“Paladin is a young word, coming first from the Iskan Imperium where it referred to warriors of heaven who defended the Pallas Mount where the divine oracles spoke secret truths to guide that ancient empire. But paladin is not the only word for the god-touched, every culture under the heaven’s protection has a name for them. Whatever name they give these figures, the nature and abilities ascribed to them remain the same. They see the world as a god might and wield a sliver of divine power in ways no priest or magi can match. Wherever there is strife and horror, whenever darkness rises they appear, and all their names, no matter the culture reflect this, for they all mean the same thing: hero.” - Excerpt from the text ‘Book of Pallas’

  Paladin Cole, the Homunculus Knight, sat alone in darkness and prepared for a battle that couldn’t come soon enough. Scraping a whetstone along his axe, Cole listened to the rhythmic grinding as he pointlessly sharpened his weapon. A few drops of blood and a moment’s concentration would make Requiem’s edge sharp enough to shave with but Cole was more interested in self-distraction than practicality. It had been two days and two nights since he failed everyone including himself; if he was going to be sitting alone on guard duty Cole needed something to keep busy even if it was a waste of time.

  A tight grimace spread across the Paladin’s face as his mind returned to what it had been trying to avoid. Time was, for once, against him, and yet here he was letting the hourglass’s grains slip away with nary a fight. Isabelle was gone, stolen by a petty monster who knew far too much to be left alive, and instead of tracking the bastard down and rescuing his lover, Cole was sitting here and waiting. Waiting for an angel’s daughter to say it was time to move, that all those who’d been maimed thanks to Cole’s weakness were patched together enough they might finally leave this jagging cave.

  Staring out into the nearly pitch-black cavern around him, Cole could still smell all the death and destruction the space had seen. Hints of rotting rat flesh comingled with the scent of pungent loam and gritty rock dust, testifying to the battle they’d lost. Shutting his eyes, Cole took a deep breath and reminded himself things could have gone far far worse. Natalie hadn’t been captured and they’d survived not only Mina’s subversion but the Reaper’s shard. Not all was lost and what had been lost might be reclaimed. Soon they’d leave this damned cave and be back on Wolfgang’s trail. At the thought of the bespectacled vampire, Cole redoubled his sharpening, driving the whetstone faster and faster as if he could rub away his shame and rage like so much dried blood. Wolfgang had appeared out of nowhere as an unliving link to his, Isabelle’s, and even Natalie’s past.

  Thinking of how close he’d been to ending that wretched creature, how he’d been so close to saving Isabelle but failed at the very end, Cole pushed on his whetstone too hard and managed to crack the damn thing and cut himself. Hissing in pain, he looked down at the dripping wound on his hand and focused on the leaking blood, offering the power in it to the Aether and shutting the injury with a strip of fresh pink skin. Flexing his palm, seeing if the new growth would hold, Cole sighed and examined the chipped whetstone. Even in Requiem didn’t need the care his knives would, so he couldn’t go around ruining his kit like this.

  Stowing the pocket stone, Cole hung his head as sour weariness took hold. He’d volunteered to keep watch by himself since Natalie was taking her weekly day of rest and bluntly any excuse to avoid the others was appreciated. There was a new tension whenever he was with his comrades, an obvious disquiet they all felt but refused to acknowledge. No one except Natalie would meet his eye and only she could look at him for any serious length of time. Which, honestly Cole almost couldn’t blame the group for.

  In the few days since Deborah and Grettir’s arrival, Cole had secretly killed himself six times, repairing all the damage suffered against the vampires. But as ever, his skin refused to cooperate and new stretches of mottled burns and ropey scars covered his body. From what little he’d seen of his reflection, Cole was as disfigured as he’d been upon escaping the Voivode’s larder. The Seraphblood’s healing had preserved the basic shape of his face and features but his cheeks and forehead now had the texture of half-melted wax. Useful as Emma of Stonebone’s armor was, it had never meant to protect against a Dullahan’s fire, and anywhere the Hakon steel touched him was now horribly burned. But of course, Cole knew no matter how mutilated his skin might be, that wasn’t the reason why his allies were being standoffish, his secret had been set free.

