unique magical quirk made them invaluable. Owls can see magic. Their great reflective eyes pick up disturbances in the Aether as easily as they might a field mouse.

A perfect tool to have when hunting a Primordial Vampire and a God-Touched Warrior. Even if they tried to cloak themselves magically, that would only make themselves even more visible to the Owl’s eyes. It took a very talented Illusionist to hide from Dietrich’s scout. Something he doubted a Vampire Fledgeling, or that hunk of scarred meat was capable of. So after weeks of searching, with the help of dozens of Owls and Crows; Dietrich had found his quarry’s trail.

It had been faint, but between the Magical Sight of the Owls and the intelligence of the Crows, Dietrich had managed. Slowly but surely, Dietrich had been closing the distance. Each old campfire a little fresher than the last. But now with the Legions in play, his steady pace wasn’t sufficent. Battles, even without heavy magical use, would disturb the Aether for kilometers around. While scouts from both armies and fleeing peasants would make mundane tracking harder.

Gritting his teeth, the socket where his fang had once been aching. Dietrich turned to Yara. “Hang on. We are going to push hard till morning.”

The thrall swallowed nervously and started tying herself to the Rattling Horse's saddle. She’d learned from ugly experience what Dietrich meant by “pushing hard.” No sooner had she completed her bindings did both Horses shoot off at an incredible speed. Iron hooves thundered over snowy gravel while a squad of armored Rattlers followed behind. Yara looked back to see the Eternal Soldiers running over the ground at surprising speeds. Of course, none matched a horse (living or dead), but they were faster than any normal soldier had the right to be. As the Rattlers fell behind, Yara couldn’t help but smile. This was proof of her master's talent. Commanding an entire squad of soldiers like they were extensions of his own body.

Dietrich shut his eyes as he rode. He didn’t need them to see. Witch-fire glowing in his Horse’s skull and the myriad Crows, Bats, and Owls flying over the surrounding fields were more than enough. He followed the information his Owls had given him. Their eyes told of a curdled knot in the Aether nearby. where something dark had happened. After an hour or so of riding, he reached his destination.

A lonely stretch of country road, surrounded by snowy farm fields, awaited Dietrich. A trio of enthralled Crows circled a patch of the field off the road, cawing at him. Dismounting, Dietrich went to investigate. Gesturing for Yara to stay with the Horses with one hand, gripping Lex with his other.

One of the crows fluttered down into the snow and pecked at a buried lump. Dietrich brushed it with his foot and found scorched metal. Leaning down, he brushed off ice and snow to reveal soot-stained armor and burnt bones. Continuing his investigation, Dietrich found more bones. Perhaps half a dozen corpses, each clad in crude armor. Dietrich’s Owl came down and landed on his shoulder. Borrowing the Bird’s eyes, Dietrich looked over the bones. The shine of consecration clung to the bones. A Priests work clearly. While something dark clung to two of the skeletons. An oily shadow like congealed blood. The mark of a Vampire feeding.

Smiling, Dietrich stood up. He was on the right trail, and he was getting close. If he’d been more than two weeks behind his prey, the feeding would have been undetectable. Looking up at the cold night sky. Dietrich let his tongue trace his missing fang. Any night now, he would end this farce and return to Noct-Bucharos redeemed. Looking over the bones, Dietrich mused on how he’d accomplish his objectives.

The Paladin would be tricky to eliminate but not impossible. From what Dietrich had seen, the Restbringer had limits to his power. Cole had been unwilling to use his strongest magic early on. He’d nearly died facing the Varcolac and then had to ambush Dietrich with that strange ice magic to win. Dietrich would hit him hard and fast before the Paladin could even respond. While killing Cole was preferred, keeping him alive for a time might have its uses. That depended on how strong the Alukah’s new host had grown.

Dietrich hoped to subdue the Alukah with his troops. Ten undead in full plate armor commanded by someone with Dietrich's skill should be enough. But that was only if the Alukah’s strength hadn’t grown radically past what was expected of a Fledgling Vampire. Which the late Lord Glockmire had hinted at, but Dietrich didn’t know how trustworthy those words were.

Using a crippeled Paladin as a hostage could maybe work. But that was a gamble Dietrich was reluctant to take for multiple reasons. The Paladin seemed the type to sacrifice himself if the need arose. While the Alukah’s influence might have already eroded any empathy the girl had for her protector. Looking back at Yara, Dietrich frowned. His thrall clung to the horse, blind in the deepening darkness. Winter storm clouds obscuring the moon and stars, robbing the snowy field of any light. Dietrich had brought Yara along for a number of reasons, blood ironically low on that list.

If it came down to it, Dietrich could sire Yara as a Vampire and use her as a new container for the Alukah. A prospect that would be kept only as a last resort. Dietrich assumed the Alukah would be less ‘entrenched’ in the Innkeeper’s daughter than its ancient body. Perhaps it would be more pliable and willing to take a new host without all the messy preparation Lord Glockmire had been forced to go through. But that was only an educated guess, and not one Dietrich wanted to gamble with. Getting this Natalie girl intact would be preferable. Staking her should paralyze the stupid child, but that still might not be enough considering her resistance to the Old Banes.

Returning to his horse, Dietrich’s mind suddenly filled with the sound of tearing metal and cracking bones. Spinning to look down the road he unsheathed Lex. Someone or something was attacking his Troops. Cursing under his breath, he reached out to his minions and assessed the situation. Something massive had smashed into the squad's side. Tearing two of Rattlers to bits. Exploding with movement, Dietrich charged to confront the attacker. Cursing himself for the decision to let the Soldiers lag behind. He’d hoped to cover more ground unconstrained by them. Now someone was picking off his unsupported troops.

