Chapter 3: Chapter 3- Coincidence is their domain

Chapter 3- Coincidence is their domain

“Longevity and power are often mistaken for Immortality. True Immortality is exceedingly rare and almost exclusive to the Gods. They hold a monopoly over eternity and guard it jealousy” - Attributed to the Archmagi Ciaran the Ancient, shortly before his death at the age of Seven hundred and Seven.

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It had been three days since Cole had left Glockmire. The first night she had stayed up late, hoping the scarred man would wander back into the Silly Goat. The first day Natalie spent considerable energy trying to keep the strange pilgrim out of her mind, trying not to let the vivid imagination that helped her artistry summon up images of Cole being torn apart like her Mother. On the second day, Natalie found herself compulsively checking the third room on the right. Making sure it was locked and the skull hidden within it stayed secret. By the third day, with no sign of Cole, Natalie and Wilhelm discussed what to do with their probably dead guest’s belongings. Wilhelm decided they would wait for as many days as Cole had paid and donate anything found in the room to the local Temple.

Natalie agreed, but internally she fretted on what to do with the bloody skull! It was an illegal artifact, contraband, and a desecrated corpse all in one! There was no simple solution to this problem. A dozen different plans, all with various levels of risk and possible complications, filled her mind for most of the third day. It was Freeday, the fifth day of the week, marking the start of the weekend. A busy time in the Silly Goat , and Natalie was distracted, making simple mistakes. Only years of experience kept her from making huge errors. As for the small ones, familiarity with her customers afforded her much grace.

Eventually, after hours of exhausting work and worrying intrusive thoughts, the last few raucous customers were gently but firmly shooed from its tables and the tavern shut for the night. Wilhelm had noticed something was wrong with his daughter and stayed up later than usual to help her clean up. The privacy of the empty bar provided a place to ask questions that had been gnawing on Wilhelm for years now.

“Natalie, what do you want to do with your life?” It was such a simple question, but it had taken his daughter’s recent distance to force Wilhelm to ask. With his wife dead and his daughter, a young woman, Wilhelm faced some uncomfortable truths. She should have her own life and decide her future. It was fine if she wanted to take on the Silly Goat and live her life like Wilhelm and his ancestors had. But if she wanted something else, Wilhelm could not deny her that, even if it left him alone.

Natalie paused at the question and cocked her head. Slowly she responded with a slight uncertainty to her voice: “What do you mean by that father?”

Wilhelm sighed and tried to provide clarity: “You are twenty now, an adult with her whole life ahead of her. Natalie, you are intelligent, resourceful, strong-willed, and beautiful. If you desire it, a future beyond running an inn in a small mountain town could be yours.”

Wilhelm realized he had been polishing the same mug for a solid five minutes; putting it down with a noise of exasperation, he continued talking. “The last few days, you’ve seemed off, and it has me concerned.” Wilhelm let out a long, slow, steadying breath. “When….when your Mother died, our lives were thrown into chaos. Any plans I had for the future crumbled, and your last few years of adolescence are soaked in grief.”

“I’ve been putting off this conversation, I didn’t want any more change, but your mother would never forgive me if I weren’t honest with you.”

Natalie was taken aback; she’d been so wrapped up in her mind it had not occurred to her that her Father might be taking her remoteness as some sort of worrying sign. The strange attention of a powerful being, the mystery of Cole, not to mention the horrible mess with Felix, had kept her preoccupied.

Natalie slowly repeated her Father’s original question, “What do I want to do with my life? Dad, I honestly haven’t thought about it. Mom’s death often overwhelms me, but I - don’t understand what you are asking.” Natalie felt annoyed at her own confusion; Barnabas always joked the only thing sharper than her tongue was her wits. To be befuddled and beset by worries struck a very sour cord in her.

Wilhelm stopped the half-hearted cleaning he was doing and stared Natalie in the eyes. There she saw a tiredness she’d somehow missed. Grief, guilt, and pain wore away at her Father like a glacier carving through stone. It pained Natalie to see the cheerful, kind man who raised her with such an expression. Had she been so wrapped up in her own pain to not notice this? Had her Father hidden it from her, or only just realized how much pain he was in himself?

“Natty, you have so many possibilities before you, and I feel I would be doing a disservice to you ... and your Mother if I didn’t help you find your path. I also know Glockmire is not the place for you to tap into your potential. This town is dark, with secrets and sorrows down to the marrow. There are places in the Blood Duchies where someone like you might shine brighter. Noct-Bucuros, for example, or even beyond our homeland.”

That earned more silence and confusion from Natalie. She had honestly not considered a life outside of Glockmire. Few people leave the relative safety and security of a town like Glockmire. Numerous settlements had experienced calamities like the one that killed Iona, that the town survived and rebuilt was unusual. Despite their hunger and dark ways, the Vampire Nobles provide protection that should not be taken for granted. Natalie knew she was lucky to be born into a loving family and had so many contented years with her parents, who gave her the tools to thrive. The stable life of an innkeeper was all she had known, and it provided much in the way of comfort and security.

Even more confusing was the idea of leaving the Blood Duchies; such emigration was rare and frowned upon. The aristocrats did not like the idea of their subjects (or livestock depending on how you looked at it) moving about easily. It took coin and connections to leave the Blood Duchies, things Natalie doubted her Father had in abundance. Then even if she were to leave, where too? The Holy League to the northwest was a collection of piecemeal kingdoms barely united by the Grand Temple and their mutual enemies. In the south, the Sultanate of Jannah was home to strange beliefs and practices she knew nothing about. Towards the northeast lay Gurik, the empire of Goblins and Witches, a place even darker and fouler than the Blood Duchies.

