The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 20- Threats to Body, Mind, and Soul

“Trolls don’t actually turn to stone in sunlight. They do however grow dense patches of calloused tissue upon sunlight exposure. Trolls are very sensitive to sunlight and lack any natural protection against it. So their incredible regenerative abilities compensate by creating sheets of scab tissue across exposed skin. Unfortunately this armors the Troll in what’s virtually leather armor.” - Helmut Braggi’s ‘Practical guide to Troll-slaying.’

The rest of the trip back to town proved uneventful. Cole had returned to his usual self, and Natalie was glad to see him doing better. They passed back through the forest and quickly reached the southern gate of Glockmire. This time there was no need to call the guard, unlike their previous expedition. As they approached, they saw a troop of town guards standing in the gateway. Cole stopped mid-stride, seeing the ten or so guards in poorly fitting armor approach them. Natalie didn’t stop walking. She’d expected this and had a few plans.

As she got closer one of the Guards yelled “What’s your business Ms. Striga?”

Natalie didn’t answer immediately. Instead she whispered “Give me the skull,” to Cole. Gesturing to him with an outstretched hand.

Momentarily confused, Cole’s mouth opened in slight befuddlement and worry. Before he could say anything, Natalie clarified. “The Dwarf skull.” she fought to not roll her eyes at Cole’s moment of worry. The level of stress and paranoia the man had around his lover’s skull was unreal. But, as Natalie considered what she now knew, perhaps that paranoia was warranted.

Obliging Natalie’s request, Cole dug Buri’s skull from his pack and handed it to her. Natalie didn’t even wince as she touched the charred bone, something that brought her a bit of confidence. Maybe she could adapt to this blood-drenched madness after all? Holding the skull up so the guards could see it, Natalie walked closer to the guards while half-shouting:

“This is the skull of an Undead nesting in the ruins of Lungu. Rest-Maker Cole destroyed the monster as Master Time commanded and we’re going to take the skull to the Temple. Then Cole’s going to continue staying at the Silly Goat, where he’s renting a room. Any questions?”

Working in a tavern her entire life, and having a talented merchant for an adopted Uncle taught Natalie a thing or two about the art of manipulation. She knew full well the town guards were a ragtag bunch used to collecting tolls and occasionally arbitrating the rare dispute. Not exactly a stalwart fighting force capable of cool collected planning. So she needed to seem authoritative if polite to get through to the jumpy pseudo-soldiers. Natalie knew it was harder for people to countermand something phrased as a fact, not a question and no one in their right mind wanted to interfere with the God of Death and his servants. Master Time was a nice enough deity, just not one you wanted to catch the attention of; or at least that was the common folk wisdom. Both of these facts Natalie gladly used to her advantage.

The guards shuffled nervously, not responding. Sighing to herself, Natalie trotted up to the gaggle of tollkeepers and addressed one she knew by name. “Andrei! What's going on here?”

The guard, a squat man in his fifties with a belly betraying how often he visited the Silly Goat, jumped slightly at her words. The other guards leaned away from him slightly. After a moment of looking to his herd for help, Andrei saw he was on his own. Natalie had singled the man out and hoped to force an answer from the usually congenial man.

“It's Jean, Ms. Striga. The Nobles took him last night. Saying he was deri-derel-derelict in his duties.” sputtered the guard, not making eye contact with Natalie. A jolt of worry passed through Natalie. Jean was the guard who helped her get an injured Cole back to the inn. Was that what this was about?

Natalie decided playing ignorant and conciliatory was a good option. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that, Andrei; vut does that have anything to do with Cole and me?”

The guards looked at each other, and eventually, another one spoke up. A skinny youth named Yakov. “It's this Cole fellow Ms. Striga. He’s trouble, the type that spreads it around. We can’t have him running about town bringing Pantheon knows what sort of mess to us.”

Natalie stuck Yakov with an imperious glare. The type she’d learned from her mother, the type reserved for customers trying to sneak free drinks. “Did you lose anyone in the Breach Yakov?”

Slightly taken aback, Yakov half-muttered. “My brother, he was by the north gate when the Troll broke through.”

Natalie digested that and asked, “The one the knights destroyed?”