The Eternal Soldiers fought valiantly, but whatever they faced was strong. As Dietrich ran, he caught flickers of the fight through the connection he shared with them. Dagger-sized talons tore through armor while the Soldiers tried to form up. Try as he might, Dietrich was too slow. Every second another Rattler fell, torn apart by the unknown enemy. Dietrich’s control was useless in the face of such an overwhelming onslaught. It wasn’t a minute before the last Rattler’s connection was cut. As soon as the ambush had started, it was over.

Stopping mid-stride, Dietrich scanned the snowy fields around him. Red eyes gleamed in the dark. Slowly spinning in a circle, he held Lex in both hands, preparing for whatever came next. He saw nothing, no riders, no marching force. Then it occurred to him. Talons the enemy had talons. Dietrich looked up just as a great screech filled the night. The wings and claws of a titanic bird-of-prey hurtled towards Dietrich fast as the wind. The Scarlet Knight dived to the side as his foe struck. Rolling through the snow, Dietrich came to his feet, Sword at the ready.

A mass of feathers and hate wheeled about on the ground and charged him again. Dietrich raised Lex high and prepared to kill his avian foe. Steel rang on steel as a blade intercepted him. Briefly surprised, Dietrich was unprepared for the massive talons to reach out and swipe at him. Spinning to avoid the brunt of the impact, Dietrich was still sent sprawling. Looking up at his foe, recognition dawned. He’d at first thought some Dire-Hawk or similar had been attacking him. But as his red eyes pierced the shadows, the truth became clear.

A mighty Hippogryph reared up on its equine hind legs, flashing eagle talons lunging for Dietrich. Massive wings flared, and the beast's rider pointed his sword at Dietrich. Armored in white plate, with sword and shield in hand. A Knight of the Holy League atop his Beast of War faced Dietrich. As Dietrich dodged the talons and the Hippogryph came down onto all fours. The rider sneered at him.

“Undead scum! Meet your doom!” The Knight had a thick Guyenne accent that echoed from his helmet.

For the first time in a long time, Dietrich actually smiled. His foe was a Hippogryph Knight who’d been scouting the Eternal Legions for Harmas. Upon seeing Dietrich's detachment, the fool had sought to earn cheap glory at the cost of his mission. The typical arrogant disregard for discipline that plagued the upper ranks of any Holy League army. If this whelp made it back to Camp, he’d have his hide tanned for insubordination or cheered for his bravery. Depending on the Knights' breeding and his commander's skill. But as Dietrich gripped Lex tighter, the “If” in “If he made it back” became a very large one.

The Hippogryph charged again, and Dietrich didn’t bother to dodge. He fed power to his flesh and let bones become steel, his muscles rock. Shoving his shoulder forward, Dietrich slammed Lex into the frozen ground. Using its buried length to keep him secure. The Hippogryph slammed into Dietrich like he was solid stone. The beast was sent sprawling, its rider tossed from its back.

Tellingly the Hippogryph recovered first. Pulling itself up, one forelimb clearly injured. Shying away from Dietrich, it tried to reach its rider. The Scarlet Knight had no intention of letting it.

Exploding forward with inhuman speed, Dietrich swung Lex high. Bringing its edge down onto the Hippogryph's neck. Warm blood sprayed out across the snow as the executioner’s sword did its work. Like a headless chicken, the War Beast stumbled forward a few steps before Dietrich landed a solid kick in its side. Reminding the corpse, it was already dead.

The Knight let out a pained cry of grief at the sight. “You bastard! I’ll have your head!”

Dietrich lazily spun to face his new opponent. On his feet, the Knight slammed his sword and shield together. With a hiss of arcane power, both came to light. Red flames danced along the sword's blade while silver runes glowed on the kite shield's face. Dietrich noticed fainter glowing patterns on the Knights' armor. Well, this explained the welp’s arrogance. Enchanted equipment was expensive. Even in the Holy League, where magical craftsmen were relatively common. Still, it wouldn’t change anything. Dietrich had been breaking arrogant young lordlings since before his death.

As the two combatants circled each other, Dietrich growled. “Look at my armor Boy. I’m certain you will recognize the design.”

The Knight did, and even under the visor of his helm, Dietrich could see the Knight’s eyes widen in shock. The Scarlet Knight’s signature blood-red armor was known wide and far. Dietrich could literally smell the boy’s sudden fear. Before the Boy-Knight could recover or piss himself, Dietrich charged. The full explosive power of a Vampire bringing Lex down on the Boy-Knight’s shield.

A brilliant flash of light and a sharp snap cut through the night air, and Dietrich stumbled back, his eyes momentarily overwhelmed by the light. Quickly collecting himself, Dietrich couldn’t help but be impressed by the Shields artifice. It didn’t try and stop his blow but instead converted much of the strike to light. A light the wielder was protected from by the shield's own shadow. Dietrich wagered the shield was designed with Vampires in mind, exploiting their night vision against them. In the grip of a more capable foe, Dietrich might actually be worried by the shield.

But instead of capitalizing on Dietrich’s momentary surprise, the Boy-Knight merely held his ground. Recovering from his suprise, Dietrich circled around, bringing Lex to bear. To the boy’s credit, he parried the strikes. His flaming sword and shining shield kept Dietrich at bay. Eyes shut, relying on his other senses, Dietrich worked to wear down the Boy-Knight. He didn’t bother to pursue killing or crippling strikes. Just keeping up a steady barrage of bone-cracking strikes. Never giving the Boy-Knight time to recover or reposition.

With every parry or block, the Boy-Knights reaction time grew slower and slower. His equipment could only protect him so much from Dietrich's wrath. The Knight’s muscles were screaming, and his shield arm was numb. Every swipe with the fiery sword became clumsier and clumsier. Dietrich barely needed to put any effort into dodging. As the Boy-Knight let out a furious shriek and swung his sword in a great uncoordinated arc, Dietrich spun behind his foe. Bringing a great mailed fist down onto the Boy-Knight's back. Sending him sprawling to the ground.