  Mina, Yara, Deborah, and Grettir had all seen him die and come back. That wasn’t something a person could forget about; especially with the revelations about how his immortality worked. Cole’s soul or at, least whatever simulacra of one Isabelle had crafted, drank in the cast-off pieces of soul-stuff people left behind in death, sewing these scraps into his own being and spending them when needed to defy all laws of nature and magic. Metaphysically, Cole had more in common with a Lych than any mortal being; like those rare undead magi, he fed off the souls of others and used them to fuel a blasphemous parody of life.

  In a small mercy, those who’d learned the truth had agreed to keep it secret from the others; but Cole knew that was just delaying the inevitable. Too many people knew what he was for it to stay hidden for much longer. The time of secrecy had passed, and now Cole needed to prepare for what came next; as it wasn’t just his allies who knew. Wolfgang had come here looking for him, which meant the Duchies were aware of his survival. Friend and foe were aware of what Cole was, and he expected that revelation to turn some of the former into more of the latter.

  The sound of footsteps pulled Cole from his morose thoughts and he looked up to see Alia Cat-eyes walking towards his lonely vigil, glowstone lamp clutched in one hand. Moving slowly, the City Warden looked better than she had been but that wasn’t much of an accomplishment. The sheer hardiness of werefolk physiology was the only reason Alia still lived, and the damage she’d suffered in the battle was clear to see even after Deborah’s ministrations. Bandages covered the top of her head, hiding away where her scalp had been partially torn away and her skull cracked. The usual feline agility present in her steps was absent, replaced by a stiffness brought on by muscle tears and the general malaise of almost having one’s heart nearly explode. Part of Cole wanted to feel guilty about giving Alia the combat drug she’d used, but even he couldn’t be that self-recriminatory, without it, she and probably others of their band would be dead.

  Cocking her head to the side upon seeing Cole, Alia came closer and said. “The hells are you doing just sitting in the dark? Not like you’re going to have better night vision than anything that lives down here.”

  Cole shrugged and gestured to the yawning tunnel mouth he’d been watching. “I didn’t want to give away my position. Better to use my other sense than be a nice bright easy target.”

  Alia grimaced and looked at her lantern for a moment before gently setting it down a little ways from Cole before joining him on the marginally flat boulder he’d taken as a perch. A very small smile managed to flick across Cole’s face at his friend’s antics and he asked. “Why are you here?”

  Scratching at one of her bandages, Alia shrugged. “Deborah thinks we can set out tomorrow morning. I figured you could use the good news.”

  Cole eyed Alia in the dim light and knew near-instantly that wasn’t the real reason. There was an uncharacteristic nervousness to her body language that even her injuries couldn’t hide. Deciding he really didn’t have the energy or desire to dance around a topic, Cole sucked in a breath and asked. “What’s wrong?”

  A stillness filled the air between them for a long moment before Alia let out a half-hissed whisper. “Cole, what the fuck did you do?”

  Shutting his eyes, Cole almost wanted to laugh. “What did Mina tell you?”

  Alia spat onto the rocks below their perch and said. “Nothing! Which is the problem. Something happened while I was knocking on your boss’s door and whatever it is; it’s got Mina and the others jumpy as a virgin in a bordello whenever you're around. Now I know you’ve got secrets and probably messy ones considering your job and taste in women, but I’m not going to sit here and let them smother my girlfriend after all the shit we just survived.”

  Cole raised an eyebrow at Cat-eye’s words. Mina and Alia had been practically avoiding each other over the past few days, neither quite ready to take the next step. What that next step was, ending their relationship, or reaffirming it, had seemed up in the air, or at least till now. Softly, Cole asked. “You love her, don’t you?”