Yakov nodded and started to speak. Natalie cut him off. “I saw that thing in the burn pit. All that rotten flesh, it had to be the size of two draft horses, a terrible sight, like everything else that night. But the Knights destroyed it, making sure it couldn’t hurt anyone again. That isn’t the case with all of those monsters. Some escaped. Like this one here.”

Natalie held up the burnt skull. Yakov glanced at the mottled bone and shivered. She made sure all the guards could see the grisly trophy as she spoke. “This thing killed some of our friends and neighbors, and Cole destroyed it. He burned the monster to death and made sure it couldn’t ever hurt anyone again. Cole told the Nobles he intended to do, and didn’t stop him. Now he’s returned from a hunt to make sure these bones are laid to rest.”

Looking around at the guards. Natalie saw a mix of fear, nervousness, and doubt in their eyes. While not ideal, she could work with those emotions. “Cole did his duty as a Rest-Bringer, avenging one of our fallen neighbors at the behest of another. He did so with the consent and permission of the Gods, the Nobles, and us common folks. Cole has a mandate to do what he’s doing, are you sure you want to get in the way of that?”

Those words got a stir out of the assembled guards. They slowly started to part, some of them mumbling apologies and Yakov saying he’d check in with his superiors. With the path clear, Natalie turned back to Cole, a cocky grin on her face. The bemused Paladin returned it with a deferential nod. She was certainly living up to her end of the agreement.

Cole and Natalie walked through the empty streets of Glockmire; her little performance with the guards had cleared the streets better than an oncoming storm, leaving the pair to head to the Temple in privacy. As they did, Natalie gladly returned the Dwarf skull to Cole, and the large Paladin asked. “You talked with Yakov about a Troll. Was that what breached the gates?”

Natalie shook her head in affirmative but then paused and elaborated. “No one knew exactly what it was. All I really know is that it was strong enough to batter down the front gate before the Lord’s Knights could kill it. One of the Priests said it was an Undead Troll, and that stuck, but others claimed it was a Rawhead, and crazy old Mertal said it was a miscarried Giant brought back from the dead.”

Cole took that in. “It was probably an Undead Troll from what you describe. Another rare and dangerous form of Undead, but at least this one’s already destroyed.” He paused for a moment and decided to confirm what he hoped was true. “They burned it, right? They burned the Troll’s corpse.”

“Of course, it's what we did with all the Undead.” replied Natalie, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with Trolls anyway? Burn the body, so they don’t heal from whatever killed them?”

“Yes,” replied Cole, “Nasty things, Trolls. They heal from virtually any wound and are unpredictable at the best of times. Killing them requires excessive force, usually enough to render the body useless for Necromancy. But if by some stroke of ill fortune they are successfully raised from the dead… Well the resulting Ghoul would require an absurd amount of effort to destroy, like burning it to ash for example.”

Natalie listened and mused, “Can a Ghoul Troll exist naturally?”

“Almost certainly not. The number of factors involved makes such a coincidence thankfully unlikely,” replied Cole. As his own thoughts turned to the burn pits Natalie mentioned. There would probably be nothing there, but it might be worth a check.

Natalie wasn’t done with this topic however and asked, “Then the Feeder made the Ghoul Troll and perhaps some of the other Undead involved in this whole mess. Doing more than just dominating ones he finds, but creating servants,”

Those words pulled Cole from his own thoughts and brought a curse to his lips. “Jag! You’re right. I hadn’t even considered that.”

Cole felt foolish for not taking that possibility into account.

“This changes things slightly for both the better and the worse. There is potentially far more Undead to worry about, but raising them up isn’t easy or simple. It will leave evidence I can track to figure out who is responsible.”

Beaming with pride, Natalie felt a surge of confidence at Cole’s words.

“How many of these powerful Undead do you think the Feeder has under his control?” asked Natalie. “If he’s raising some of them, shouldn’t that reduce the ultimate number? Since it would take more time and power.”

Cole shrugged at that, seeming uncertain. “Remember when I told you the main cost with Undead isn’t raising them but keeping them under control? Well, that still applies, perhaps even more so here. Really skilled Necromancers can do things during the ritual to make the Risen Undead much easier to control. Minimizing the cost of their focus and power, in exchange for more ritual work. Meaning the number could be theoretically larger than the ten I was expecting. With as many as fifteen to twenty all together.” finished Cole.