With shaky limbs, the Boy-Knight tried to get to his feet, but his own armor weighed him down. Stalking over, Dietrich glared down at his foe. “Get up,” he growled.

The Boy-Knight struggled uselessly, his limbs shaking with exhaustion. Dietrich slammed an armored boot into the Boy’s side. Sending him skidding along the snowy ground. “I SAID GET UP!”

A whimper came from the boy. Disgusted with the weakness before him. Dietrich leaned down and ripped the Boy-Knights helmet off. Below it was a pimply-faced teen with bright red hair. Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. His lips trembled as he tried to speak. “P-p-please! H-have mercy! My-my father will pay my ransom, I swear!”

Dietrich couldn’t help but smile. The sight brought back fond memories of his youth. “In another life, I’d take up your offer,” he growled. “But in this one, you're more use to me dead.”

The Boy-Knight screamed as Dietrich bit into his neck. The taste of blood was ambrosia to the Vampire, and he drank it down eagerly. The oh-so-noble blood of the Knight tasted of rich meals and pampered living. Of an arrogant child, who if he’d lived, would have spent his life growing fat and doughy. While telling anyone who’d listen about his “glory days” during a war other men fought.

As the last drop of blood was drained from the Boy-Knight. Dietrich stepped back from his kill. Crunching snow brought his attention to a worried-looking Yara. She’d left the horses to seek him out. Foolish but loyal. He wouldn’t punish her, but he would reprimand her later. Tentatively, his thrall approached Dietrich. Her eyes squinted in the darkness. A life spent serving Vampires had given her better night vision than most people, but even that had limits.

“Sir? Are you alright?” she asked. Looking to the guttering flames of the Boy-Knights sword.

Grunting in acknowledgment, Dietrich tossed the Boy-Knights helmet to her. A startled Yara caught the helmet with a yelp. “Put it on,” Dietrich commanded.

She complied and looked around the snowy fields. “I…I can see? How is this possible?” Yara spun around, looking everywhere like a small child at the town fair.

“Magic,” said Dietrich. “I figured the helmet was enchanted. No way this welp was keeping up with me blind.”

Dietrich called the two horses and turned his attention back to the dead Knight. Putting his armored hands on either side of the Knight’s face, Dietrich started whispering dark words. An infernal incantation spoken in one of the Six hundred and Sixteen languages of Hell. Inky shadows bled from Dietrich's mouth and eyes and onto the Boy Knight’s corpse. The shadows slithered into the body, through his open mouth or shredded neck. Infesting the corpse with Dietrich’s spell.

Twitching dead limbs came to life, and the Corpse-Knight started to thrash. Magical currents activating dead nerves and animating the corpse. Dietrich stepped away as his newest minion rose up. Sword and shield still gripped in death grips. Frowning slightly, Dietrich inspected his work. Like any Vampire warrior, he knew the quick and dirty spells of Battlefield reanimation. But his knowledge of more complex workings of necromancy was lacking. He’d need to experiment to make full use of the Corpse-Knight.

Looking in the distance to where his fallen Soldiers lay and then looking back at the burned bones he’d discovered. A fell idea crossed Dietrich's mind. The taint of war and death was upon these lands. Its Aether would react to his magic easier than normal. He could perhaps punch through the crude consecration on the burned bones. Replenish or repair his forces before setting out.

The blank-eyed Corpse-Knight shuffled after Dietrich as he walked. Gripping the Ghoul’s cloak, Dietrich tore off a piece and used it to clean Lex, then sheathed it. Looking at the enchanted armor and weapons the Ghoul carried. Dietrich mused on the possible uses for them. He’d let Yara keep the helmet. Actually, being able to see at night would help keep her alive. For the rest of it, well, Information and influence among stupid Mortals had been bought for less.

:: A dark alley somewhere in Vindabon ::

Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth hated the smell of blood. A poor feature for a Dwarf in his profession. As Guard-Captain of the Thirteenth District of Vindabon, he smelled a lot of it. While by no means a violent City, Vindabon was still a City. Where sheer numbers made “rare” crimes almost a daily occurrence. Of the twenty-four Districts, the Thirteenth, or Weinstadt as it was known, was usually about middling in terms of violence. Drunken brawls and thievery took up most of Captain Iron Teeth’s time usually. Truly terrible acts didn’t usually happen in his district, emphasis on usually.

The corpse in front of Iron-Teeth was the seventh of its kind discovered in twice as many days. Splayed out in the middle of the District Cemetery was the dead body of a young woman. She lay atop a slab tomb like it was a bed, her limbs stretched out in all directions. Her eyes were shut, and her face was peaceful. A direct contradiction to the gruesome death she’d suffered. Dried blood covered her chest. The tips of her ribs sticking out of the mess of gore where they’d been pulled open. Exposing the internal cavity that was conspicuously empty.

Twenty guards, all pulled from their patrols, blocked the Cemeteries' various gates while Iron-Teeth, his Lieutenant, Darvy, and Priestess Mina examined the crime scene. Iron-Teeth rubbed his bulbous nose, hoping to somehow dislodge the smell of blood from it. His district and every other in the city were already short-staffed. Half the guards in town had joined up with Prince Franz’s “relief force” into the Southern Marches. Leaving Iron-Teeth and his fellow Guard Captains trying to watch over an increasingly tense city.

Looking away from the murder, Iron-Teeth asked Priestess Mina, “Is it like the others?” His voice had the sound of crushed gravel, and the faintest Dwerick accent still colored his words.