Wilhelm saw the wheels turning in his daughter’s mind and guessed at her thoughts. “Your Mother had a troubled past; I can’t tell you the details; I never pressed her on them. The circumstances that brought her to Glockmire were painful, and she feared them catching up to her. Iona, your Mother, was, however, prepared for that possibility. There is a provision, more than enough to bribe and buy our families away into another land.” With a heavy sigh, he continued, “I don’t have any use for it. Iona is buried here, and I intend to join her eventually. You, my darling Natty, could make great use of it.”

Tentatively Natalie asked, “What .. what do you mean … a provision? To that, Wilhelm simply smiled, got close to his daughter, and whispered in her ear. Upon hearing exactly what her Mother had hidden away for all those years, Natalie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Wilhelm gave a little smile, his daughter’s shock bringing up memories of when Iona had told him this particular secret. “I think you can guess where I keep it. Please think about what you want to do, but I need you to know something. No matter what, I will always love you, and there will be a place here at the Silly Goat for my darling Natty.”

At that, Natalie wrapped her arms around her Father and wept quietly. Day of stress and prolonged unresolved pain pouring out of her. They sat like that, Father and daughter, holding each other for maybe twenty minutes. Eventually, Natalie pulled away and whispered softly, “Thanks, Dad, for everything.”

Wilhelm felt a genuine smile, one untarnished by grief, spreading across his face. Giving his daughter a final hug, he responded, “And thank you, Natty, for growing into a person both your mother and I can be proud of .” He kissed her on the forehead before moving towards the staircase. Wilhelm yawned and said. “It’s getting late; I think it’s time for me to sleep, Natty. Please think about where your path could lead you, but don’t stay up too late; it has been a long day. Love to you, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Natalie nodded, sent her Father love, and wished him good night. She set to work on the final few chores of the day. A weight felt lifted from her, and she could almost forget the stress of the past few days. Thinking about all the possibilities raised by her Father was incredible. Even if she never pursued them, the option gave her a feeling of freedom she’d never experienced before. For the first time in a long time, Natalie thought about the future without the gnawing pain of grief.

Maybe half an hour later, Natalie was finishing drying the last pot. Humming a tune she’d picked up, God knows where. Stockings the cat, ideally watching, with the mercurial disinterest of all felines. It was a warm night, and Natalie had one of the windows open to help get the smell of stale beer and dirty people out of the Silly Goat . Staring at one of the carvings her Mother had made, a silly-looking bird perched atop a cabinet, Natalie suddenly felt terribly cold.

The deep bone-chilling cold that invaded her twice in the past week surged through her again. This time it was strong enough to force Natalie’s breath from her lungs. Shocked, she dropped the pot she had been drying, it crashed to the floor with a loud clang. Wisps of frozen breath exited her mouth, and Natalie almost collapsed. The crushing weight of that inscrutable presence pressing down on her. Natalie could not breathe, she could not think, she could only stare into the void that so casually peered into her. Then as quickly as it came, it left.

Whirling around in shock, Natalie saw Stocking’s tail disappear out the window through the corner of her eye. The cat, startled by the falling pot, did what cats do, fleeing to safer parts. Returning to herself, Natalie swore at Stockings in five languages, a skill Barnabas had been happy to teach her. Natalie shut the window and prepared to find a runaway cat. As she grabbed her coat and a lantern, Natalie promised herself she’d talk to someone tomorrow about these episodes.

Before she left the inn, Natalie pocketed her carving knife; caution is something you can never have an overabundance of. It was probably the last decently warm night of the season, and a gentle breeze came down off the mountains. At another time and another place, it would be pleasant to take an evening stroll. But here, in Zaubervold, the night being both terrible and beautiful, is something to be admired from behind a threshold.

The logical thing to do would be to just leave Stockings to her fate and hope the cat was smart enough to survive whatever dangers lurked after dusk. But Natalie and her Mother had adopted the cat as a kitten when Nat was eight years old. With everything her Father had said that night and Natalie’s own grief returning, she refused to lose the cat.

First, Natalie checked around the Silly Goat by circling the inn’s exterior. When Natalie got back to the front door, she saw her familiar striped feline frozen in a pre-stalking stance facing due north, not three meters from the entrance. At Natalie’s appearance, the cat startled and looked at her, the light of the lantern reflecting in Stocking’s eyes. As Natalie moved to fetch the cat, much to her extreme annoyance, Stockings turned and strode away. She didn’t flee into the dark but slipt maybe another two meters away from the inn.

Incensed at this, Natalie followed after the cat. Every time she got even relatively close, the bloody furball would scamper out of reach. Grinding her teeth at the cat’s audacity, Natalie continued her pursuit. This was not like Stockings; the cat was usually even-tempered and cooperative, at least by feline standards. She’d never hurt Stockings, but right now, trudging through dark streets at eleven at night brought forth some spiteful thoughts, and Natalie fully planned to grab her cat by the scruff and toss it down in the pantry for a few nights.

Stockings movements suddenly changed; she became tense and moved along the cobblestones as if she were stalking some invisible prey. Till now, the clouds had obscured the Moon, hiding the silver glow of a waxing gibbous. The clouds parted, and clean moonlight fell down on the street, showing Natalie exactly where the cat was leading her. She was not far from the town’s north gate. Natalie followed her stalking cat as it approached the gate; when Stockings froze in an ambush stance, Natalie’s eyes caught sight of something that almost stilled her heart. The gate door was left ajar.

Cold ugly fear ripped its way up out of Natalie’s gut, and terrible memories of her Mother’s death came with it. Without thinking, Natalie rushed forward, ready to raise the alarm and secure the gate. To her consternation, Stocking pounced through the gate door. Natalie cursed the cat with some particularly foul Dwarvish oaths Barnabas had taught her when she was twelve. Rushing up to the gate, she peered through the ajar door, hoping to scoop up Stockings and then find the gate guard. Before her eyes could focus, a deep groan issued from beyond the gate. She froze instantly, expecting a shambling corpse to reach out from the gap and grab her. The smell of blood hit her nose, and she almost recoiled on sheer instinct. Then her eyes adjusted, and what she saw laying crumpled on the ground stopped her. The scarred behemoth was slumped just outside the gate door, covered in fresh and drying blood. His cloak was tattered and pale moonlight illuminated his even paler face. Stockings was licking his hand, a pair of silver pieces clutched in red-stained fingers.