His words got a nervous gulp from Natalie. Dealing with the Walking Charnel had been harrowing… the idea of finding and destroying another dozen or so nightmarish Undead made Natalie feel a little sick.

Cole noticed her worried expression and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. An act of affection he could have scarily imagined himself doing even a day before. Slightly surprised at his own action, Cole spoke what he hoped were reassuring words. “There were four Vryko-Ghouls. Meaning, with the Charnel destroyed, a quarter or more of the Feeders minions are gone. This fight is not unwinnable.”

Cole’s words had the intended effect, Natalie relaxed slightly and spoke “Thank you. We’re almost at the Temple. What’s the plan?”

Smiling slightly Cole answered, “I’ll give Buri’s skull to the Priest of Master Time. Then we get to work looking for the rest of the Undead. I’ll need your help finding places the townsfolk consider cursed or foul. Locations like that often get reputations due to Undeath’s miasma polluting the Aether. They’ll be where I can find the Undead or possibly ritual sites.”

These tasks were something Natalie could do. Gathering up the information Cole needed and mapping it out would be easy. She’d lived in a Tavern her entire life, if there was one thing Natalie knew how to find, it was gossip. Just off the top of her mind, she could think of two locations Shepherds talked about. Places the flocks avoided and were stupid sheep disappeared.

The Temple soon loomed overhead, and the duo approached their destination. Natalie pushed the sturdy wooden doors open. Leading Cole into the Temple gallery. He trailed after her, trying to show a modicum more respect than Natalie had. While he understood that her being a resident of Glockmire granted her certain levels of flippant familiarity. A decade of dealing with Temples and Priests had taught Cole to err on the side of politeness. Being midday during the middle of the week, the Temple was empty except for two people standing at the far end of the main gallery. Priest Matthias and a matronly woman engaging him in a fierce argument.

“Master Time called me to aid him! I can’t jagging refuse, can I Trude?” spat Matthias, his reedy voice reaching a nasal pitch of anger.

The woman, dressed in beautifully tailored robes of orange and black, had an irate expression on her face as she spoke. The large silver hammer medallion around her neck told Cole she was a Priestess of Uncle Maker. The Priestess pointed a gnarled finger at Matthias with an accusatory air. “You had a few strange dreams, Matthias! You are weighing that against your life and that of every other person in this town. The Nobles barely tolerate us as-is, aiding a Rest Bringer will bring their wrath down upon us!”

The wiry middle-aged Priest stared down his counterpart and snarled. “My God gave me a message and a duty to fulfill. He nor the rest of the Pantheon would send us to our deaths pointlessly. We will weather whatever storm this brings to us, the Gods and our own mettle will see to that. I have faith in that fact, Trude, something you seem to be lacking!”

The Priestess, Trude, Cole, assumed, looked like she’d been slapped. To Cole’s surprise, her robes changed color to match her expression. Shifting from orange to white, then back to orange, before settling on a bloody red. Offended shock was replaced by hot-headed anger, and the Priestess looked ready to bite Matthias’s head off, figuratively or literally.

Natalie coughed loudly, grabbing both Priests' attention. Trying not to show any nervousness at interrupting two of the most respected community member’s argument. Natalie said. “Priest Matthias, Priestess Trude. I’m sorry to bother you, but Cole here needs the Temple’s aid.”

Priestess Trude caught Natalie in a paralyzing gaze. Her face conveyed her thoughts perfectly to Natalie, even though the Priestess hadn’t said a word. ‘I’m disappointed you’ve gotten involved in this. I care for you as a Priest, neighbor, and fellow artist, and I cannot understand how you could be so foolish?’

Natalie did her best not to wither under Trude's stare. The fierce matriarch was the town’s Priestess of Uncle Maker and the best weaver in Glockmire. Something helped by her own magical savantism. Few people in the town demanded and earned respect like Trude did. Previously the two women had a good relationship, Trude offering Natalie advice on her art and other matters. Now, Natalie wondered if that bridge had been burned.