Mina, who had been crouched over the body, let out a worried hum. Setting her hands on the victim's head, she opened the corpse's eyes and stared into them. A sound that wasn’t a sound echoed through the cemetery. The mortal mind interpreting the touch of magic the best it could. Mina reeled back from the corpse and stumbled away. Cursing under her breath, the Priestess tried not to throw up. Lieutenant Darvy placed a metal pall next to the retching Priestess. After a moment, Mina got back up, blinking away tears.

Nodding shakily, she spat bile into the bucket. “It's like the others. She was drugged, brought here, and had her heart ripped out.” shaking her head to dispel the images, Mina gestured wildly. “It's hard to tell anything more; her mind was all syrupy. I’m guessing Aunty’s Tears or Dream Sap.”

Iron-Teeth grunted in acknowledgment. He’d broken the fingers of every Tear Peddler or Dream Den owner in half the city. The drug angle hadn’t paid out so far, but he might give it another try.

Rubbing her eyes, Mina looked exhausted. As Priestess of Master Time, she was gifted with the “miracle” of Corpse Sight. The ability to see (and in some cases) feel the last moments of a dead body by looking into their eyes. It was a grim gift and one that had gotten Mina assigned to Iron-Teeth.

The young priestess was a skinny thing with short blond hair and the perpetual look of someone without sleep. A look that was becoming increasingly common among the Guards of the Thirteenth District. Iron-Teeth and his subordinates had been working around the clock to investigate these killings with no luck. The Elector-Prince’s court was breathing down Iron-Teeths neck, and the entire District was getting twitchy. Occult killings were the sort of thing even normally rational people got jumpy about.

As Mina recovered, Iron-Teeth looked back at the body. This whole thing had the stink of magic about it. Removing the heart in the middle of a cemetery? Even an old army veteran turned City Guard could tell that had magical significance. The previous six bodies had also been found in hallowed ground. Half the bloody shrines in the Thirteenth District had been desecrated this way. The killer somehow avoiding detecting each time, performing seven Gods-damned ritual murder in the middle of a sacred spaces. So far, it had been minor shrines and family tombs, but this new killing in the District Cemetery spoke to escalation.

Iron-Teeth had gone to the Ivory Tower, the Magical Library of Vindabon in search of answers. Calling upon the old orders of Magi to help. Annoyingly the Magi had been mostly unwilling or unable to help. Entire Circles of Magi had been drafted to aid in the fight against the Leeches and their armies. Most everyone else was wrapped up in research so crucial it got them excluded from the War Effort. Iron-Teeth personally thought most of that “crucial research” was an excuse to avoid serving in the army. Still, a few Magi worthy of the title had spared the time to help him. But they all said the same thing. The evidence could point to a dozen different rituals and workings. It seemed every breed of fell magic had rituals that matched what Iron-Teeth was dealing with. The Magi said it could be a Hellish Rite to call upon Demons of Envy or just as easily a Flesh-Crafters attempt to create Tale-Teller Hearts.

As for the victims, they’d all been young. Each in their twenties. Four women and three men, all different backgrounds. Seemingly only united by poor luck. The first two victims had been Escorts, and it ashamed Iron-Teeth his subordinates hadn’t paid much attention to those killings. Only realizing something was amiss when the third and fourth victims (A merchant's son and a messenger girl) were found. By the time Iron-Teeth made the connection, others had as well. Rumors and gossip spread like the plague through Weinstadt.

Leaving Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth right in the middle of a mess he had no clue how to fix. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Looking at the recovering Mina, he asked. “Are you strong enough to preserve her? “

The Priestess nodded, got up, and went back over to the corpse. Raising her arms up like she was giving a benediction, Mina started whispering Saint-Speech over the body. Streams of icy fog fell from the Priestess’s fingers onto the body. Another of Master Times’s gifts. The victim's body would be preserved until burial. Perfect for mourners, morticians, and anyone trying to solve a mystery. With a whistle, Iron-Teeth got two of his guards to come over with a stretcher. They’d take the body to the Mortuary. Where Mina could get a more in-depth look into the victim. As they left, body in tow, Mina followed after. She’d be no more use out here, better for her to start examining the body.

Leaving Iron-Teeth with Darvy and the last member of his quartet. Calling out into the dark graveyard, Iron-Teeth bellowed. “Oi! Cat-Eyes, you find anything?”

While Iron-Teeth, Darvy, and Mina had examined the body, City-Warden Alia Cat-Eyes had stalked through the cemetery looking for tracks or similar. The position of City-Warden was a new invention, and one Iron-Teeth had initially been skeptical of. Wardens patrolled the roads and wilds of the Holy League. Being about as far from the City Watch as fellow Law-bringers could get. But some Noble had gotten the idea of assigning skilled trackers to the various Guard contingents. With Alia being Iron-Teeth’s example. But in the last two years, City-Warden Cat-Eyes had proven her worth. Showing that in comparison to rogue beasts and bandits. City criminals were painfully easy to track.

Iron-Teeth waited for a moment before Alia melted out of the shadows. Coming into Darvy’s torchlight, a sour look on her face. Short and waifish-thin. Alia had long tawny hair gathered up in a tight braid, with high cheekbones and sharp features. Her eyes lived up to her name and betrayed her ancestry. One of Alia’s great, great grandparents had been a Werelion. Something not uncommon in Vindabon. The city's central location in the continent and its liberal reputation made it one of the most diverse places in the Holy League. Iron-Teeth himself another example of this fact.

Reaching him, Alia shook her head in the negative. “Just the same as before. One set of footprints into the crime scene. Tracks were heavier than to be expected, but I bet that's the victim's weight. I’d guess one hundred and seventy centimeters tall, but strong and fast.”

Iron-Teeth quirked an eyebrow at the last detail. “Strong and fast? Why do you say that?”