He was still breathing, which surprised Natalie, considering how much blood covered him. A small puddle of it, black in the moonlight, covered the ground around him. It seemed the pilgrim had found what he was looking for in the wilds and almost paid with his life. Natalie was no healer, but she knew Cole would die if he was left here. To her credit, it never occurred to Natalie to leave him. Now the question was how to get the large man back to the inn undetected.

The gate’s inner door hinges were well oiled and well made, making little sound when Natalie pushed it open enough to grab Cole by the heels of his boots. With all her strength, she pulled the hulking man through the threshold, his head thudding against the cobbles, eliciting a long groan; under different circumstances, Natalie would have felt bad, but there was no time to be nice about this. Panting with exertions, she Dragged him into the town proper. He was not yet literally dead weight but close enough to make the task arduous for the young woman. Natalie was by no means weak, tall for a woman, standing at 170 centimeters, and kept fit by a myriad of chores, but still dragging Cole back to the Silly Goat would be impossible without aid.

With Cole safely inside, she shut the gate. An easy enough task, but Natalie could do little more to secure the north gate with the simple deadbolt. The rest of the complex system of gears and locks required both specialized keys and an understanding of the mechanism. Natalie had no desire to leave the gate at anything but fully secure. Glancing around, she first noticed Stockings curled up next to Cole, then a shadow passed in front of the gatehouse window, and an idea struck her.

Leaving Cole under Stocking’s protection, Natalie slipt over to the gatehouse and peeked inside. Sure enough, a familiar form slumped over asleep in the rickety chair. Snoring loudly in an alcohol-induced Stuber, Jean the Gate Guard sat in total dereliction of duty. How the fat old drunk - kept his job was beyond Natalie’s understanding. Glancing around at the gatehouse, Natalie started piecing together the evening events. Years of working in an inn helped her deduce that the fool had fallen asleep shortly after the shift change and had not locked the gate. Even if that was not the whole story, it was damning enough for Jean to find himself in the Larder if this latest incompetence was discovered.

Natalie quietly opened the gatehouse door, went over, and shook Jean, rousing him from his drunken stupor. Watery, bloodshot eyes opened and stared up at her in confusion. Pressing the advantage, Natalie spoke. “Listen to me, Jean, it’s me, Natalie, Wilhelms daughter. You got drunk, passed out, and left the gate open.”

Confusion quickly turned to fear as understanding filtered into the man’s sodden mind. Jean opened his mouth to respond, but Natalie cut him off. “Luckily for you, I need a favor, and I’m willing to say nothing to anybody if you are willing to say nothing about the help you are about to render. Do you understand?”

Momentary wariness passed, and Jean nodded in agreement. Whatever Natalie asked of him could not be worse than what the Lord would do if he found out about this. Suddenly, Natalie grabbed his chin and looked him square in the eye, “And don’t you ever leave the gate unlocked again.” Natalie let go of him, and he nodded in agreement so vigorously that his double chins slapped together. With that, Natalie pulled Jean to his feet, and he followed her out of the gatehouse. She pointed at the collapsed form of Cole. “I need your help getting him back to the Silly Goat . He’s touched silver but is badly hurt.”

Upon seeing the blood-drenched giant who looked more monster than man, Jean decided he didn’t want to know what Natalie was up to. With the last of his drunken haze clearing his head, he stammered, “I … I think there’s an old hand cart next to the gatehouse; we can use it to move him. Let me lock up the gate first.”

Natalie nodded curtly and went to find the cart. It was stashed near the other side of the gatehouse. With two wheels and a wooden handle, the cart was little more than an oversized wheelbarrow. It would do the job and make hauling what had to be at least a hundred kilos of pilgrim possible. Natalie returned, pulling the cart behind her, praying nobody noticed or cared about the small racket it made being pulled over the gravel and cobblestones. Jean was by the gate, having finished locking it up, and was now poking Cole with a boot.

Glancing up at the approaching Natalie, Jean pointed at Cole and asked, “You sure he isn’t already dead?”

The fact that the guard asked that, not: “Who is this? Where did he come from? Why are you helping him?” Spoke volumes about Jean. The man had little in the way of faculties, and a lifetime of drinking had not enriched his mind. Natalie gritted her teeth and sighed. “Yes, he’s not dead yet; now help me get him in the cart.”

Shrugging at that, the portly guard helped the innkeeper’s daughter lift the scared pilgrim into the cart. Together they pushed and pulled the wooden transport through the empty streets. Stockings, the cat lead the way like some gallant knight at the head of a triumph. At that, Natalie could only roll her eyes and sigh. The cat had gotten her into this mess, but it was at least now cooperative.

It took them a few minutes, but they got the cart to the Silly Goat . Wheeling it behind the inn proper and towards the shed tucked against the building’s rear. Opening the shed, Natalie pulled her hopefully still-living cargo inside. The shed was used for storage and washing; it had water, privacy, and a small cot in one corner. Wilhelm, like his daughter, was not especially devout, but he followed the tenets of Earth Mother and guest rights. He would make sure even those who couldn’t pay had a place to sleep if they needed it. To which end, he kept the cot here in the shed.

With Jean’s help, Natalie got Cole onto the cot, grimacing at the stains he was sure to leave; thankfully, blood is relatively easy to clean. “Alright, Jean, so not a word to anybody, and don’t leave the gate open like a fool. I’ll keep my mouth shut as well, and we can go our separate ways. Does that sound agreeable to you?