  Now glaring at him, Alia flipped Cole a rude gesture and snapped. “Of course I do, now don’t try and change the fucking topic. What. Did. You. Do?”

  Shrugging, Cole decided it was better she heard it from him. “I died.”

  Alia just blinked in confusion clearly thinking she’d misheard him. Meeting her eyes, Cole elaborated. “I died and I came back, as I have before and will most certainly do in the future.”

  Stunned, Alia managed to say. “You’re fucking with me.”

  A bitter laugh actually got past Cole’s lips and he pulled at the front of his tunic so all the scarring on his neck and chest added to the grisliness of his face. “Alia, in your entire life, have you ever seen anyone with anywhere close to the number of scars I’ve got? A normal person would be crippled with only half of what covers me. I’m not human, or even anything natural. I’m a-”

  Alia bolted up from the boulder and said. “He was right! Ironteeth was fucking right, you’re a flesh golem!”

  Looking up at the city warden and her accusatory finger, Cole felt an uncharacteristic surge of annoyance. Biting off his words, he finished saying. “I’m a homunculus, an artificial humanoid created from flesh and soul magic.”

  Silence hung in the air between them like the stink of death as Alia tried to make sense of Cole’s words. Uncertainly, she asked. “I’ve heard of homunculi, and… and aren’t they y’know empty husk? Just a body that can breathe and not much more.”

  Shrugging one shoulder, Cole replied. “I’m something of a unique specimen; and not just because I’ve got a soul… or at least something close to one. When I die my body heals any lethal wounds until I’m intact enough to come back. The process is finicky and depending on the damage and other shit I haven’t figured out it can take anywhere from seconds to days. But no matter what kills me, my skin never seems to regenerate properly, hence my appearance.”

  Pacing back and forth, eyes never leaving Cole, Alia said. “Let me get this straight, you’re some kind of immortal arcane experiment that doesn’t even know how exactly he resurrects and you’re also the sworn paladin of Master Time, the god whose usual reaction to things like you is fire and iron. But as if that’s not enough you’re also sleeping with the new incarnation of the Alukah from the jagging Book of Miracles itself. OH! And before I forget, you’ve got the skull and ghost of some arrogant vampire magi powerful enough to cure the plague and borrow your girlfriend's body. Your girlfriend, I must add, who is not just willing to share her body with this ghost, but your scarred cock as well!”

  Cole’s expression turned stony. “I don’t have Isabelle anymore which is a very big problem. In Wolfgang’s hands not only is she in danger, but so is the entire world. Isabelle’s knowledge could let that creature improve upon the plague, craft new ones, or even make something like me. Recovering her is not just important to me but to my god as well. Which is why we need to stop skulking about this cave and get moving again!”

  The last part of the Homunculus’s words came out as borderline yell. Snapping his jaws shut, breathing through his bared teeth, Cole tried to master himself. He’d been sharing so much with Alia as a sign of trust, to maybe help alleviate any damage his secret might cause to their friendship; but now here he was almost shouting at her. Worse than that, his words carried the unsubtle implication he was frustrated with the wounded for slowing him down; which… which was true, but not something Cole would have willingly admitted. The Homunculus wasn’t just on edge, he’d already fallen and was now desperately clawing at the wall to arrest his descent.

  Facing Cole, arms crossed, Alia hissed. “You motherfucker!”

  Shutting his eyes, head hanging, Cole started. “I’m sorry, that was not right of me to-”

  Alia cut him off. “No! Forget that! You’re a literal motherfucker!”

  Genuinely confused, Cole rocked backward. “What?”

  Pointing at Cole, Alia said. “You said Isabelle could ‘make something like me.’ And assuming scarred-up immortal shock troopers aren’t breaking through the Prince’s defense lines as we speak; I’d say the method of making more Coles is a major secret. A secret probably only known to a handful of amoral genius magi with interests in immortality, like the ghost you’re currently missing for example. So let me repeat myself; you literal motherfucker! This ‘Isabelle’ is your mother, isn’t she?!”

