A MATRIARCH’S RAGE (PART 2)
“She sang at first, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. Even though the song was sad enough to make me cry I didn’t want it to end. So there I stood right among the hills, listening to the woman as she walked across the pasture towards me. I didn’t even notice me sheep were gone by then, they all had more sense than me, shameful thing that. Once she got closer, I could see her face and that’s when I knew what she was. The… the creature looked like a beautiful elf maid now all rotten and ruined. Great gouges down her cheeks like she’d scratched herself. Then, she saw that I’d seen and the song changed, oh gods I wanted to run but my body wouldn’t answer me, even when the screaming started.” - Shepherd Dermott MakDuval speaking to a pair of Restbringers who’d rescued him.
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Heinrich raised an eyebrow. “What, you’ve never heard of an elephant? They are great lumbering beasts from Sutu and Qabsu.”
Glancing around the reading room, the Prince absently said. “We probably have a bestiary somewhere.”
Shaking his, head Cole recovered himself slightly. “I know what an elephant is, I’m just surprised. Non-humanoid wraiths are extremely rare, especially ones capable of what you’re implying.”
Considering all that had been said, Cole added. “So, this harpsichord, it was involved with a dynastic dispute?”
The royal siblings looked momentarily uncomfortable before Cleo asked. “Have you ever heard of the Vollenschloss Tragedy?”
Seeing Cole’s confusion, Cleo elaborated. “About a century ago, one of our house's cadet branches suffered a calamity that reduced them from a serious rival to a genealogical footnote. An earthquake struck their castle of Vollenschloss during a solstice celebration. The entire castle practically fell off the mountain it perched upon. The incident was a horrific tragedy, but one that benefited the main branch of House Conrad; a fact few failed to notice especially since the Elector-Prince at the time, our great-grandfather was something of a…”
As his sister trailed off, Heinrich disposed with diplomatic language. “He was an evil, conniving bastard who is most certainly burning in one of the Hells. A fate he’d earned well before setting a generational record for kin-slaying.”
The more they talked the more Cole found himself impressed and interested in the two nobles. Heinrich was perhaps the youngest Elector in the league and his sister could be only fifteen at the oldest. Yet, the pair were impressively composed and so far, rather capable. Silently, the Paladin wondered what sort of childhood had created these two, and how did it end with them ruling Baiuvar at such a young age?
“How do you know the harpsichord was involved with this incident? And more importantly, can it really cause earthquakes?” Asked Cole as he went over the details offered. Geomancy strong enough to bring down a castle, particularly one as warded as any Leaguer stronghold wouldn’t be easy. Of all the five prime elements, earth took the most magical energy to influence. Rock and stone were by their very nature sedentary substances and were not easily cajoled to a mage’s whims without preparation.
Heinrich winced. “We can’t really know for certain, but all the pieces add up and that alone is enough to cause problems. See, harpsichords are something of a regional specialty of ours, as they were invented in Conradburg, our kingdom’s second great city. For a time, commissioning more and more extravagant ones from the city’s clock monks was fashionable for the Baiuvar noble houses. The Bomilcar Harpsichord, the item in our possession, was the capstone to that trend and what killed it. See, disaster followed everyone who owned the instrument, with freak accidents and strange deaths ensuring the damn thing kept changing hands.”
Getting up from her chair, Cleo went to one of the bookshelves, still wrapped up in her blanket, and selected a tome. The cover depicted a stylized harpsichord and its leather binding creaked as she opened it to a marked page. “The item went through sixteen owners in just two decades, with each transfer being preceded by an escalating series of incidents. Strangely none of these misfortunes appeared overtly supernatural, seemingly just bad luck or illness. Eventually, even the harpsichord’s value stopped being enough for people to overlook the pattern, so its last official owner ‘donated’ the instrument to the Conradburg Ivory Tower.”
That made sense to Cole, cursed or otherwise magically dangerous items usually ended up in Temple vaults or Ivory Tower collections. Of course, simply destroying the object in question was often the better option, but circumstances had the unfortunate habit of preventing such practicality. In Cole’s experience, he’d dealt with several hauntings that couldn’t be banished through simple means. As the wraith in question was either too enmeshed in its locality to be properly exorcized or simply capable of too much destruction if confronted overtly.