Jean simply nodded, and trundled off with the cart. Unconcerned about what had happened and thankful he’d found a way to escape the consequences of his failings. Soon the rattling of the cart faded into the quiet sounds of the night, and Natalie was alone with Cole and her cat.

Chewing on her lip, Natalie stared down at the still unconscious pilgrim. She’d never considered herself a kind or compassionate person with a razor tongue and aloof air that had gotten her into and out of trouble on numerous occasions. Yet now, she had risked herself and put a great deal of effort into rescuing a stranger she didn’t even particularly like. Natalie pondered on her actions for a moment. Eventually, with a sigh, she decided to see this through. Barnabas had once explained to her something called the “Sunken Coin Curse” of how a merchant might continue a foolish choice simply because they had already put so much into their decision. Maybe that was what motivated her? Or was this some weird manifestation of grief? Hells, could she just be more caring than she’d ever given herself credit for?

It mattered little; Natalie was doing this, so she’d make sure to see it through. Gingerly she pulled away from the tattered cloak that had covered most of Cole. Blood dripped from the thoroughly ruined garment, and she dropped it on the floor. Stockings, who had decided to stay for the ordeal, sniffed it and then bizarrely sat down on a clean part of it; cats. In the candlelight, Natalie got her first proper look at what exactly happened to Cole; his clothes were ripped and covered in blood. Most of it was dried brown or fresh red, but there were spatters of tarry black. The horrible undead attack from three years ago had taught Natalie what color a walking corpse bled. Cole had fought some undead horror and survived, but barely.

Next, she pulled off the leather armor and shirt he wore. The numerous tears and rips made it easy. Cole’s pants and legs seemed in good condition, and that strange axe he carried was still fastened to his hip. Natalie had not noticed it earlier because it was so coated in black blood that it reflected no light. Grabbing a few clean cloths, a bucket, and a bottle of strong alcohol, Natalie got to work.

A copper pipe stuck out of one of the shed’s walls. The single stone wall, being the Silly Goat’s own back wall. Of all the wonders lost when the Old Empire fell, plumbing was thankfully not one of them. Quickly filling the bucket with cold water, she started washing away the mess of dried blood that covered Cole’s chest. The pilgrim did not stir as she doused him repeatedly in chilly mountain water, his breathing the only sign he still lived. With the majority of the blood washed away, Natalie got a clear look at Cole’s injuries.

Four large lacerations stretched across his gut, any deeper, and they might have disemboweled him. Upon his chest, left shoulder, and neck were a series of what had to be bites. Natalie could not guess what could possibly have made them, only marveling that they’d not gotten deep enough to hit a vein. Cole’s right arm was swollen and red like it had taken an incredible blow. The knuckles on that arm were skinned, and a ring of long tears circled the forearm.

Individually each of the injuries would be painful and unpleasant; together, they were debilitating and possibly lethal. It was honestly a miracle that Cole had not been killed in whatever fight he’d been in, let alone that he’d managed to drag his way back to Glockmire. Natalie decided if and when Cole woke up, he owed her some answers. It was the least he could do after saving his life and keeping his secrets. Taking a clean cloth, Natalie poured some of the most potent alcohol the Silly Goat had onto it. Honestly, she really had no clue what she was doing, trying to play at healer, but figured this was better than nothing.

Natalie got to work cleaning the myriad of wounds, even managing to slightly turn Cole to get the cuts and bruises on his back. Those were relatively minor, more like the result of falling or being knocked over than a fight. Cole still did not wake throughout this process, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain when Natalie touched a particularly deep wound. All of the injuries seemed literally skin-deep, painful but hopefully not life-threatening. With the last of the wounds cleaned, Natalie debated what to do next.

Sighing and staring down at the scarred and battered man before her, Natalie decided her best course of action would be to bandage him up and hope for the best. She had no confidence in her ability to stitch Cole’s injuries; it could not be as easy as mending cloth. Taking him to a healer at this hour without explanation would raise far too many questions. Helping Cole like this was already a considerable risk; Natalie just hoped the fact that Cole had been wounded outside of town would protect him from the Lord’s enchantments.

Natalie did not know precisely what spells were woven into Glockmire by the Lord, but she knew they could at least detect the violent spilling of blood. Something Felix had gotten to see first hand. The Lord’s Dayman, the mortal official, tasked with communicating the Lord’s will to his living subjects, claimed the spells were for the people’s protection. Ensuring their esteemed protectors were aware of any violence perpetrated within Glockmire. Dark mutterings only voiced on the brightest of days told a different story. How the spells existed to ensure the Nobles never missed an opportunity to stock their larder.

Natalie left the shed for a few moments, heading to the clothesline hanging nearby. Grabbing a clean but well-worn sheet, she got to work, cutting it up into strips to use as bandages. Upon returning to the shed, she paused for a moment and decided she’d done enough charity for one day. Cole would pay for the sheets. Rifling through his pockets, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the task, Natalie found a few copper coins and set them aside. She’d looked for the two silver coins Cole had been holding, but they were nowhere to be found. Anyway, the coppers would pay for new sheets and maybe some fresh linens for the cot. Hopefully, Cole’s blood would wash out; Natalie had doubts about removing the stains caused by undead ichor.

With Stockings still watching, curled up on Cole’s bloodstained cloak, Natalie continued her work. She’d helped bandage people up before. Bar fights at the Silly Goat were rare but not unheard of, and Natalie had learned from her Mother how to dress a wound in the wake of some of those more violent altercations. Tending to those not being dragged away by the Castle Guards while they waited for proper healers to arrive from the local Temple.

Trying to tie one bandage around Cole’s broad chest, Natalie found herself increasingly annoyed. Getting the fabric around the big lump was proving to be difficult and required her to basically hug him while trying to get the bandage underneath him. Grumbling to herself, she muttered as she worked. “Why couldn’t you bother to get yourself injured in a more convenient manner? Like maybe just an arm or a leg? So I don’t have to clamber over you like a fool.”