  More than a little stunned, Cole managed to recover enough to say. “She’s not my mother!”

  Hands spread wide, Alia snapped back. “What else do you call a woman who literally gave you life?”

  A new wave of regret and exhaustion filled Cole and he rubbed his newly burned temples. “First off, I’m completely artificial. I’ve technically got more in common with a golem than a normal person like you. So Isabelle is my creator, just like a magi is the maker of a golem, not their parent. Secondly, maternal instinct isn’t something that easily survives vampirehood, and any Isabelle might have had in life was long gone by the time I was created. Lastly, is this really your focus?! I’m sharing a secret I’ve killed for on multiple occasions because I feel like I can truly trust you and your response is labeling my relationship with Isabelle in the most perverse way possible?!”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Paladin and City Warden stared at each other, blue eyes meeting amber. Then like glass cracking under pressure, they both lost their composure, and wheezing laughter filled the cavern. Cole doubled over as his new scars were stretched painfully from his guffaws while Alia fell onto a nearby rock cackling. Wiping away a tear, Cole shook his head in disbelief as catharsis lessened the weight on his soul.

  Lying back on the boulder, a single-slitted pupil watching Cole, Alia asked. “Who all knows?”

  Cole straightened his shoulders. “Mina, Yara, Deborah, and Grettir all saw me come back; while Natalie has known since… since we started courting actually.”

  Alia snapped her fingers in sudden understanding. “Is that how she does it? Natalie keeps control because she just drinks you to death and-”

  The look on Cole’s face made the City Warden hold up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, forget I said anything.”

  Looking at his hands and the freshly healed burns there, Cole spoke softly. “She’s only lost control once and it wasn’t her fault. A newborn vampire can’t stop themselves, and… and I wasn’t in any shape to fight back.”

  Alia’s single visible eye widened as she understood what Cole implied. “Oh shit… well no wonder we get along, we’ve both been attacked by someone we love.”

  Brushing off her visible concern, Cole shifted topics. “How are you and Mina?”

  Sitting up, Alia shook her head slightly. “Wasn’t even talking about her but, well it's not great.”

  Staring up at the cavern ceiling, she mused. “I know who I am and how I work; I’ll get past this with a little time, but I don’t know if Mina can. She’s tearing herself apart and… and I’m too ragged to help her. I swear I can see the guilt eating at her like a disease. Then if that wasn’t bad enough you’ve got her all skittish as well.”

  Looking at Cole, Alia pressed her tongue to her teeth, clearly considering her words. “I honestly should be more unsettled by what you are but I’ve just not got the energy or context to be much more than shocked. Somehow Mina’s got both and she’s scared of you, Cole, really scared. It’s why I came out to interrogate you, I wanted to know what you’d done and kick your teeth in if need be. But considering what you’ve told me, the fact you’ve saved our lives multiple times and Master Time himself is vouching for you, I’m thinking this is more Mina’s problem than yours.”

  Wincing, Cole stared into the darkness of the nearby cave mouth, feeling old memories well up. “Mind magic is insidious for many reasons, but especially for the damage it leaves in its wake. To be subverted like she was… it's a violation beyond words and the pain never fully goes away. But, but that’s not the worst of it. If you survive having your very memory and mind turned against you, then trusting either of them ever again becomes near impossible. Master Time might have cut the geas out of Mina, but in its place is a crippling wound.”

  A deep frown started to cross Alia’s face but a hiss of pain stopped it; her scalp was still far from healed. As the pain passed, the City Warden slowly said. “Something like this happened to you?”

  Cole jerked his chin in a nod. “It wasn’t as bad as Mina’s experience, but I’ve had my mind turned against me by vampires.” Seeing Alia’s look he quickly added. “Not Isabelle or Natalie. I spent some time imprisoned in a vampire larder… it was bad.”