Alia gestured back toward the direction she came. “Snow’s deeper in the cemetery compared to the othe crime scenes. I can get a better read on stride length. The killer could run through the cemetery while carrying a drugged person without issue.”

Taking a moment to consider her words, Alia amended herself. “Not just jog, but really run. Doing that with that sort of weight on your shoulders isn’t easy.”

Iron-Teeth thought on that. He’d seen strong laborers do as much before. Looking around the cemetery for what felt like the hundredth time, Iron-Teeth noted the myriad grave markers, statues, shrines, and their offerings. Even with Darvy’s torch, navigating the Cemetery at night had been a hassle. Doing so in the middle of the night with only the moon and stars to guide you while carrying a load and running at high speeds? Iron-Teeth would bet his left boot the killer could see in the dark.

Looking at Alia Cat-Eyes, Iron-Teeth could see she was thinking something similar. A grimace wrinkled her face, and worry filled her eyes. The killer was taller than a Dwarf, strong enough to carry dead-weight while running, and could see in the dark. All feats capable through magic, but also innately possible to some humanoids. Werefolk, in particular.

Two weeks ago, the killings had started. A few days before that, the first Werefolk caravans had arrived. Every year, close to the Winter Solstice, Werefolk clans would congregate in Avar Woods for their Moonmoot. This year was no different. With close to a thousand Werefolk in the Vindabon area. Many packs tried to arrive early to the Moonmoot to do business in Vindabon and enjoy the lead-up to the Solstice festival. Typically this meant little for Vindabon. Other than Butchers and Alehouses making small fortunes off revealing Werefolk. While exotic goods entered the market courtesy of far-traveling Packs.

The timing of the Werefolk's arrival and the start of the killings was suspicious. Something not helped by old legends and old prejudices. In Vindabon, the fear of Werebeasts stalking the night was a remote, rural idea. One that was slowly returning to prominence as word of the killings spread. Savage ritual murders right around the time of a Werefolk holy time? The city's rumor mill was filled with speculation and fear-mongering. Something not helped by some very old stories about some very nasty Werewolves. In the old legends, Feral Werewolves feasted on the hearts of their victims. Gaining power from the act.

Iron-Teeth personally doubted those legends. While he’d never personally dealt with a Feral Werewolf, he knew people who had. From what they described, the Monster wasn’t so… discriminate about what parts of their victims they ate. But somehow, Iron-teeth knew the nervous citizenry wouldn’t find much comfort in that fact. Every night, as news of the murders spread, tensions rose. Try as Iron-Teeth might, he couldn’t keep a lid on this. Not because of his subordinates. They wanted trouble as much as he did. No, his problems came from the fact he had to submit his findings to Vindabon’s labyrinthian bureaucracy. Where bored clerks and gossipy officials lept at the chance to spread the lurid details his reports contained.

Already some of the Thirteenth District Guards had been required to break up a Pub brawl that turned nasty predominantly because one of the drinkers was Werefolk. The seventh murder would not help matters. Rubbing at his nose again, Iron-Teeth asked Alia: “Should we talk to the Moonmooters?”

Alia scoffed. “About what? Politely ask them if any of their family members is ripping the hearts out of our citizens? You know as well as I do how touchy the Clans get about that sort of thing.”

Moving his fingers to his soot-dark beard, Iron-Teeth shrugged. “I was more thinking of giving a warning. Telling them the city is tense right now and for them to keep their heads down this year.”

Darvy spoke for maybe the fifth time since they’d arrived at the cemetery. “I think they already know that, sir.”

Grinding his jaw, feeling his false teeth rub against each other, the Dwarven Guard-Captain grunted in acknowledgment. Darvy looked to his superior and Alia and swallowed nervously before speaking. “Just to play Accusers-Advocate here, What if this is exactly what it looks like?

Alia shot him an icy glare, and the Lieutenant held up a hand placatingly. “Look, I don’t think the Clans are bad folk. But I’ve been around enough people to know bad ones can easily slip among the good ones. The murders started when the Clans arrived. Every victim had their heart ripped out, like in the stories. We know the crimes were committed by someone strong and fast, with good night vision. So maybe if it breathes fire like a Dragon. Flies like a Dragon. Has scales like a Dragon. Then it's a Dragon?”

Iron-Teeth knew Darvy had a point. All the evidence pointed in that direction. Looking for more complications in an already complicated situation was stupid. Maybe this was exactly what it looked like. Some nasty throwback of a Werewolf causing problems when presented with the opportunity. Looking at Alia, Iron-Teeth knew she wasn’t convinced. Even though she belonged to no Pack or Clan, she had a certain loyalty to her kindred, no matter how distant. She was biased, and maybe Iron-Teeth was as well. As an immigrant, he found the idea of this being something so stereotypical as a foreigner going on a killing spree almost offensive. Perhaps Darvy, for better or worse, had his coin under the right cup.

As Iron-Teeth started to consider the possibility, the crunch of snow underfoot caught his attention. Priestess Mina was running towards them. Her vestments billowed as she dashed. She carried no lantern or torch, simply running headlong toward Darvy’s light. So it wasn’t a surprise when her foot caught on a half-buried grave marker. Alia shot forward on feline-fast feet and caught the stumbling priestess.

Alia clucked her tongue in annoyance. “Clumsy clumsy humans. What's the point of rushing if you slip and break open your skull.”

Mina blushed and stumbled over her words as she regained her balance. “Thanks, Alia.” Turning her focus to Iron-Teeth, the Captain could see a strange mix of excitement and disgust on her face. “Captain Iron-Teeth! I found something!”

That got a stir out of all three Guard officers. Gesturing for Mina to continue, Iron-Teeth held his breath. Could the Priestess have found something important?