Finger tracing a line in the text, Cleo tapped the book and continued speaking. “I don’t know what the Magi learned from it, if anything; but the harpsichord wasn’t theirs for long. Someone stole it right out from underneath them and that got everyone nervous. That’s when your patron Temple got involved, as they’d already had an interest in the artifact and weren’t keen to have it be out and about. They were actually the ones who figured out the source of all this trouble while hunting the instrument. See, the Bomilcar Harpsichord was a work of art, with no expense spared in its creation, so naturally it had ivory keys.”
Cole let out a slow breath of understanding. “Those are the remains. The elephant’s ghost is bound to its tusks.”
Cleo’s lips formed a tight smile. “Yes, that’s the theory, but was never confirmed, because officially the Bomilcar Harpsichord was never found. It vanished and with it a trio of Tower adepts who’d gotten access to it do research.”
Getting up from where he lounged with his lions, Heinrich remarked. “I’m still curious to know if Great-Grandfather Eberhard actually paid them whatever he promised or if they’re in some shallow grave somewhere. Eh, probably the latter, considering some of the other things we’ve dug up.”
Eyeing her sibling, clearly annoyed by his interruption, Cleo continued. “I’ve been going through the family and regional records to piece this all together so some details are obviously missing. But it seems our ancestor stole the Bomilar Harpsichord and ‘gifted’ it to the Vollenschloss branch of the family; expecting it to have the usual effect on its owners. Which… which it did, except in a slightly more spectacular fashion than normal.”
Absently, Cole started to pace around the study, letting his mind work through all the details. He’d never heard of a ghost being used like this; in fact, he’d never even heard of an elephant leaving behind a wraith. Letting out a tired breath, Cole imagined if he could confer with some of his southern and eastern colleagues they might have stories to tell; but that wouldn’t be an option. Still, while the sordid affair the siblings were spelling out was morbidity fascinating, it didn’t answer the most pressing question.
“How could a wraith cause an earthquake? Is there a chance, this isn’t a ghost but some earth spirit bound to the harpsichord?” he asked, wondering if a shaman might be a better fit for this problem than him.
In almost unison, the two nobles shook their head in the negative and Heinrich explained. “We’ve done some prodding of our own, this is definitely a ghost. As for the Vollenschloss tragedy, well it wasn’t really an earthquake that did it; it just jagging looked like one. See, I hired this hill witch to go speak to the spirits around the ruins and they said this wasn’t any natural disaster. According to the witch, something’s ‘death scream’ shook the castle apart and spooked the local spirits. That sounds like powerful sound magic to me, but I was hoping you’d know more.”
Frowning, Cole muttered. “A death scream… those were the exact words?” When Cleo nodded in confirmation, the Paladin winced. “This might be very bad.”
The Elector-Prince’s eyebrows shot up. “You know what the spirits were referring to?”
Cole rubbed his face tiredly and grimaced. “I can make a good guess but I need to inspect the harpsichord to know for certain.”
Heinrich grimaced. “Well, we can take you to it tonight, but I must warn you the-”
Interrupting the Elector-Prince, Cole sighed. “People close to it get anxious, dizzy, clumsy and nauseous.”
Annoyance flashed across Heinrich’s face at being interrupted, but it quickly melted into concern and shock. “You’ve dealt with something like this?”
Staring down at the floor, wondering if the harpsichord was stored somewhere levels below him, Cole nodded. “I was hoping I’d be wrong, but yes, it’s looking like I have. Now tell me, how is the harpsichord being stored, what measures have you taken?”
As the siblings exchanged nervous glances, Cleo spoke. “We’ve isolated it in a cell within the dungeons and put as many magical wards around it as we can. This is something else we wanted to ask about; the symptoms of being close to it, our wards aren’t stopping them. How is the wraith doing that?”
Thinking about the supplies he’d packed and wondering if it would be enough, Cole muttered. “Because it's not a magical attack, or at least not purely one. See, this type of Wraith produces a death scream with three parts, the audible, the inaudible, and the magical. Each type is dangerous in its own way, and even if you’ve sealed away two of them, the inaudible part is clearly still in effect.”
Growing impatient, Heinrich asked sharply. “Will you stop dancing around it, and tell us what we’re dealing with?”
Letting out a sigh, Cole nodded. “The harpsichord is haunted by a banshee.”
Heinrich took an involuntary step back and nearly tripped over one of his lions. “But… but those are only-”
“Faeborn, yes,” said Cole. “Or at least mostly. Elves and the sidhe are usually the only ones who can meet the criteria to become a banshee after death, but it seems elephants can as well.”