  Alia grimaced. “I’ve wondered about your neck scars. Seemed too many for a single leech, especially one like Natalie.” Rubbing at her cheek, she asked. “Well, do you have any suggestions?”

  Pursing his lips, Cole reflected on his many lives. “She needs to rebuild her self-confidence. It will take time and won’t be easy, just offer what support you can and when you’re ready to forgive her for what happened, tell her.”

  The City Warden flinched as if she’d been slapped. “I don’t blame her for-”

  Cole made a dismissive gesture. “Rationally you don’t but nothing about this jagged situation is rational. Just work through your own pain and help Mina where you can, and actually let her help you if she tries. People like her often need to help others to help themselves.”

  They sat in silence again, both mulling over what had been shared. Eventually, Alia said. “You’re pretty wise for some motherless monster.”

  Normally Cole might have flinched at being called a monster, but honestly considering the last insult Alia had leveled at him, he was going to take this one without complaint. So instead he just replied. “They say near-death experiences force people to think long and hard about stuff. That’s true, but believe me, when I say dying has an even greater effect.”

  A snort of laughter escaped Alia and she stood up from the rock. “Fair enough. Now after we’ve bared are jagging souls to each other, would do me a favor?”

  Getting up as well, Cole asked. “What?”

  Alia unsheathed one of her short swords, the blade was badly nicked at places and Cole imagined it would take a proper grind wheel to sharpen the sword, that is if it was even salvageable. Shifting her grip, the Catblood threw the blade into the air and balanced its tip on her finger. “I want to know how much I’ve healed, so will you spar with me?”

  Eyeing the weapon, Cole let his fingers wrap around Requiem. “Is that a good idea?”

  Shrugging, Alia twirled her blade in an extravagant flourish. “Probably not, but considering our luck, I doubt shit is going to stop trying to kill us.” Hesitating for a moment, she added. “Which is a problem for some of us.”

  Cole scoffed. “For your information, dying is very painful, and being dead, not knowing what’s happening around you is utterly terrifying.”

  The Paladin lengthened Requiem into a pole-axe and undid all his work with the grindstone and then some, turning the edge dull as a butter knife. Casually the City Warden started to circle about him, a strange shiver going up her spine followed by a wince. Before Cole could voice his concerns, Alia charged, becoming a blur of colors and shadow. As the Homunculus barely swayed past the chipped shortsword coming his way, a slight smile worked its way across Cole’s face. He’d been wanting to practice against a supernaturally fast opponent for some time.

  Mina stared out the cut stone window in shock as Cole and Alia fought. Quickly hurrying to the door fast as her healing legs could carry her she hissed “What in the world’s name are they doing!”

  Grettir, the werewolf mercenary and bodyguard to a Seraphilim glanced out at the fight and grunted. “Sparing”

  Yara who’d been sitting at the staircase, tacitly guarding the way to where Natalie slept, got up to look out the window before saying. “I’ve seen them both move much faster.”

  Adding a little more herb to his pipe, Grettir added. “Yes, look at their arms, they both slow whenever they go for a killing blow.”

  Letting out a breath, the Priestess shut her eyes, the momentary surge of panic she’d felt quickly fading. For one brief and terrible moment, she thought Cole was trying to kill Alia, the homunculus finally snapping without his creator. Shaking her head, dispelling the thought and the guilt that came with it, Mina glanced at one of the room’s other occupants. “Should they be doing that?”

  Deborah the Seraphilim kneeled primly on a stretch of sun-bleached stone, stone that had never seen the sky. Opening one golden eye, the angelblood woman said. “Perhaps not, but it is necessary. I’m doing all I can to heal everyone’s flesh, but I cannot do the same for their minds. Those two are both warriors and a friendly spar should help wash away some of their tension.”