Mina’s excited mood dimmed as she started to recount her discovery. The gruesome nature of it blotted out her joy in success. “When Fergy and Gunther loaded the Victim into the wagon, I decided to take another look at the murder wound. Just on gut instinct. See, we found this body faster than the previous ones. So some things stuck out to me more.”

In every previous victim, it had been at least twelve hours before the body was discovered or at least reported to the Guards. For the seventh, they’d gotten lucky. A mourner with insomnia had been visiting a grave near the Third Bell and found the corpse. Mina estimated the body wasn’t three hours old when they arrived.

Rubbing her hands together to warm them, Mina continued. “ I noticed something odd about the chest cavity. Where the heart was torn out. The incisions were strange and tricky to decipher previously. But in this body… Well, I finally recognized what had done this. Teeth, someone used their…um…mouth to rip the heart out.”

Darvy gave the Captain a tight-lipped look. The Lieutenant seeing Mina’s words as confirmation of his own theory. But then the Priestess continued. “I’ll have to do a closer examination later but the bite marks… They were human.”

Alia, Darvy, and Iron-Teeth all shot Mina with stunned looks. Taking their expression to mean doubt, Mina vigorously bobbed her head. “I’m no Rest-Bringer, but I know what marks human teeth make. A Corpse Eater Undead is behind this!”

An undead inside the walls of Vindabon? Something dangerous enough to slip through the city's defenses and go undetected? Yet ravenous enough to feed every other night? That was a very, very worrying prospect. Unwilling to believe, Iron-Teeth asked. “But the bodies have been found on hallowed ground; it can’t be Undead!”

Mina looked nervous for a second. “The first few murder sites were barely maintained. Little magic protected them. Certain powerful types of Undead can bypass weak defenses. I don’t think it's a coincidence the killings are happening at progressively better-cared-for places. I think whatever is doing this, it’s getting stronger.”

That sent a chill through Iron-Teeth. If Mina was right, this whole situation suddenly jumped from bad to terrible. Suddenly the idea of a rogue Werewolf seemed almost appealing compared to what Mina suggested.

Reaching down to his belt, Iron-Teeth ran his fingers over the weapon dangling there. Called a Krazkrak, Part axe, part mining pick, it was one of the few mementos the Dwarf kept from his homehold. A weapon as ugly as it was utilitarian. Something deep in Iron Teeth’s bones told him he’d be needing it in the near future.

Sighing to himself, he looked at Mina and said. “I hope you are wrong, Priestess. But if you aren’t… Well, pray to that God of yours for help.”

Cole dreamed he was falling. Plummeting through ash clouds, Cole fell through a familiarly twisted dreamscape. It had been weeks since the last of these dreams, but he hadn't forgotten the terrible descent. Blinking away the soot and wind, Cole looked around him. Dreading what he might spot in between reddish clouds. A bolt of cold blue lightning cut through the clouds and illuminated the sky around him. Dozens of bodies tumbled nearby. Some were burnt husks, still trailing bits of fire as they fell. While others were missing limbs.

As much as he wanted to shy away from the grisly sight, Cole steeled himself and tried to get a closer look. One of the bodies, the closest to him, was intact. It fell in slow lazy spirals, its thick limbs splayed out by the ashen wind. Clad in brutish armor; something about the body seemed familiar to Cole. Angling his body to “fall closer” to the corpse, Cole got a better look. The corpse was a woman, strong of limb and stout of body. Empty eyes stared up at the dark sky while small tusks protruded from her heavy jaw. Below that was a ruined neck. Torn open by a Halberd’s edge. It was the Axe-Adept. The toughest of the bandits Cole had fought.

Startled by this, Cole flinched back and was spent spinning through the air. The rushing wind hurtled him head over heels in a sickening spin. Everything became a whirling Kaleidoscope of reds, browns, grays, and blacks. As sickening as it was beautiful. The whirly-gig ride ended with a sickening crunch as Cole hit the ground. His body landed face up into the ashen wastes of the dream. A terrible mix of pain and silence shot through Cole’s body. Half of his body hurt terribly; the other half didn’t feel anything at all. He’d broken his back on impact. Something the immortal Paladin was experienced with.

Blinking away stars, Cole looked around him. He’d landed atop a dune of ash amid a plane of similar. At the edges of his vision, ruins stuck up from the Ash. Crumbling temples and castle towers protruded from the desert like the bones of some long-dead titan. Cole drank this all in, confused and worried. Normally his falling dreams ended shortly before or after impact. Never leaving him in this limbo state.

Movement caught his attention, and Cole craned his neck back, earning him a stab of pain. Seeing the world upside-down, Cole watched as two figures approached. Seeming to fade into being, the ashy wind obscuring them slightly. The first figure was unmistakable. Tall, statuesque, and frighteningly beautiful was Isabelle. Her silver dress and dark hair blowing in the wind. Trailing behind her was an even larger silhouette, covered head to toe in a night-black cloak. Isabelle glided over the ash and reached Cole.

A mixture of worry and sadness was on her face as she looked down at him. Kneeling before him, Isabelle put his head in her lap and stroked his hair. Making a shushing noise, she whispered. “Oh darling, I’ve missed you.”

Looking away from him, she glared at the second figure. “Surely there was an easier way than this!”

In a voice both quiet and familiar, the second figure answered. “You requested this meeting. His soul is neutral ground, Countess Isabelle. The pain he feels is not my doing.”

Looking down at Cole, Isabelle sighed. “I’m sorry, darling. This will be over soon.”

The cloaked figure approached and, in a deadpan voice, remarked. “That is a lie. You made sure of that.”

Isabelle hissed at the Cloaked man and spat. “I meant the dream! Can’t you be any less obtuse, you Cosmic Paradox!”

The cloaked man didn’t answer for a moment before saying. “Then let us speak quickly and not steal into his dreams any longer.”