Cole saw this exchange and only grasped the surface level of it. Such social nuances had never been his talent, and he’d long learned to accept the deeper levels of communication some women seemed naturally capable of. A talent more than one Magi had unsuccessfully tried to prove was a form of minor telepathy. Seeing no better option, Cole leaped into the tension and hoped to draw the Priestess ire away from Natalie.

“I apologize for interrupting your… conversation. And I am sorry for intruding on your town. I mean no harm, and I hope to do some good while I am here.” Cole reached into his pack as he spoke, gripping the Dwarf skull. “I also must agree with Priest Matthias. Our God's attention has been drawn here, and not without good reason.” with those words, he pulled the burnt skull free and showed it to the Priests.

“This is what is left of the Undead that killed one of your Temples Acolytes three years ago. It was still out there, capable of killing more people. This Undead was not alone in that regard. Many of the horrors from three years ago are still loose. I intend to fix that, at my God’s command”

Trude had recoiled slightly from the sight of the skull, but Matthias only raised a quizzical eyebrow, then asked, “I assume you brought that here for me to consecrate and inter?”

Cole nodded and handed the skull to the Priest. Matthias pulled a handkerchief from the pockets of his robes and gently took the skull in cloth-wrapped hands. It was a moment of quiet reverence and understanding between the two servants of Master Time, both understood the respect such remains deserved.

“The soul has long been freed, and the family has no desire to claim the skull. I trust you will see it laid to rest?” spoke Cole as Matthias tucked the Skull away.

Nodding, the Priest spoke with a slight uncertainty in his voice. “I still wish you’d not come to Glockmire, but you’ve proven your point Rest-Bringer. You do your duty, and I will do mine.”

It seemed the Priest was still resistant to the idea of helping Cole in any major way. However, he also seemed unwilling to fully remove himself from matter. Matthias wouldn’t take a step forward like Natalie had, but he also wouldn’t take a step back like his community demanded. Not a small feat of bravery and Cole had to acknowledge the haggard priests' efforts.

Trude turned her glare upon Cole. The sharp eyes of a talented craftswoman appraising him like so much wool and cotton. Cole suddenly felt slightly self-conscious of his appearance. His clothes were either dirty or nearly destroyed. While bandages and smears of ash still covered his face. After a few seconds of appraisal, she stuck out her hand and spoke in a curt authoritative tone.

“I am Loom-Matron Trude Dalca. Your apology is acknowledged and accepted. Just as Matthais says, we of the Temple have no desire for you to be here. But if it is the Pantheon’s will, there is little I can do to countermand that.”

Then, with unexpected strength, she pulled Cole towards her. Calloused fingers and an iron grip trapped his larger hand as she half-whispered in his ear. “But if I have any reason to believe you mean this town or its people harm, I will cut you like an errant thread.”

Cautiously, Cole nodded in understanding, and Turde released him. “Now, Rest-Bringer, follow me. The idea of a divine servant running about in rags is an affront to both the Gods and your peers.”

Cole looked to Natalie for an explanation or assistance. She just shrugged and said. “I will be at the Silly Goat. I’ll see you when you’re done.” Natalie purposely ignored the confused and pleading look on Cole’s face. He could handle himself, and Trude was right. He was in need of new clothes and it would be a good opportunity to check in with her father.

Seeing no other option, Cole followed the stern Priestess down a side passage into a small tailoring workshop. A serpentine shape flew through the air and into Trude’s waiting hands as they entered. Cole stepped back in surprise, reaching down to his axe before realizing the brown length was a measuring rope with different colored bands at intermittent lengths; the rope was a common tool of tailors, which still didn’t explain how Trude had summoned it to her.

Turning to the startled Cole, Trude saw his hand on the axe. She tutted slightly and, with a gesture, sent the rope flying towards Cole. He braced for impact, but all it did was bring itself up to his shoulder span, change color where it touched each arm, and returned to Trude. She examined the rope and explained. “You are a big one, aren’t you? I hope I have enough fabric to cover your bulk. Estimating such things is not my strong suit. Weaving is my preferred craft, but I am a capable tailor.”