This close to Cole, Natalie tried not to feel incredibly awkward, it wasn’t like she had no experience with nearly naked men, but that had been different. The results of weeks of flirting and youthful passion erupting in entertaining ways. This was her trying to save a stranger’s life and not embarrass herself in the process. Natalie tried to focus on her work but couldn’t help but notice the strange lack of smell. Cole had been out in the wilderness for days and been badly injured. He should have stunk like a Troll; instead, all her nose caught was the spirits she’d use to clean his wounds. Finally, she got the stupid bandage around his chest and secured it. Looking down at her handiwork, Natalie felt reasonably confident in her actions.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, she slumped to the ground next to the cot. Finding a clean spot on the wooden floor to sit upon. Sensing her weariness, Stockings got up and came over to her, curling up with Natalie and attempting to provide some comfort. Slowly Natalie let herself lean back against one of the cabinets and relaxed slightly. The stress of that night and the last few days hit Natalie hard, and before she knew it, her eyes had shut, and sleep had taken her.

The crow of a rooster pulled Natalie from her rest and made her jump. Earning an indignant yowl from Stockings, who protested having her own sleep disturbed. Surprise and confusion flooded Natalie as she glanced around her surroundings, trying to figure out where she was. Memories of the previous night flooded back, and she quickly shot up to her feet. Muscles protested their treatment; sleeping on the floor, knees curled to her chest, had been anything but comfortable.

Only the faintest light peaked through the shed’s loose wooden panels. Dawn had just arrived and hadn’t even peeked over the mountains yet. It was still early, and hopefully, nobody would have noticed her disappearance. Stretching slowly, hoping to tease out the aches, Natalie yawned and then ideally addressed the unconscious form of Cole. “You better be thankful for this, you suicidal Pilgrim.”

A cracked voice answered her. “I am very appreciative of your aid, but I am not a Pilgrim.”

Natalie jumped like a frightened cat and swore. “Infinite Hells! You’re awake?”

Cole responded with a dry-sounding chuckle. “Yes, yes I am. I hate to inconvenience you more, but would you mind getting me some water. I lost a considerable amount of blood.”

Still slightly shocked, Natalie mouthed to herself, “inconvenience?” but quickly got a cup and filled it from the pipe. Cole tried to sit up to take the desired drink but promptly failed. Natalie held the water to his lips and helped him. “After everything that happened last night, I don’t think getting you some water counts as anything of an inconvenience.”

Finishing the cup, Cole sighed appreciatively and asked, “Yes, what happened last night? I last remember passing out against the gate; it was unlocked, wasn’t it?”

Natalie snorted. “Yes, it was, and it’s nothing short of a miracle that you made it that far. If I hadn’t found you by complete happenstance, you’d have bled out there.”

Gesturing around her, Natalie continued, “I dragged you back to the Silly Goat and patched you up the best I could. We are in a shed behind the inn, and we really should get you to a healer. All I did was clean your wounds and try to bandage them.

Cole looked down at his body as if only now noticing the myriad of bandages covering his scarred form. “Again, I must thank you, Miss Natalie. You have provided me much aid, and I find myself in your debt. That being said, a healer will not be necessary.”

At that, Natalie raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Goatshit, I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re practically torn open. Even with healing, magical or mundane, you will still have a whole new set of scars for your collection. Cole, I used honest-to-Uncle Maker Lunashine to clean your wounds. We keep a bottle of that stuff for non-human customers, ones who require what’s practically poison to get drunk.”

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At that, Cole just chuckled and managed to sit up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. To her surprise, Natalie only saw a hint of red underneath his bandages; she’d expected them to be soaked in blood by now. Grunting slightly in pain, Cole responded. “Many of my scars come from wounds as bad as those that received even less aid. I will be fine, just a day or two of rest, and I’ll be back on my feet. Days of rest that I will, of course, be happy to pay the Silly Goat for.”

At that, Natalie just rolled her eyes and sighed. “I find that hard to believe. Anyway, if you are not a Pilgrim that what are you? Actually forget that, what in the Pantheon did this to you.”

Gesturing at Cole’s torn-up body, Natalie found herself annoyed at the scarred man’s attitude. Did he not get how close he’d been to death? Natalie had been often accused of being painfully stubborn, but Cole had her beat in that regard. Chewing on her lip for a moment, Natalie continued. “I changed my mind; I want answers to both of my questions and any other I can think of. You owe me at very least an explanation for all this.”

Cole was silent for a moment, contemplating his following words. Speaking slowly, he said. “I will tell you what I can. But this knowledge is dangerous.”

A slight chill went up Natalie’s spine at that; she expected something like that, but to hear it confirmed was harrowing. Cole picked his words carefully. He seemed to be trying to tell the truth with as little detail as possible.

“I am not a Pilgrim; I am a Paladin. One of Master Time’s sworn knights, tasked with enacting his will and protecting his domain.”

“Ah, well, that explained some things.” That was Natalie’s immediate thought. Quickly followed by dropping the empty cup she’d been holding in sheer surprise. If Cole was telling the truth, which he seemed to be. Then she was in the presence of a true Holy Warrior. Priests serving a God are fairly common; priests who even take up arms to face evil are not unheard of. A Paladin is a special and exceedingly rare type of Priest. Who are vested with divine authority and responsibility, acting as chosen agents of their particular God. They are the type of being whose songs are written about, whose legends and deeds might define an entire era.

Every culture had its own accounts of Paladins, with different names but similar stories. Twelve Paladins supposedly served the first King-Elect of the Holy League, whose students founded the Knight-Errant tradition. The Goblins sing of the righteous Bogatyr and their gallant quests. Even in the far distant past, in the land of the Golden Dragons, they tell of Youxia-Warriors who battle against injustice and cruelty.