The scourge of the White Isles, banshees are one of the most feared forms of undead. To hear a banshee’s cry is to court death and madness, as the magic carried in its keening damages the very soul of any who hears it. Considering Conradbau Castle hadn’t suffered countless disasters like the harpsichord’s previous owners, something was clearly diminishing the wraith’s power but not fully eliminating the danger. But letting such a horror persist, no matter how weakened would not be tolerated by Cole. Bindings can break and the nightmare might be unleashed again; but more importantly, few undead existed in such a wretched state as banshees. Each of the keening ghosts was the product of a soul-warping tragedy and stuck in a state of perpetual torment. Cole did not know where elephant souls went in the Beyond, but he doubted any loxodonic Hell would be much worse than the creature’s current state.
Rolling his shoulders, Cole started to make plans. “I’ll need to retrieve my equipment from my lodging and requisition some other things. But before that, tell me, do you have a Hierophant of Uncle Trickster in Lowanburg?”
Swallowing down the lump that had grown in his throat upon hearing of what haunted his family, Heinrich asked. “So does this mean you’ll take care of this for us?”
Cole nodded and then hesitated. Ever since reaching Vindabon with Natalie, he’d been forced to look at the broader scheme of things. Tentatively, the Paladin started to play politics. “I’ll do what I can no matter what you say next, but salt is crucial in fighting the undead legions. If you were to consider my actions here when making your decision, I’d appreciate it.”
Every word came from Cole with as much resistance and pain as an infected tooth. Making this matter of life, death, and undeath into a bargaining chip disgusted him; but it needed to be done. Face twisted like he’d swallowed something foul, Cole waited for the Elector-Prince’s response, uncertain of how much he should press this.
A breath of wry amusement escaped Heinrich. “I was already planning to enact the traditional price controls but needed to set things up to give myself an excuse. You and that minister showing up to chastise my menagerie of morons is just the trick. But back to the matter at hand; we don’t have a Hierophant of Uncle Trickster, at least to my knowledge, why?”
Letting out a breath of relief, Cole thought on how to say what came next. “Priests of the fifth god can manipulate sound like I can cold, so a powerful member of that clergy could negate the banshee’s inaudible scream.”
Shrugging, Heinrich said. “Well, we can send for one, but I’d rather not if it could be avoided. The whole point of contacting you was avoiding politics and no type of priest has a nose for scandal like those tricksters.”
A small smile settled on Cole’s face. “I know where to find one with a vested interest in earning your confidence.”
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“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” came the muffled voice of Alexio Argentari from behind the guest room door. Hinges creaked and the corpulant spy squinted against the hallway’s light, finding Cole and two Lowanburg soldiers waiting for him. Dressed in armor of reinforced leather, belt, and bandolier draping over Emma of Stonebone’s work, Cole matched the trusted guards of House Conrad that Heinrich sent with him. By contrast, Argentari was wearing a rumpled suit and had ink stains on his hands that made Cole think he’d fallen asleep mid-correspondence.
Blinking away sleep, Argentari sighed and asked. “Please tell me you didn’t get us kicked out of the city.”
Shaking his head, Cole looked down the hallways and said. “No, the Elector-Prince has a problem, one that servants of Master Time and Uncle Trickster are equipped to handle.”
Eyeing the guards, Argentari muttered. “What a coincidence…”
That got a tight smile from Cole. “Indeed, how long until you could be ready to help me free a banshee?”
Argentari blinked slowly, clearly needing a moment to process what he just heard. Glancing at the two guards, the spy sighed. “I don’t appreciate having my identity exposed, Paladin.”
Cole shrugged. “I think earning the Elector-Prince’s favor is a worthy prize for that price. Now, I’ve got them collecting beeswax, a tuning fork, and some silver powder, will you need anything special for this?”
Deflating slightly, the spymaster muttered. “A jagging banshee… No, I have what I’ll need, give me-” he glanced over his shoulder into his room “Five minutes at the most”
Soon enough the pair were in a carriage heading back to the Conradbau and the waiting wraith. Argentari had groomed the sleep off him and carried a small satchel but otherwise made no other preparations. Checking over his own kit, Cole explained what he’d learned from the royal siblings. Listening pensively, Argentari absorbed the bizarre story without complaint.