Looking between Cole and the Cloaked Man, Isabelle nodded. “I’ll make this quick. What is happening to him? Is this your influence altering my design? I never accounted for external reality factors in his Aetheric Lattice.”

The Cloaked figure scoffed at that. “No, this is not my doing. But a manifestation of your hubris. It wasn’t enough for you to make a Soul, was it Isabelle? You had to try and improve it.”

Isabelle shot to her feet, letting Cole’s head fall into the ash in her haste. “I tried to improve upon the stunted work you and your fellow Mummers preside over. I created something better and if you let me I could finish my work!”

A pale hand extended from the Cloaks depths and pointed an accusatory finger at Isabelle. “You had a life. One you extended by stealing others. Do not dare to presume you deserve more than every other person who has ever lived.” The hooded cowl of the Cloaked Man looked to Cole and he continued. “Besides, we both know your motivation was nothing so noble as bettering the World’s Souls.”

Isabelle recoiled like she’d been slapped. Trying to speak, a difficult thing with his broken body, Cole asked. “Who…who are you?”

The Cloaked Figure moved closer to Cole and pulled his hood down. Revealing a handsome face, perfect in its proportions and unblemished by any mark. Looking as if some master had carved it from marble the face looked down at Cole with unnaturally pale-blue eyes. Cole recognized the face. Despite not seeing it in twelve years, he could never forget it. His face.

The pale eyes started to shine, like an ancient glacier catching the sun. A smile unblemished by countless scars Cole now wore shone down on him and the Cloaked Man spoke softly. “You know who I am, Cole. You’ve always known who I am.”

Trying to reach up to his unblemished twin. Cole whispered the answer. “Death. You are Death, Time, Cold and Entropy. Master of all that and more.”

Master Time nodded down at Cole. “I don’t wear this face to mock you Cole. It is simply how your creator sees me. Try as she might to deny it, we were linked from the moment of your decanting.”

A stunned Cole looked to the God and then to Isabelle. Suddenly he felt the ground below him move. Looking down at himself, he realized his legs were sinking into the ash. Instant terror filled Cole. For an Immortal, the idea of being buried alive was literally a fate worse than death. Frantically he moved his shaky hands to start digging at the ash. But both Isabelle and Master Time stopped him. With sadness in her eyes, Isabelle smiled. “Our time is done, it seems. I love you, Cole.”

The ash started to speed up, Cole looking at the two beings responsible for his existence as he was devoured. Another bolt of blue lightning cut through the sky and arced down towards Cole. In the strange realm of dreams and souls, Cole could watch the lightning descend. Its streams of sky-fire howling down towards him like a descending Seraph. Fingers of lightning stretched out to him as the roar of thunder followed the coming lance. Reaching out, Cole greeted the bolt like an old friend and felt it caress him.

Bolting up from his dream, Cole blinked away sleep and thrashed at his blankets. For a single terrible moment, he couldn’t feel his legs. They were lost behind a buzzing fog. As awareness returned to him, Cole looked down to see Natalie lying atop him. Her dead-sleep undisturbed by his flailings. Natalie had recently taken to sleeping on his chest like a particularly large house cat. An endearing habit except when it put his arms or legs to sleep as it had done this morning.

Gently picking Natalie up, Cole moved out from underneath her. Settling the Vampire into their shared cott. Gently, he also removed his amulet from her chest. Resisting the urge to touch her impressive bust as he did. Once the cold metal was in hand, Natalie’s eyes shot open. Unlife returning to her instantly. Smiling up at Cole, she stretched. A strictly unnecessary motion but one that caught Cole’s eye. The past two weeks of traveling with the Werefolk hadn’t given them much privacy. Something that had prevented the pair from moving to more…intimate behavior. But that hadn’t stopped Natalie from taking every opportunity to tease him.

Taking his eyes from her limber form, Cole looked around the small cabin they shared. Wood creaked under his feet, and distantly the sound of cracking ice could be heard. Going to the cabin door, he said. “I’m going to check on our progress.”

Natalie blew him a kiss and burrowed under the blankets. She was clearly enjoying the warmth of their new accommodations. While Cole was more susceptible to the cold, he was also used to it. Natalie had spent her life near crackling hearths and heavy quilts. Not out on windy roads in all seasons like Cole.

Shutting the cabin door behind him, Cole slipped down the tight passageway and to the stairs. Taking them, he opened the hatch and stepped out into the clear winter dawnlight. Blinking it away, Cole drank in his surroundings. He stood on the deck of a hulking river barge. Its squat prow cutting through the chilly Alidon River. Stretching his legs, Cole went over to the nearest railing and leaned over it. Looking down into the great river below.

Despite its birth in cold-mountain run-off and fresh-water springs. The Alidon hadn’t frozen entirely. The middle two-thirds of the river still flowed ever on. With the Bargefolk happy to still do business on their flat-bottomed vessels.

Another early riser approached. Bruto of the Shohgard pack came up next to Cole. The old Werefolk handed Cole a mug of warm cider to match his own, and they both drank. In Between sips, Cole asked, “Any idea how far we are from the city?”

Bruto shrugged and said. “Another week, maybe.”

Life among the Werefolk had tamed Cole’s sleep schedule to be early rising. With him and Bruto being the first ones up most days. Mutual polite stoicism had forged an odd friendship between the two. That translated to the two sharing a morning drink; with perhaps a dozen words said between them. Which suited both Cole and Bruto just fine.

The Shohgard pack had made good headway after Cole and Natalie joined them. Making it to the village of Holderbruck in less than a week. Holderbruck, like so many other settlements on the Alidon, survived thanks to the constant barge traffic. It was there the Shohgard pack had met their contact. A Werefolk-operated Barge called the Stream Skipper. And spent a day loading their carts and themselves onto the vessel.