To be a Paladin is to have the trust of a God, to be chosen to act as their mortal agent. The Gods are limited in how much they can influence the world. Ever since the Outer Gates were closed at the start of the Age, they cannot act without consent. Requiring devotion and prayer to enact their will. Reacting to an ever-changing world, not acting as they please. Paladin’s are the exception to this rule, a way for a God to influence the world through an empowered agent. Cole, it seemed, was a powerful and exceptionally dangerous servant of an enigmatic God.

A long silence filled the shed, but eventually, Natalie found her voice. “Okay, assuming I believe you, what could injure a Chosen servant of Master Time to this extent.”

Cole made an expression that was both a smile and a wince. “I miscalculated and found myself facing four Vryko-Ghouls. Well-fed ones at that.”

A shudder went through Natalie; she had heard legends of those undead. How they could tear apart entire buildings looking for prey and could survive anything less than their entire head being destroyed. Cole lifted up his right arm, examining the bandages wrapped around the strange cuts in it. Natalie had not known how to bandage his bloodied knuckles and left them exposed. Looking down at his hand, Cole experimentally flexed his fingers and seemed pleased with the result.

“One of the smaller ones tried to bite my arm off, managed to get my entire forearm down its throat. I got myself free, but it was not pleasant.” He then ran his hand across his stomach. “People talk about the Vryko-Ghoul’s strength but fail to mention their nails. I guess most strikes are so destructive they leave little sign of sharp claws.” Continuing exploring his wounds, Cole glanced at his shoulder and chest. “When the small one got my arm, the others started taking bites out of me. It… was unpleasant.”

Stunned and more than a little horrified by the truth of Cole’s ghastly injuries, Natalie managed to ask. “How did you manage to survive that? They should have ripped you apart!”

Cole only smiled at that. “I am a servant of Master Time, and he chooses us wisely. Everyone has a talent; mine happens to be fighting the Undead.”

Leaning against a cabinet, Natalie chewed on this information. It was shocking and unbelievable. The thought that Cole was simply delusional or worse crossed her mind. She’d heard stories of the Dark Gods tricking people into believing they were Paladins. Or even their own empowered servants masquerading as true Paladins in order to do terrible deeds. Yet, something in Natalie’s heart told her that was not the case. For all his strangeness, Cole was polite, kind, and survived something he had no right to. All classical features of a Paladin, he was just missing the shining armor and stunning beauty. Which considering what God he served, was understandable.

“I don’t want to believe what you are saying, Cole, but I don’t think I have a choice,” whispered Natalie.

At that, Cole only let out a slight laugh. “That’s the nature of truth; it does not care what we want. I had hoped to simply complete my mission here and leave. Miss Natalie, I must sincerely apologize for getting you caught up in all of this.”

Natalie felt herself smile at his words, and she went to refill the cup. “Stop calling me Miss; you really do talk like some gallant knight from the stories.”

Moving over to hand Cole the cup, Natalie paused and asked a question that had been nagging at her. “Something else I’ve been wondering about. While you were gone, I cleaned your room and found this skull….”

Cole shot out a hand and grabbed Natalie’s wrist. Squeezing with intimidating strength, not enough to hurt but still an inescapable grip. Dropping the cup, Natalie’s eyes went wide in fear as the Paladin’s countenance completely changed. Gone was the kind and soft-spoken wanderer; instead, she saw an iron-hard warrior glaring at her with icy eyes.

This new intensity froze Natalie, and she only started to process what was happening when Cole growled: “How did you find that skull? Did you tell anybody about it?”

“It was under the bed! I saw the bag and got curious! Nobody knows. I made sure to lock your room up so it wouldn’t be found!” stammered Natalie.

Cole’s grip relaxed slightly but did not break. “I wove a spell on that bag; you could not simply find it by accident. Quickly tell me everything. Did you touch the skull?”

Natalie recovered and pulled her hand away. Cole glanced down at his hand and hers with confusion, like he didn’t realize what he’d done. “No! I didn’t touch the skull, at least I don’t think so.”

Taking a large step back, Natalie checked to see if she still had her carving knife. Wrapping her fingers around its hilt and holding it behind her back. “If you really want to know, I nearly passed out while cleaning your room. Felt like someone was squeezing the life from me, and when I collapsed, I saw the stupid skull!”

Seeing the anger and fear in her eyes, Cole’s expression softened into guilt. “I… I am sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. The skull is precious and incredibly dangerous. Fear makes us weak, and in mine, I acted poorly.”

Pausing for a moment, Cole looked down at his hands and then back to Natalie. A slight smile appearing on his face, an apologetic tone coloring his words: “If I scare you like that again, please feel free to stab me with that knife of yours. It would be well within your right.”

Natalie released the handle of the knife. Was this a bizarre attempt at humor to calm her nerves? Or a subtle way of informing her he knew about the blade she carried? Probably both with an honest apology woven in as well if his tone was anything to go by.

Cole pondered her words in silence as Natalie relaxed slightly. With his left hand, Cole idly adjusted his bandages and spoke. “You said you almost passed out. Could you maybe describe what you felt in more detail? I have an idea of what you experienced, but I am not certain.”

That got a raised eyebrow from Natalie. It was true these episodes had only started when Cole arrived and seemed related to him. Maybe he had answers; he owed her that much, at least. So Natalie described what she’d felt. The crushing cold weight of some alien presence, how she needed to fight to breathe, and the acute sense of mortality that came with it. Cole listened quietly and seemed to grow more still with every word Natalie spoke, letting her explain the strange feeling had come three times. By the time she finished, Cole looked like some tragic sculpture of a wounded soldier.

Finally, Cole broke the almost-trance he seemed to be in. “I know exactly what you speak of, Natalie. Thank you for sharing this with me; it can be incredibly distressing to experience it without context. It seems you fit into my God’s plans in some manner. Master Time felt it necessary to push events on a certain course.”