As the castle’s shadow spilled over the coach and blotted out the pale winter moonlight, the spymaster muttered. “Those two are every bit as formidable as rumored. When I heard Heinrich took his father’s throne three years ago I expected him to be an unfortunate puppet at best or casualty of dynastic struggles at worst. But it seems he’s breaking the mold of Baivur’s recent princes and is actually fairly competent. Perhaps having a younger sister to look after forced him to grow up fast.”
Considering all of this seemed to trace back to the royal siblings' great-grandfather Cole decided prying a little about House Conrad’s history wouldn’t be inappropriate. “What’s the story with those two?”
Staring out the window and at the dark streets, Argentari replied. “The previous Elector-Prince was a drunken disgrace, and the one before that a lecher who sired a dozen bastards on the unfortunate Conradbau servants. They were both doing an excellent job frittering away the wealth and power Prince Eberhard amassed; with few expecting this branch of the family to retain dominance, especially when Heinrich’s father’s liver gave out. But to everyone’s surprise, our current host managed to weave between the different factions seeking to control him and kept his title. I imagine scores of grasping nobles became crabs in a bucket, preventing any one of them from claiming the regentship.”
Wincing at this, Cole filled in the details. If the great-grandfather was as bad as his scions said, then it wasn’t surprising his children were damaged; something they passed on to their own offspring in a rather unwanted inheritance. “What about the mother? Is she alive or…?”
The spymaster grimaced. “Dead, when the girl was five and the boy seven. I think those two were raised in a rather nasty court with only each other to rely upon. Anyone who can survive that sort of childhood is either going to be very strong, very warped, or both. So, let’s be a little more careful about this than you’ve probably been.”
Cole didn’t think Heinrich or Cleo planned to double-cross them but Argentari had a point. The siblings were survivors and that title came with all sorts of mixed connotations. From what the Paladin had seen, Heinrich kept his throne by playing the fickle factions of Bauivar against each other; a tricky balancing act that Cole and Argentari were now part of. The Elector-Prince claimed he’d reinstate the traditional salt subsidies, using the delegation from Vindabon as proof of their importance. Letting out a tired sigh, Cole realized not for the first time how much he missed Natalie. She had a better head for politics than him and always seemed to know when to be honest, and when to be cautious.
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Instead of arriving at the Conradbau’s main entrance, the carriage came to a stop near a secondary portcullis, one marked by a chain made of lightning bolts, the symbol of Father Sky in his aspect as the binder of monsters. Exiting the coach, Paladin and Quicksilver Player were escorted by guards past a heavily reinforced door and down a winding staircase. The smells of human misery and rusting iron wafted from each landing, telling Cole they were in the castle’s dungeon. As they reached the bottom of the staircase and another locked door, a prickle of unease went up Cole’s spine. It was a subtle thing, barely more than an impression of angst, but judging by how the two soldiers on either side of the door were fidgeting, he wasn’t the only one who felt it.
The door before them creaked open and a quartet of guards filed out, revealing Prince Heinrich and his two lions. Grim-faced the ruler of Lowanberg nodded to Cole and then addressed Argentari. “I assume we can trust your discretion in this matter, Hierophant?”
Face neutral, the spymaster bowed and replied. “You can, just as we hold faith in your honoring the responsibilities of your crown during wartime.”
A morbid smile flicked across Heinrich’s face and he nodded. “A politician and a priest, gods help us all.” Refocusing on Cole he said. “My men got the items you requested.”
On cue, a footman carrying a sack stepped forward and offered it to Cole. Opening up the bundle, the Paladin fished out the first tool he’d need. Holding up the long steel tuning fork, Cole gently nicked his arm and smeared a few droplets on the instruments handle, earning some uncomfortable looks from the assembled soldiery. “Bloody metal start to sing, help me find this grieving thing.”
The twin tines of the fork started to hum, making a low drawn-out sound like a whimper. Holding the instrument up, Cole slowly waived it forward and watched its song grow and shrink. Seeing this, Argentari muttered. “Using it like a dousing rod, clever.”
Head cocked to the side, one of the soldiers, an officer judging by his decorated armor, said. “Not to second guess you sir, but we know where the item is; so… why try and root it out like a deep spring?”
Looking at the vibrating tines, Cole explained. “The noise isn’t just reacting to proximity, but also activity. If the banshee is roused, this will give us a few seconds warning before it can act.”
Nervous looks were exchanged among the assembled group as the reality of the situation set in. Eyes fixed on the tuning fork, Heinrich asked. “What exactly can this thing do?”