Now the Stream Skipper plodded up the river, stopping occasionally to move cargo but never for long. Sailing ever onwards to Vindabon. Following the route it’d done hundreds of times before. Leaning over the railing, Cole saw something huge move in the water. Instead of fear or worry, it brought a smile to his face. Soon the water was split as a large furry form came into sight. An Otter the size of a horse surfaced from the river and lazily swam beside the Barge.

It let out a rattling squeak as it looked up at Cole and Bruto. Once it realized neither of them were going to throw it food, the creature dived under with a dismissive swat of its tail. The animal was a Barge Otter. One of the rare examples of a Direbeast being successfully domesticated. The gigantic river-dwellers were bred and used like draft horses by the Bargefolk of the Western Continent. At any time, six of the Otters pulled on great ropes attached to the Barge. Pulling it against the current and steering it better than any rudder might. Aided by some crude enchantments woven into a boat's hull. The Barge Otters could pull shocking weight without complaint. Something helped by the paste of shellfish and herbs the Bargefolk smeared on the tug-ropes. Turning monotonous labor into a treat for the animals.

Looking up from the river, Cole finished his warm cider and peered at the distant shore. Rolling farm fields cut up by forests and hamlets. With distant snow-covered mountains looming out of the west. They had passed through Harmas two days ago, and were now close to the border of the Southern Marches. Soon they’d enter Norica. The Holy League Province that surrounded Vindabon. A peaceful land that lived well off of its city-state neighbor. Cole didn’t know why Vindabon was considered a separate province. Being one of nine cities in the Holy League awarded such an honor. Any strife that distinction might have bred between Norica and Vindabon seemed negligible or at least very well hidden.

The deck hatch creaked again, and Cole turned to see Natalie arrive. Wearing a clean dress and wrapped in her cloak. Natalie covered the lower half of her face with a scarf she’d bought at one of the Barge’s previous stops. A wise investment if they were to be dealing with strangers.

Bruto saw Natalie, nodded at Cole, and left. A week ago Cole would have assumed it was out of fear of Natalie. But the silver tongue of his partner had slain the Werefolks' apprehension; and they’d come to respect her as a paliatable outsider. No, Bruto was being courteous and letting the lovers have privacy.

Snuggling up to Cole, Natalie looked over the guard-rails. Cole put an arm around her and remarked. “You missed a Barge Otter. It came sniffing around looking for scraps.”

Natalie clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Shame, they are so cute, aren’t they?”

Cole shrugged and looked down at her. “Not really, but then again, my perspective is skewed.”

Beaming at that, Natalie reached up and traced her fingers along his face. Absently her fingers licked one of his larger scars. Pulling away slightly, Cole asked. “How did you sleep?”

Natalie paused for a second, considering his reaction to her touch. Cole seemed to get skittish when she touched his scars like that. “Fine enough. Still, no luck contacting Isabelle. I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong, but she isn’t responding. I’m tempted to feed her more of my blood, but I worry about what that might do.”

Cole grimaced. “I think I know why she hasn’t been responding.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Scratching at his white-blonde hair. Cole noted he needed to have it cut. After having it burned down to his scalp, it was finally starting to grow long enough to be annoying. Realizing he was trying to distract himself from the topic, he refocused and answered Natalie. “She contacted me in my dreams last night.”

Natalie got very still for a second. Cole could practically see her mind tracing out different possibilities and fighting back insecurities. Swallowing uselessly, she asked. “What happened? What did Isabelle say?”

Glancing at the river and its dark depths, Cole replied. “Many things, but she wasn’t my only visitor. Master Time entered my dreams.”

Eyes wide, Natalie also looked to the river. Her own encounters with the God’s Angler-persona coming back. Cole related what happened to him. Of his fall through the ashen skies and the conversation he’d had with both Isabelle and Master Time. How Isabelle hadn’t known the source of Cole’s changing body and Master Time’s ominous comments on his creation. He even told her about the falling bodies and his previous dreams. Leaving out the details of her father being one of the bodies. Cole couldn’t bring himself to share that detail.

Once Cole finished, Natalie let out a sigh. “I’d hoped Isabelle would have answers. But it sounds like she’s just as confused as we are. Maybe she has more details, though. What was it she said? Aether Lettuce?”

Lips twitching in a smile, Cole answered, “Aetheric Lattice. Isabelle mentioned it once or twice when talking about her research. I know it has something to do with Souls but not much else.”

Shrugging, Natalie leaned against Cole’s larger frame. “Another thing to investigate when we get to Vindabon, huh?”

Cole put an arm around her shoulders and nodded. With his free hand, he touched his chest. Where a steady cold tug had started recently. A gentle thing that pointed him towards the City of Music and Dreams. Something more than his and Natalie’s quest was pulling him to Vindabon. Duty was calling, and he’d answer. But so was the mystery of his existence. He’d thought to consult the Grand Temple about the Alukah and meet with some scholars knowledgeable about the old legends. Yet it seemed he would need to meet with other possible sources. Those knowledgeable in Isabelle’s field of study.

Isabelle had been one of the greatest scholars studying the nature of the soul, but she hadn’t been without peers. One rival of hers, in particular, made his nest in Vindabon. Someone Cole had previous contact with. An event he was loath to repeat. Yet desperate times require desperate measures. The strange dreams and Isabelle's cryptic words worried Cole. Reminding him how little he knew about his own nature. He’d entered into this quest with Natalie, believing he only had to worry about her growing monstrous nature. But it seemed this bleak evolution was another thing they shared.

Flexing his fingers and examining the scars lining his knuckles, Cole decided he needed more information. Even if the source was distinctly unpleasant. Sighing to himself, he looked at Natalie and asked. “Have you ever heard of a Lych?”