Natalie was quickly becoming tired of being shocked and surprised. “You are telling me that Master Time is the cause of this? But that is supposed to be impossible? I didn’t pray to him, and I’m not sworn into his service like you or a priest!”

Cole smiled sadly and gestured to himself. “When it comes to matters involving their Paladin’s, the Gods are allowed some carte blanche in this matter. I cannot speak for certain, but it seems you are related to my reason for being in Glockmire. Natalie, you saved me and uncovered one of my most dangerous secrets by sheer coincidence. And coincidence is where the influence of the God’s is most easily felt.”

Natalie was not sure if she liked what she heard. While she had nothing against Master Time, or any of the Pantheon, being used as a pawn rankled her. Surely one of the most powerful entities in existence could find a way to aid his champion without nearly crushing her under its own presence?

Cole gathered up his strength and pulled himself up from the cot. Natalie was surprised; she’d expected him to be bedridden or at least close to it. Looking at the bandages and scars that covered the Paladin, Natalie mused that he must be used to this sort of thing. Flexing and tensing his muscles, Cole experimented with his body’s current limits. Again Natalie found herself admiring his sculpted form; even under the scars and wounds, it drew an appreciative eye from the young woman. She caught herself staring and felt a slight blush on her cheeks. Annoyed at herself, she pulled her eyes away. Ogling the divinely appointed champion of the God of Time and Death, was not her best moment.

Trying to find a topic and keep her mind on task, Natalie asked. “So, what do you plan to do now?”

Cole finished his stretching, attempting to not wince in pain with every movement. “That depends on several factors. I’d hoped the Vryko-Ghouls were my reason for being called here, but that does not seem to be the case. Something else requires my attention, and I must find out what it is.”

“So you survive being torn open by a quartet of monsters, and now you are looking for more trouble? An undead-hunting champion of Master Time is not exactly welcome in the Blood Duchies. Your existence is practically anathema to the Nobility, and if they discover you, I doubt even your God could save you.” Chided Natalie as she checked the cot for bloodstains.

Cole reached down to pick up the tattered remnants of his clothes and cloak. Seeing if any of his garments were salvageable, Between the dried blood, rips, and cat hair, Natalie doubted any of them would be of much use. Turning to her, Cole asked. “Indeed, I would meet with a gruesome fate. So that leads us to the question of will you tell others what you have learned? If so, I will disappear as quickly as possible and continue my task through more clandestine methods. I would not blame you if you did alert the Guards. Glockmire exists in the shadow of undeath, and it is wise to fear the Vampires who rule over you.”

Bundling up the ruined undershirt and leather armor, Cole continued. “If you were to keep my secret, then I would be in your debt. A debt Master Time or any of his servants would gladly honor.”

Seeing Cole ready himself and the sharp axe buckled to his side, Natalie felt her mind wander back to that terrible night three years ago. The sounds and smells of her Mother’s death, refusing to go away. The sight of her Father’s grief gnawed at her. What Cole was offering might be an opportunity to put those terrible memories to rest. Closure could come in many forms, including that of a swinging axe.

Squeezing her hands into fists, Natalie gave Cole her answer. “I will keep your secrets and hold you to that debt.”

Pausing for a moment, Natalie took a deep breath, fighting back the tide of terrible memories but keeping hold of the anger they stirred in her. “My Mother was killed by a Varcolac three years ago. It escaped the Lord’s knights and is still out there in the wilderness. Find it, kill it, and that will settle your debt.”

Cole gave Natalie an appraising glance then slowly got down on one knee. “Natalie Striga, I swear by my God, Master Time, and my oaths as a Paladin to honor this debt. It is my duty to be a spear and shield standing against the darkness. The Varcolac will be laid to rest; may its end bring you a measure of solace.”

Natalie didn’t know if she should feel embarrassed or awestruck. Seeing Cole kneel and the look of solemn duty on his face, she was reminded of the Bards’ songs during festival time. Stories of great heroes who vanquished evil at the request of a noble youth. While neither Cole nor Natalie fully matched the mythical archetypes, the similarities were striking. It was a guilty secret of Natalie’s, for all her aloof and sharp-tongued airs, she loved those old stories. The sense of wonder they’d given her as a young girl was still there. Natalie knew reality is little like the stories; the world is much murkier and crueler; than the fantasy depicted in those tales. But at the same time, every story had a grain of truth in it, and maybe the Paladin kneeling before her was one of those grains.

Getting up to his full towering height, Cole looked down at Natalie and spoke. “It will take me a few days to fully heal, and I must finish another matter first, but I will honor this pledge.”

Now it was Cole’s turn to look slightly embarrassed; he gestured down at his ruined clothes and asked. “Since I seem to be developing a considerable debt to you, I’d like to add to it. Could I trouble you to grab a spare shirt from my belongings in my room? I’d feel tremendously awkward retrieving one wearing nothing but a tattered cloak.”

At that, Natalie couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. It was surreal, saving the life of a Paladin, discovering she’d somehow attracted the attention of Master Time, getting an opportunity to avenge her Mother, and now being asked to retrieve a shirt for the near-mythical warrior who’d been passed out in the laundry shed.

After an uncharitably long period of laughter, Natalie recovered herself and turned to leave. Stopping at the door to ask another question that had been bothering her. “You said you put magic on the skull, so it wouldn’t be found. If so, then how did I find it?”

Cole looked pensive a moment before he answered. “I truthfully do not know, but I can hazard a guess. The Gods are allowed a measure of atypical influence around their Paladins, but they still must respect the Covenant and cannot breach the Outer Gates. I believe Master Time helped you see past my spell, which admittedly would not be that difficult. Similarly, I think your cat’s strange behavior last night might also be related. Master Time prefers to use Crows, but Cats are not unheard of. I cannot say for certain why my God felt it necessary to involve you like this, but he has.”