Sucking a breath in between his teeth, Cole replied. “It’s scream is the most dangerous aspect. At close range it can concuss, and kill; while at a distance it weakens the body and soul. But for now, that shouldn’t be a problem, that is unless this castle has been struck by a plague of misfortune I’ve not heard about.”
When no one corrected Cole’s knowledge he nodded. “That means something has muted its cry, but not all of it. Even if the banshee can’t scream it can still sing, making a sound that sickens all those who hear it. That extra ember of fear you’re all feeling, that nervous itch along your spine? That’s the banshee.”
A soldier muttered. “Don’t need no faerie ghost’s magic to do that. I’m jittery as a rabbit scenting a fox.”
Nervous laughs filled the hallway and Argentari spoke. “I assume, this ‘song’ is why you wanted me here?”
Bobbing his head in acknowledgment, Cole asked. “Can you negate the sound?”
Shutting his eyes, the Trickster Priest slowly rolled his head on his shoulders. “I’ll need some time to narrow down the right notes but it's within my power.”
Accepting that, Cole looked over the assembled group. “I will enter the cell to inspect the artifact. Stay well behind the wards, near Argentari, and be prepared to run if things get dangerous, this isn’t a foe steel and skill alone can fight.”
Elector-Prince Heinrich was still staring at the tuning fork, as he said. “Well then, let’s begin.”
Stepping aside, the ruler of Baivar let Paladin and Priest pass him by, entering the deepest level of the castle dungeon. Striding down the cold dark corridor, eyes dancing about, Cole felt the sense of unease grow with every step. A few meters behind him one of the soldiers stumbled and was caught by a colleague who nearly toppled over in the effort. Thanking Isabelle for the improvements she’d made to the human inner ear, Cole kept his balance and approached the tunnel’s end. Locked doors lined the walls on either side and Cole hoped any prisoners had been transferred from this haunted passage.
Strips of cloth emblazoned with warding runes and inscriptions hung from the low ceiling, forcing Cole to duck occasionally while lines of salt covered the floor and occult inscriptions on the walls. A lot of effort had gone into sealing away the banshee, but little of it was coherent. The Elector-Prince had poured every drop of protective magic available to him into this hallway hoping to find something that stuck. Squatting down, forcing the processing after him to halt, Cole examined one of the salt lines, seeing how it was blurred around the edges even with the smear of adhesive paste used to keep it in place. Lowering the tuning fork, Cole watched some grains of the powder dance to the vibration’s song. This whole tunnel was shaking with the banshee’s silent cries.
From a few meters behind Cole, the Elector-Prince asked. “Something that’s been bothering me, if the banshee’s scream is what caused all the problems associated with the harpsichord, then why weren’t their records of it? Surely a phantom keening that curdled the blood and soul would be worth mentioning. Was all that happened just this… anxious vibration at work?”
Argentari spoke up. “I believe I can answer that. The banshee might have been screaming all those years, but just not at a pitch human ears could detect. Elephants can trumpet it’s true, but most sounds they make aren’t fit for our senses. So I’d wager the cries of our unusual banshee would go undetected, as the pitch they’d be in was beyond hearing. That is undetected except for the ill fortune, illness, and occasional madness left in its wake.”
Cole raised an eyebrow at the spymaster’s knowledge who shrugged in response. “The more you know about a concept the easier it is to manipulate magically, so I’ve learned a bit about sound. Speaking of, I think I’ve found the right counter-note for the silent wail.”
Reaching into his satchel, Argentari removed a conductor’s baton now repurposed into a magic wand. Stepping past Cole, the Quicksilver Player started to flick his baton in a complicated series of motions, its tip leaving a trail of sparks that shifted between orange, green, and purple. The light around Argentari started to bend, the shadows twitching into motion, becoming a series of umbral strands hanging before him. The sparks settled on the parallel lines giving a vague impression of occult sheet music.
Putting his baton away, Hierophant Alexio Argentari gently stroked the shadow strings, sending them humming like some dream-born harp. The sparks grew brighter as the strands they were anchored to vibrated faster. Noise that wasn’t noise suddenly pulsed through the hallway and everyone’s ears popped. Once the wincing stopped, sighs of relief filled the tunnel, the oppressive feeling of unnatural anxiety was gone and with it the accompanying dizziness. Fingers still tracing his shadow harp, Argentari started to walk forward, the spell moving with him.