  Shutting her opened eye, Deborah refocused on the figure on the ground before her. Kit lay flat on the floor his jaw clenched and beads of cold sweat turning his blond hair lank. Both of his forearms were covered in white linens marked with glowing runes that shifted when you weren’t looking. Hands out before her, hovering right above Kit’s wounded forearms, Deborah let sunbeams flow from her fingers, into the runes and flesh beneath. The Seraphilim was in the process of delicate arcane surgery and Mina mentally kicked herself for interrupting.

  On closer inspection, Kit’s injuries had been far worse than Mina originally thought. His hands and forearms had been crushed by a vicious strigoi’s grip; the bones splintered like kindling and muscle shredded like so much pulled pork. If it had just been Mina trying to heal the Magi, he most certainly would have lost both arms, but skilled as the Priestess was, she was a mere candle to the sun-incarnate that was the Seraphilim. Calling on her arcane senses, Mina watched the magic flow from Deborah and into Kit’s arms, golden warmth slowly rethreading muscle strands while coaxing veins and nerves back into their proper place. The sight was deeply humbling for the Priestess, showing exactly how much she still had to learn; but hopefully watching Deborah might be the first step on that path.

  Turning her senses both mundane and magical onto the Seraphilim, Mina bit her cheek, a habit she’d picked up from Natalie. When Deborah first arrived her light had been like the sun itself, shining in both sides of existence. While she’d dimmed her halo to protect Natalie, her internal glow had still been nearly blinding to those with the right senses. But now, after banishing two demons and spending days of constant healing the light was fading. Mina didn’t know what the limits of a Seraphlim were but Deborah was fast reaching them.

  Looking down at her legs and back at Kit, Mina could understand why. Upon arriving, Deborah used magical brute force to stabilize everyone, well everyone but Cole, and then spent the next few days casting more intricate healing spells. Aside from her own damaged legs and Kit’s nearly ruined arms, the dwarf ranger Nokin had suffered a perforated bowel and a very nasty infection to go with, and… and Alia’s skull was brutally cracked while her heart had forgotten how to beat properly. In the face of all this, Deborah juggled her patients without complaint or even much difficulty; healing injuries that should have taken weeks or even months to recover from in just hours. But that sort of magic always had a price and Mina doubted Deborah would be capable of anything too miraculous for a while.

  Leaving the living saint and magi, Mina returned to the window to watch the spar and to her surprise found Grettir and Nokin waiting already there. Looking over the dwarf’s shoulder, Mina sucked in a breath at the duel outside. With only a single dim glowstone for light, Cole and Alia now fought in the shadows, barely visible to the naked eye, only given away by the constant shower of sparks born from the clash of blades. Staring at the whirling dance of steel, Mina felt like she was watching two meteor showers clash in the night sky.

  Letting a stream pipe smoke escape his chapped lips, Grettir said. “Well, I think they’re both good enough to travel.”

  Nokin grunted her agreement and muttered something in Dwerick before moving to Western. “See how ye survived sangraki. Both tem are good fighters.”

  Grettir snorted with derision. “Good only goes so far. Sure, she’s fast and has impressive footwork but there’s a lot of wasted movements. She fights like someone used to being faster than her foe, you can see the arrogance in every flourish and extravagance. While he’s strong and has great endurance, yet refuses to commit. The Paladin is shy in both attack and defense; even for a sparring match.”

  A flicker of annoyance danced across Mina’s face at the casual dismissal of her girlfriend’s skill and she snapped. “Alia beat a lamia warrior while her skull was cracked. I think that’s a little better than ‘good”

  Grettir leveled his lupine gaze on her, smoke curling out of his nose. “Lamias are predictable; they give into their instincts and make stupid mistakes. All the Catblood needed to do was be a bit smarter, which isn’t hard with those vapid rapists.” Seeing Mina’s eyes narrow, Grettir made a calming gesture with his pipe and added. “Alia’s got potential. Catbloods with a spine blessing are rare, and once she’s been winnowed of that cockiness I’d expect her to tear through tougher enemies easily.”