Trude jotted down the measurements of the rope on a scrap of paper. Then with a gesture, she got the cord to continue its dance around Cole, measuring his body and delivering the results to her. Trying to break the uncomfortable silence and trying not to flinch every time the rope sped past, Cole asked. “Is it enchanted? Or is this some boon from Uncle Maker?”

“Neither,” remarked Trude, not turning to face Cole. “I am a Savant. My talents lend themselves to thread and fabric.”

‘That explains it.’ Thought Cole. Savants were rare people born with an innate magical gift for one particular type of magic. They came in as many varieties as there are spells to cast. Which in Trude’s case appeared to be thread magic. A curious art that wove magical energy and strings together in a unique way. Additionally Trude’s savantism might not be the limit to her talent; many skilled Spellweavers started as Savants, using that innate talent as a stepping stone to greater things.

“A considerable talent, I can see you put it to good use,” remarked Cole as he glanced around the workshop. Several unfinished but still beautiful rugs and tapestries took up large parts of the chamber’s walls. Trude grunted in response and pulled a sheath of black cloth from a drawer, and started making marks on it. After perhaps two minutes of silence, Cole decided more thick-headed bluntness was required. “Why are you doing this, Loom-Matron.”

Trude kept working, and Cole thought she would ignore his question, but after a few seconds, she exhaled and answered. “To keep my conscience clear.”

A pair of scissors tied with thick string floated over to Trude, and so did a sewing kit with similar adornments as she said “I think you are going to get yourself killed and probably drag poor Natalie down with you. But that girl is stubborn, and I know nothing I’ll say will dissuade her from this course. So I’m going to do what any good tailor would do and give you a good set of clothes to die in.”

Digesting that, Cole answered plainly. “You’re right; I will probably die. But I’ll do everything in my not insignificant power to make sure Natalie does not.”

Turning to him, Trude eyed the large man standing awkwardly in her domain and asked. “You care for her that much?”

Cole got the message, the unspoken question of his interest in the beautiful young woman, woven together with the spoken question like a strong rope. “I don’t know if I want what she does, but I do care for her. But even if I didn’t, I’d still stand between her and the dangers I face, that is my duty and purpose.”

Trude's hard brown eyes met Cole’s pale blue and neither broke the contact. Cole could tell the woman was trying to get the measure of him. It didn’t take long for Trude to let out a pained-sounding exhale and said. “I understand. The Gods don’t give anyone a set purpose, but they do help those who find one. I found mine making my home a more beautiful place. Somewhere where the winter’s chill is muted by good fabric, and the dreariness of life is lightened by spun artistry.”

Returning to her work, Trude begrudgingly admitted. “I cannot blame anyone who follows their purpose. People lucky enough to find their place in the world shouldn’t throw that away. So I’ll make you a good cloak and hope it hides you and Natalie from the darkness around us. Return to me tomorrow. I should have it done by then.”

Cole took that as his sign to leave and moved towards the door. Trude called after him in a strangely hollow voice. “And Restbringer, if you harm Natalie or anyone else in this town. I’ll strangle you to death with your own Jagging clothes.”

That actually brought a smile to Cole's lips. It wouldn’t be the first time someone threatened to kill him, and it was refreshing to have it be for an actually righteous reason. “I’ll hold you to that promise Loom-Matron Trude. Thank you for the cloak,”

Leaving the workshop, Cole returned to the main sanctuary of the temple. Finding himself in the small alcove dedicated to Master Time. The sad flowers were the same, and so was the austere hourglass, but someone had put a handful of coins at the altar’s base. He couldn’t know for sure, but Cole guessed they were the offering Filip had made to avenge his sister. The boy had delivered it before Cole had even returned with proof of the deed. An act of faith, it seemed.

The Gods weren’t sadists who demanded their followers prove their devotion through constant leaps of faith and self-destructive acts of reverence. They did, however, ask for their worshippers' trust. With little acts like Filips being exactly what they wished for.