Uncle Trickster, the fifth god was the patron of artists, righteous liars, and truth speakers; so his magic was suitably beautiful but unnerving. Eyes glowing with those same multi-hued sparks, Argentari whispered. “I should be able to hold this for a while, but your banshee is fighting back. The wailing is getting stronger, it’s happening slowly, but it’s definitely happening.”
The tuning fork in Cole’s hand confirmed the spymaster’s words. It had gone still, or mostly still, every few moments its tines would ‘spasm’ in a vibration that quickly died. Gesturing with it to the hallway’s end, Cole replied. “Well, we better hurry then.”
Following the Hierophant, the group reached the great vault door awaiting them. Glancing back at the Elector-Prince, Cole raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Heinrich shrugged. “One of my predecessors needed somewhere to imprison powerful Paragons. It seemed the best place to keep the harpsichord once my sister realized what she’d found.”
Nodding, Cole asked. “Will you open it?”
Lips forming a thin line, Heinrich stepped forward, a quartet of guards, each of which were themselves Paragons if Cole had to guess, surrounding him. Pulling a great key from his pocket and nicking his thumb, the Elector-Prince wetted the key’s blade with his own blood before sliding it into the lock. Stepping back, Heinrich gestured at the key so one of his guards stepped up and started twisting on the heavy steel cap, sending old mechanisms grinding. After some rattling and creaking the final tumbler clacked free and the paragon hauled the vault door open. A faint whoosh of displaced air filled the tunnel and a black void came into view. The glowstones lining the hallway failed to pierce the darkness within the vault, light drowned in the inky shadows awaiting Cole.
All around the Paladin a dozen trained soldiers, all equipped with powerful enchantments, some experienced enough to have magic writ into their bones, shuddered at that blackness. The strings of Argentari’s harp moved faster now, the sparks a blur of occult light that formed half-remembered sigils in the air. Eyeing the precipice before them, the spymaster muttered. “It’s angry.”
Herinch found his voice and hissed. “It wasn’t this bad last time we checked on it.”
Cole shut his eyes and let out an almost amused breath. Of course, he and Argentari would be in Lowenburg right as whatever bindings on this banshee were failing. Holding up his amulet, Cole poured power into the hourglass and let silver-blue light spread across the doorway and into the chamber beyond. It was a simple unordained box of smooth stone, its walls only marred by a few mounting places for manacles or similar. A few scattered parts of a crate lay on the floor and just on the other side of the doorway was a great brown stain. Staring down at that long dried puddle of blood, Cole let his gaze slowly drift toward the room’s center, and the source of all this trouble.
The monks of Conradburg hadn’t cut corners in creating this masterpiece. Intricate carvings and painted scenes of stylized hunts covered its shell while gold filagree lined the edges. Time and dust had only done so much to dull the bright colors and precious metals that spoke of countless hours of dedicated craftsmanship and extraordinary funding. The harpsichord was a true work of art that captured the eye and refused to let it go. Yet as Cole’s own eyes settled on the keyboard, a twinge of disgust surged in his gut. Sixty keys of carved ivory shone in the light of the hourglass amulet, untouched by age and decay they were white as the snows of a murderous blizzard.
Pulling his eyes from the harpsichord and looking down at the blood stain, Cole asked a question he should have some time ago. “How exactly, has it injured people in the past.”
The sound of rustling paper came from behind Cole and one of the Elector-Prince’s guards started to read off from a list. “Six heart attacks, nine concussions, three separate impalements, and one crush death.”
Grimacing, Cole muttered. “So it can partially manifest I take it?”
Again the guard quoted whatever document he’d been provided. “The apparition appeared as a semi-translucent elephant head that gored Sergent Lorim Reeson, during the inspection on the sixteenth of Darksol. It also caved in Sir Knoxmar of Siegalstat’s chest cavity using an invisible force that same day.”
That got a wince from Cole. Normally the physical dangers of a banshee were negligible; with them only capable of minor telekinesis and ectoplasmic manifestations. This banshee’s atypical species made it a much bigger threat and that wasn’t even counting how strong it clearly was. Even with whatever bindings on it failing, that the banshee could manifest parts of itself so aggressively while still unable to scream was very concerning. Cole would need to tread very carefully if he didn’t want Prince Heinrich to learn the secret of the Homunculus Knight.