Natalie found this information extremely disconcerting. She knew the Temple preached of how the Gods influence the world in a million minor ways every day. Answering prayers and providing protection with subtlety. But the difference between knowing something and experiencing something is like night and day. For example, Natalie knew the world is but one of countless touched and connected by the Beyond. A dimension of pure magic and creation, home to Gods, Spirits, and Strangeness beyond reckoning. Now she had experienced a taste of that cosmic domain, having nearly been crushed by the mere attention of a being from that part of existence.

Showing that disturbing knack for insight he possessed, Cole addressed the unspoken anxiety Natalie felt. “It’s natural to feel uncertain and disoriented when the truth of the Gods and their actions become clear. My own experience was dramatically different from yours, and I don’t know how much it relates, but I can tell you this. The universe is far, far larger than we mortals can comprehend, but we still have the power to change it for the better or, the worse. I take comfort in that, knowing I can help fix the universe, even in my own tiny way.”

Natalie did not say anything; those words resonated in her in a way she hadn’t expected. “To fix the world,” a grandiose notion, but one familiar to her. Iona, her Mother, had said something similar once. The words escaped her at the moment, but the idea was the same. Other words did, however, enter her mind. Words she’d heard half-whispered at her mother’s funeral. “It’s not right. Why did Iona have to die? She was so kind, for her to suffer such a fate proves the world is broken.”

Looking up at Cole, his heavily scarred face wearing a kind smile. Thinking of the terror in her Mother’s eyes before she died. Natalie felt the truth in both Cole and that unknown mourner’s words. She just didn’t know which of them was correct. The world is indeed broken, a place of monsters and horrors beyond counting. That did not mean you had to accept that status quo and could not try and better it. Natalie’s eyes glanced down toward Cole’s exposed neck, where hundreds of scars were visible. This man who seemed to exist solely to try and help others had suffered terribly. Tortured and wounded in myriad ways, and he still preached an optimistic creed. Was he the ultimate vindication of his own worldview or the ultimate refutation?

Had his attempted good deeds done anything more than earn him scars? Natalie could not say and was afraid to ask Cole for the truth. While she wanted to believe in the hope Cole espoused, Natalie could not bring herself to. She’d already seen so much terror in a young and relatively sheltered life. Both Iona and Cole tried to fix the world in their own small ways, and all they got for their efforts were death and suffering.

Finally leaving the shed, Natalie slipped back into the Silly Goat and up towards Cole’s room. It was early on Godsday, the first day of the weekend, and most people slept in. In other parts of the world, Natalie knew that people woke up before dawn on Godsday to pray and attend Temple. In Glockmire, services were held in the evening. Better to lose part of an evening than being forced out of bed on a day of supposed rest. There was supposedly complicated religious reasoning behind this practice, found in Glockmire and across the Blood Duchies. In truth, when dusk fell, and the Nobles arose, any protection the Gods might offer was needed. There were laws about how the Nobles fed, but if one truly wanted to take someone as a blood-slave or blood-servant, little could be done to stop the Vampire.

Wilhelm was not awake yet, and it was too early for customers, so retrieving the shirt was uneventful. Natalie had resisted the urge to go snooping through Cole’s belongings. The possibility of discovering something else like the skull quashed any curiosity she had. Even thinking of it and how Cole had reacted to learning, she knew of it, sent a shiver down Natalie’s spine.

Returning to the shed with the shirt and a few clean rags, Natalie found Cole engaging in a staring contest with Stockings as he cleaned his blade with a dirty rag. Acknowledging her return, Cole spoke. “Thank you, one other thing, make sure you burn anything with the Vryko-Ghoul’s blood on it. It’s mildly toxic, usually not enough to be dangerous, but it is best not to let such things fester.”

Cole finished wiping the tar-like ichor off of his axe and examined the metal. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take them. I’ll dispose of it when I release the Vryko-Ghouls.”

To that, Natalie squawked. “The Vryko-Ghouls? What do you mean? You said you destroyed them?”

Returning his axe to his belt, Cole looked at his bandages before responding. “That is the unfinished business I need to attend to before tracking down the Varcolac. I destroyed the Vryko’s bodies or at least damaged them enough to stop them. Their souls are still trapped; my injuries prevented me from properly consecrating the bodies. A failure on my part, I must admit. The quicker I can return and release those poor souls, the better. The few days they must wait while I heal are on my head.”

At that, Natalie scoffed and gestured at the shredded form of her Paladin-Patient. “Are you serious? You want to go back out there after a day or two of rest? What if you run into something else, a Feral Vampire, Bandits, or the Varcolac? You would be in no condition to fight.”

Cole shrugged off her concerns with an apologetic tone, giving her the same beatific smile she’d grown accustomed to. “Your concerns are appreciated, but I will heal quickly. Anyway, it would be three days, not two.”

“What?” asked Natalie, not understanding his point about the number of days.

With what might be the first bit of actual humor she’d seen from him, Cole raised up three fingers. “A few is three, not one or two.”

To that, Natalie gave an exasperated sigh and left the wounded knight to his rest. Natalie could not tell if Cole was overconfident, insane, or simply this used to dangerous and horrible circumstances. The latter seemed the most likely, and that was not comforting. He’d only survived his experience with the Vryko-Ghouls thanks to literal divine intervention through her and was now ready to leap back into the jaws of danger. Barnabas had said something once when she’d tried to tell him about a new tale she’d read. The crotchety old merchant had scoffed at the story of a Dragonslayer and commented. “Anyone who willingly goes into that much danger is a fool. Anyone who goes into it for no reason aside from faith or duty is worse than fools; they are mad.”

As a little girl, hearing Barnabas denigrate her beloved stories had provoked a playful if vicious argument between the two. Now having met Cole and seen what exactly is involved in a life like his. Natalie had to wonder if Barnabas was right.

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