To most people, the whims and wills of the Pantheon were unknowable things, interpreted by Priests and shrouded with mystery. A natural product of the separation the Gates provided to the world. The Gods’ voices were muffled, a price the world paid to be protected from Demons and worse. The few exceptions to this rule are the most devout and powerful servants of the Gods. As a Paladin, Cole counted in that number, and he had a pretty good idea of what Master Time wanted. With the cold feeling in his core pushing him ever towards his goal and the rare whisper in dreams to help guide him.

Leaving the altar, Cole set out to the Silly Goat. Trying his best to understand but also ignore where that internal chill was guiding him. The gentle icy thrum inside his soul pointed him in one direction, towards the Castle and whatever horrors he might find there. In another time or place, Cole might have simply broken into the Castle and done his damnedest to kill its Vampire occupants before the Sun went down.

Now he had more than his own tattered skin to worry about. In most anywhere else in the world, you were hailed as a hero if you killed the Vampire terrorizing a town. In the Blood Duchies, you instantly became a wanted criminal and danger to those around you. So he'd have to try and play this smart, something easier said than done when dealing with centuries-old paranoid monsters.

It didn’t take Natalie long to make her way back to the Silly Goat. She’d taken this path probably a hundred times before. Except this time, she wasn’t accompanied by her family or friends. In fact, nobody even got close to her on the streets as she headed home. No one did anything as dramatic as crossing the street to escape her, but Natalie could tell she was being avoided. The people of her home considered her a threat now. Someone who might bring monsters and mayhem down on them all, something she needed to fix as soon as possible.

The Silly Goat was nearly empty, something not unusual for this time of day. Only Barnabas and her Father were inside, sitting on opposite sides of the bar, engaging in tense conversation. They both looked up to see her come in, and Wilhelm quickly rushed over to hug Natalie.

The surprising force of the bear hug forced a squeak from Natalie. After almost crushing her in his arms, Wilhelm pulled away and looked over her daughter. The grime of travel, roughing it in the wilderness, and multiple near-death experiences clung to Natalie. Taking in her disheveled appearance and the slight limp she moved with, Wilhelm asked. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Natalie smiled sheepishly, “I bruised my ankle a bit, but other than that, I’m okay. Cole got the worst of it. But hey, a monster’s dead!”

Giving his daughter another nervous look-over, Wilhelm let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Alright, come sit down, get off your feet for a bit.”

Natalie obliged, sitting next to Barnabas, who had an analytical look on his face. Like he was trying to piece out some puzzle only he could see. Wilhelm meanwhile bustled about, getting a bowl of warm soup for his returned daughter. Natalie took the bowl with murmured thanks and eagerly dug into the mushroom soup. It had only been a bit over twenty-four hours, but she’d really started to miss warm food. After letting her have a few mouthfuls, Barnabas asked, “So what happened?”

Putting down her spoon, Natalie looked at the two men and explained the past day's events. She skipped some details about Cole, things she guessed he wanted private and didn’t mention anything related to her and Cole’s broader plans. It felt strange not telling the two men everything. Sure, she’d been “creative” with the truth before, but never on anything this important. It's one thing to lie about respecting curfew, it's another to leave out your involvement with a Paladin’s holy mission to save your town from Undead horrors. Still, Natalie lied easily enough, she needed to protect them, and right now, sharing everything would only make the situation worse. Wincing internally, Natalie noted she was getting better at handling corpses, death, and lying to people. Cole’s presence in her life had a definite effect outside the obvious.

Barnabas and Wilhelm listened intently and sat in silence when Natalie finished. Barnabas broke the silence by letting out a quiet but steady stream of curses. Some of which Natalie didn’t even recognize. Eventually, the old merchant slumped against the bar and voiced his opinion.

“You are way in over your head, kid. All of this is going to get you hurt, and I’m terrified to see that happen.”

Natalie didn’t know how to respond to that and let those words hang in the air. Wilhelm broke the silence instead, his voice unsure. “He’s right, Natty, but it seems to me you’re also doing good. I…well, you know my feelings on this. I don’t want to see you suffer, but I know you well enough that nothing I say will stop you from taking this path.”

Wincing slightly at both their words, Natalie ate more of her soup and decided if she was going to be having a painful conversation, she might as well make it worse. “Dad, have you told Barnabas about my plans?”

It was Wilhelms turn to wince. “No… I was looking for the right opportunity.”