Looking to Argentari, Cole said. “Could you disrupt any manifestations while keeping your counter-spell working?”
In response, the Quicksilver Player shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t really know until I try. This is your expertise, Paladin, not mine.”
Nodding, Cole looked up at the series of warding runes carved into the vault door lintel, and then at the darkness within he fought to push back. Sucking in a slow breath, the Paladin called upon his power, letting it flow up from his chest and into his flesh. As he let out that breath, a plume of icy vapor escaped Cole and the temperature around him dropped precipitously. Condensation formed on the tunnel and fog flowed around Cole’s feet, making him seem almost as spectral as any wraith he hunted.
Looking back at the nervous soldiers and expressionless Elector-Prince, Cole fought back flashes of the last time he’d been in a frost-kissed tunnel fighting a unique form of undead. Suddenly, he was actually glad Natalie wasn’t here with him, her memories of that night must be worse than his own. “Remember what I said, if this gets bad, run. If I or Argentari are incapacitated, it’s time to bring this to the Lowenburg Temples.”
That last part was meant for Heinrich, who clearly got the message as he jerked his chin in a slight acknowledgment. If a Paladin and Hierophant couldn’t safely and subtly handle the banshee then political considerations needed to go out the window.
Handing the tuning fork to the nearest soldiers, Cole opened the satchel of items he’d requested and took out the jar of beeswax. Using a tongue of flame from his sparkstone he softened the material and put it in both ears, before offering it to Argentari. Wordlessly the Hierophant gestured he needed his hearing for his magic. While the earplugs might be excessive, the Paladin wasn’t taking chances. Now alone in a silent world, Cole unbuckled Requiem and stepped into the vault.
As he moved past the warding, three things happened to Cole at once. First breathing became hard, requiring effort to inflate his lungs, like some great weight was atop him. Second, he felt the storm raging within the vault, an Aetheric maelstrom that swirled around the harpsichord and buffeted Cole’s very soul. Lastly, he saw the two empty eyesockets and two short tusks coming towards him.
Diving to the side, Cole rolled out of the way as the manifestation slammed into the vault’s entrance, rebounding off the wards with a soundless impact. Coming to his feet, Cole grew Requiem into a halberd and poured more power into his amulet. The light shone brighter, illuminating the spectral form that was turning to face him. It was an elephant’s skull, complete with sharp tusks, hovering in the air, now preparing a second charge. As cold power filled Cole’s body, he jabbed forward with Requiem, like some Sutu farmer warding off a crop-stealing beast. The banshee didn’t shy away from the strike and caught it right in the hollow beneath the trunk hole. Immaterial bone cracked and the banshee pulled back, clearly not expecting Cole’s attack to actually hurt it.
Normally this would be the time when Cole pleaded with the ghost, offering it freedom from its unliving torment, but he doubted he shared any common languages with banshee. Lunging forward, Cole brought Requiem down on the top of the phantom skull tearing out a gouge of condensed ectoplasm and sending another series of cracks along the spectral bone. Destroying this manifestation wouldn’t damage the elephant’s soul, but it would sap its strength and maybe give him the time needed to examine the harpsichord safely.
Riding the momentum of its two previous attacks, Cole kept up his assault, wailing on the skull with blow after blow, tearing it apart and dodging the thrashing tusks. Side-stepping a final frantic buck of the elephant ghost’s head, Cole swung Reqiuem up and hit a fault line right near the eye socket, growing the collection of cracks until the ectoplasmic bone shattered. As the manifestation melted into grey vapor, Cole sucked down heavy breaths, finding himself oddly winded after the short exchange. Looking back at the vault entrance, he found a pale-looking Argentari standing there, still keeping the wailing contained, soldiers gathered behind him, all wearing looks of shock at what they’d just witnessed. Nodding to them, Cole approached the harpsichord.
With every step, the sense of pressure on the Paladin’s lungs grew and he wondered how much time he had before something inside him burst. Staring at the haunted instrument, Cole kept the cold flowing through him, using it to reinforce his flesh and see into the Aether. The harpsichord was the heart of a storm of emotions greater and more terrible than any humans. A rage and sorrow that tasted of iron and ash surged off the instrument, so potent it was nauseating. Cole had fought a banshee before but even that long-dead elf hadn’t matched the sheer intensity of this specimen. Pure grief and world-ending despair had characterized that keening ghost, but the elephant was more a creature of fury and horror.