  A yelp and a curse from the dark pulled Mina’s attention as Alia danced backward into the light. She was massaging her side and wore a tight grimace. Voice indistinct, the City Warden shouted something to the Paladin and laughed at his response. Hobbling back towards the tower, Alia waved at the spectators. Skin slick with sweat, breasts heaving with heavy breaths, a brash smile painted across her face, Alia was somehow even more beautiful than normal. A tiny throb filled Mina’s chest and she started to return that winning smile but an ugly weight in her gut pulled her lips and mood downward. That weight came from a simple but leaden thought, one that had plagued Mina for days. ‘How can she ever forgive me?’

  Sheathing her near-ruined short sword, Alia strutted forward, arms outstretched as if to greet a cheering crowd. “Well, how’d you like the show!”

  Mina glanced at Grettir and the bemused smirk on his face. Maybe, just maybe his assessment of Alia’s skills had merit. After a moment, Mina realized the question had been meant for her, starting slightly she quickly said. “I couldn’t see much, but you were fast, and the sparks were pretty.”

  Alia scoffed dramatically. “I always forget how poor human night vision is.”

  That got a shared chuckle from both Grettir and Nokin who Mina belatedly realized must have been able to see the entire fight without issue. Deciding she’d need to practice vision-enhancing spells, Mina gestured at Alia’s side where she was absently rubbing. “Are you hurt?”

  The City Warden stopped her action and shrugged dismissively. “Cole tagged me with his shaft. I’ll have a bruise but nothing worse.” Hesitating, Alia’s smile turned wicked and she started to say. “I can’t say many men have-”

  Mina cut her partner off with a gesture while suppressing a laugh. “Please don’t. I don’t need whatever joke you’re thinking of taking up space in my brain.”

  Sighing dramatically, Alia reached the entrance to the tower and turned back to Cole who was still standing in the dark. As she did Grettir suddenly bolted up from his spot by the window and started sucking in quick breaths. Gesturing to the Paladin, Alia asked. “You gonna stay out there or what?”

  Squinting her eyes, Mina watched Cole suddenly head toward the tunnel mouth, halberd at the ready. In that clear carrying voice he sometimes used, the Paladin called out something in Dwerick. Upon hearing whatever Cole had said, Nokin rushed towards the door, pushing past a surprised Alia, Grettir hot on her heels. Confused, Mina looked to Alia who just shrugged.

  “He’s asking who's there.” said a voice from nearby and both women nearly jumped as Yara made her presence known. The thrall had crept up next to them in that uncanny way of hers.

  Before Mina could ask how Yara knew Dwerick, Alia pointed at the tunnel mouth and said. “I see light.”

  Nokin had reached Cole’s side, one hand clutching at her barely healed gut the other waving a glowstone in some strange pattern. More words were shouted in Dwerick, some by the dwarf, others by Cole and even Grettir. Eventually, an answer came from the tunnel, and with it the lights Alia’s sensitive eyes had already detected. Low to the ground, the faint green glow reminded Mina of torch bugs at first but as more Dwerick was exchanged back in forth she realized what she was looking at. It was light of an aardig’s snout.

  Soon enough a convoy of five of the beasts accompanied by twice that many dwarves entered the cavern. All were carrying weapons, and some were even injured. Nokin met one with a firm embrace while Cole conferred with a haggard-looking greybeard who clutched an axe to his chest like a mother might a babe.

  Turning from the new arrivals, Cole stormed back towards the tower, his face a grotesquery of scars gnarled by clear concern. Reaching out, Alia asked. “What are you doing?”

  Deborah had also gotten up, an exhausted-looking Kit still on the ground near her feet. Addressing everyone in the tower as he headed for the stairs, Cole said. “I’m waking up Natalie, we need to leave now.”

  Yara fell into step behind the Paladin and Mina asked. “Why? What’s going on?”

  Pausing, Cole looked back out the door at the dwarves. “Our destination, Azyge is under attack. This convoy was heading to Turul’s Tomb to get reinforcements. We’re going to be those reinforcements.”

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