Barnabas looked between the two, trying to decipher their meaning, but Natalie spared him the effort. “I’m planning on leaving Glockmire this coming Spring. I’d like your advice on where to go and how to travel there.”

Surprisingly Natalie’s words actually seemed to calm Barnabas. He considered the news and visibly untensed before speaking. “I couldn’t understand why a girl as clever as you would be getting involved in something so dangerous. But now it makes sense. You're trying to do some good now since you’ve got a way out. You might step on some toes, but if that happens, then you have an escape plan.”

While Natalie wouldn’t have put it in those words, Barnabas was right in what she planned. Looking between the two men, Natalie asked again. “So, will you help me?”

Barnabas snorted in derision. “When have I ever not? Let me get some maps and notes from my office, and we will get to-”

The Silly Goat’s door opened. All three people turned to face the newcomer. Natalie felt a smile grow on her lips as she turned, expecting Cole, escaped from Trude’s clutches. The smile died as instead of Cole, a well-dressed stranger stood in the doorway. She’d never seen the short little man who’d enter the tavern, but Natalie recognized his clothes. The carefully tailored but austere black uniform of a Dayman. Those mortals tasked as servants and intermediaries of the Nobility. Pale skinned, squinting from the sunlight and generally sickly looking, the older man examined the Silly Goat with a slightly dismissive air.

“May I help you, sir?” asked Wilhelm, his nervousness buried under years of hospitality training. The Dayman's lightly-glazed-looking eyes flicked onto Wilhelm, and after a moment, the strange old man spoke.

“Ah yes, I am here to speak with a… Ms. Natalie Striga.” Tension filled the room, and after a moment, the Dayman continued. “I am Chamberlain Simon, servant of Lord Glockmire. And I have some questions for Ms. Striga. Nothing too serious, just some clarification over recent events.”

Shakely, Natalie stepped forward and cleared her throat. “I’m Natalie. What questions do you have?”

Simon looked her over, his eyes lingering on Natalie’s body for just a second too long. There was something distinctly predatory to his gaze. More than the lecherous glances Natalie had long learned to deal with from drunk bar patrons. It sent a shiver down her spine, but Natalie held her head high, refusing to show any fear. It had taken her approximately ten seconds to understand this man was a predator of some kind. Showing weakness of any kind would be extremely dangerous.

“Ah good,” said Simon, his eyes still glued on Natalie with unnerving intensity. He didn’t seem to blink as much as he should have, and that odd glazed-over stare never wavered. “If you follow me, I can have my answers, and this can be over with quickly.

Wilhelm stepped forward, wanting to protect his daughter. Natalie shot him a look, and he paused. Returning the Dayman’s stare, Natalie responded. “I don’t have the time to go to the Castle, but there are several empty rooms here we can speak in.”

Nodding slowly, Simon acquiesced. “Of course, please lead the way.”

Natalie motioned for him to follow her as she took to the stairway. She gave both Wilhelm and Barnabas covert glances that she hoped conveyed, ‘I can handle this, but don’t leave the building, please.’

As they walked, Natalie could feel those same leering eyes on her back. Her neckhairs stood up, and absently Natalie reached for her barrette. Playing with the memento her mother had given her and taking comfort in the hidden blade concealed inside.

She took the unnerving Dayman into the same small room Cole had talked with Filip in. The inversion between that interaction and this one was not lost on Natalie. They sat down at the table, Natalie still fidgeting with her hairpin. An act that caught Simon's attention, apparently.

“That's an interesting ornament, what's it supposed to be?” The question caught Natalie slightly off guard, but she quickly recovered.

“A bird of some kind, it was a gift from my Mother. But I doubt that’s the type of question you came here to ask Master Simon.”

Simon tipped his head in agreement. “That is true. I’m not here to make small talk but ask about your involvement with the Rest-Bringer known as Cole.”

Natalie had been expecting this and gestured for Simon to start his questions and he obliged. “What can you tell me about this man? My sources claim he’s a large fellow with an impressive collection of scars. But having a better understanding of him would be useful. Which leads me to you, Ms. Striga.”