Carefully, Cole leaned down to examine the ivory keys and knew why they hadn’t lost their luster. The slabs of white vibrated constantly, knocking away any dust and polishing them against each other. Cole frowned at that, elephant tusk was a hardy material but not hardy enough to survive more than a century of constant grinding against each one another. Squatting down, willing more light into his amulet he looked at the tiny gaps between keys and found something reflective. Tiny strips of metallic foil were pressed in between some of the keys, and shiny as they were to Cole’s eyes, they were dull voids to his other senses.
Muttering to himself, but not even hearing his own words, Cole said. “Stargent, the old prince put stargent between the keys.”
Shifting slightly, Cole squinted at the gap below the bottom set of keys and caught sight of sparkling dust. The stargent had massively weakened the banshee but not fully subdued it. Now after decades of screaming silently, the keys had managed to rub much of the foil between them into powder. Chewing his cheek, Cole disliked how increasingly complex this was getting. The banshee’s soul was bound to the keys but the stargent keeping the ghost from unleashing its full wrath would also protect it from much of Cole’s magic. He had no idea if he could produce enough sanctity to overpower the spell-bane metal and free the banshee. But he also was leery to remove the remaining foil, in case the ghost repeated its performance of destroying Vollenschloss Castle.
That thought sparked a few more and got Cole to pause. This banshee had passed between multiple owners, each suffering from its presence but it never doing enough overt damage to reveal its identity. Something about that seemed strange, even if no one could hear the banshee’s cry, the direct effects were disastrous enough that they’d be noticed. A series of accidents and illnesses wasn’t what a banshee normally left in its wake, instead corpses and broken minds were the more usual results. If anything, the old stories sounded more like a traditional haunting instead of a-
Cole paused mid-musing and stood back up, refocusing on the currents of pain swirling about the harpsichord. He’d thought of the Aetheric contamination as a maelstrom, and as the more he looked at it the truer that metaphor became. Two great bodies of fury and suffering swirled around each other, forming a deadly dance that built upon itself in an ever-escalating storm. Focusing on his power and slowly reaching out, Cole ran a hand along the keys feeling the magic and misery dripping from them.
“The manifestation, the elephant had short tusks,” Cole muttered as he slipped his fingers across the top keyboard. There were faint marks on some of the wood paneling, tiny chips in the beautiful carvings near the base, where it had been removed sloppily. Feeling the ivory keys, Cole felt the two currents boiling off them, one was unfathomable despairing rage, and the other was shock mixed with soul-deep grief. But more than that, there was a symmetry but separation, one Cole recognized from past duties.
Slowly pulling his hand away, feeling slightly unclean as to what he’d touched, Cole took a stumbling step backward and moved towards the vault door. Spots floated at the edge of the Paladin’s vision and he realized he’d forgotten to keep breathing under the intense pressure. Reaching the entrance and meeting a concerned-looking Argentari, Cole passed the wards and felt the pressure dissipate. Carefully he started to get the beeswax out of his ears, using the spark stone the best he could without burning himself or igniting his hair.
As hearing returned, Cole swallowed down a lump as Prince Heinrich asked. “Well? What did you learn?”
Staring back into the room and its growing darkness, Cole said. “They did spare an expense.”
Argentari put a gentle hand on Cole’s shoulder, clearly concerned. Shaking himself, Cole explained. “The elephant had short tusks, not enough for a full set of keys. So instead of buying more, the craftsmen used a cheaper replacement, maybe elk or dire boar. Those weren’t haunted but the tusks were. Back then the elephant was a more typical ghost, lashing out at the harpsichord’s owner but not able to do much more.”
Heinrich pushed past some of his guards, getting closer to Cole. “Are you saying it’s not a banshee?”
Cole shook his head. “It wasn’t, until Prince Eberhard replaced the non-elephant keys. Then it very quickly became a banshee and a powerful one at that.”
Confused, Argentari asked. “That can be done? Make a ghost into a banshee?”
Still staring at the harpsichord, Cole grunted. “No, not normally. Banshees are beings of grief, of total all-consuming sorrow. The old prince evoked that in the elephant’s ghost by… by replacing the poorer ivory with properly carved tusks.”
The Hierophant of Uncle Trickster understood first. “There are two ghosts, both stuck together in the mixed set of keys, feeding off each other’s pain.”
Grimacing, Cole said. “It’s worse than that, it wasn’t just another elephant, it’s the first one’s child.”