“Well, you have the description right; he’s also got blue eyes, and what little hair he’s got is blond. But I bet your sources could tell you that. So what exactly do you want to know?“ Natalie was towing a dangerous line here. She didn’t want to betray Cole’s trust nor get caught in a lie. So finding out exactly what Simon was after would give her an idea of what to say and how to say it.

“Our main concern is his faith, Ms. Striga,” said Simon. “Rest-Bringers tend to be… problematic in our part of the world. Having him stir up hysteria in the citizens is not acceptable. So knowledge of his faith and how he plans to express that is crucial. It could very well determine how the Lord reacts to his presence in his town.”

That question was easy enough to answer for Natalie. “He’s a true believer. Following his ordained calling the best he can.” Simon shifted at those words and looked like he was about to speak. Natalie didn’t let him. “But he’s also pragmatic in a lot of ways. The Blood Duchies and the Lord disquiet him, but he’s not foolish enough to challenge the status quo. He seems to understand doing such a bold act would lead to nothing good. So he’s finding other ways to follow Master Time’s will without stepping on anybody's toes.”

“Interesting,” remarked Simon. His eyes were still fixed on Natalie.

‘Does he ever blink?’ thought Natalie as Simon asked: “So hunting down the vermin who escaped after the regrettable incident three years ago is his compromise?”

“Yes, he’s working to clear out the ‘lesser undead’ as he calls them from the area,” answered Natalie. Hoping her use of the terminology Cole taught her might give her account some credence. “He told me he’s trying to make sure something like the Breach won’t happen again and that we won’t be in danger from those things hiding out in the wilds.”

Simon seemed to take that answer well and brought up his next question. “That seems acceptable, but why are you helping him? By all accounts, you are a respected young member of the…community. So why involve yourself in a potentially dangerous outsider like this Rest-Bringer. Doesn’t that seem rather foolish?”

Natalie bristled slightly at the condescending tone, but she stayed in control. She knew what she had to do next, but the idea rankled her. The best way to sell a lie is to base it on truth, especially if that truth is powerful in its own right. “My Mother was killed in the Breach. By a monster that escaped the Knights. I’m helping him so Cole can track down and kill the thing.”

Slowly, Simon got to his feet, reached out his hand to shake hers, and spoke. “Your aid in this has been most useful, Ms. Striga. And might I offer you some advice before I go?”

Natalie nodded curtly and rose to shake Simon's hand. A pained gasp escaped Natalie as the old man’s grip crushed her hand in a cold, clammy vice. She tried to pull away to no avail and found herself staring into the unnerving Dayman’s glassy blue eyes as he spoke. “Have more respect for your betters, and stay away from this situation. It will not end well for anyone involved. Especially a pretty young woman with bad manners.”

He broke his grip and left the room as if nothing abnormal had happened. Natalie looked down at her shaking hand. Tender red swelling was already forming where Simon nearly crushed her fingers. A suppressed shudder finally made its way through Natalie, and she leaned against the nearest wall. After a few moments, she reached up and pulled her hair-clip free. She looked down at the little ornament and clasped it to her chest. Feeling the cold silver in her hands and taking comfort in its presence. Natalie’s long black hair flowed around her face, unbound and free to cover her in a dark curtain.

Taking a moment to refocus herself after such an unnerving experience, Natalie looked down at the small bird-shaped hair clip and exposed its silver blade. Smoothly polished and still razor-sharp, the flat side of the blade reflected Natalie’s face back to her. The slight welling of tears was apparent in her eyes, and the face she saw reminded her of a scared little girl. Seeing that brought a jolt of anger and self-recrimination to Natalie. Turning her focus back to the blade’s edge, Natalie made a promise to herself. If anyone put her in a situation like that again, Dayman, Noble, Stranger, anyone. She’d ram her knife into their face.

Folding the small blade back into its hiding spot, Natalie bound up her hair. Holding her head high, Natalie went downstairs, letting controlled anger wash away the fear and humiliation she felt. That goatworrier Simon had made a very big mistake in trying to intimidate her. Natalie did not respond well to threats and found herself doubly committed to this half-mad cause she’d gotten involved with. With her help, Cole would bring down the Feeder. And if she got a say in it, as many of the Nobles and their servants as possible.