A MATRIARCH’S RAGE (PART 4)
“Magic responds to the thoughts and emotions of all intelligent life. How arrogant must you all be to think that applies to only two-legged creatures? Humans, goblins, dwarves, orcs, elves, you’re just a fraction of the species capable of wielding the Aether on this sphere. The seas are filled with spells cast by laughing clicks and bone-shaking songs. In the south, the tusked clans call upon spirits of earth and thunder; while their matriarchs commune with a goddess far older than any of your kind’s shared delusions. Even the boneless ones who live for mere moments and who never inherit knowledge can learn to twist reality in such beautiful ways.” - Attributed to the ancient dragon Gemerak.
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Cleo leaned back in her chair slowly digesting Argentari’s words. “So how does her knowledge of the harpsichord help us? That she knew about the harpsichord’s involvement with the Vollenschloss Tragedy is… concerning, but considering she’s already airing the family’s dirty laundry I doubt we can use that fact.”
Smiling, Argentari ran a finger around the rim of his tea cup. “She’s seeking to undermine your brother’s authority through accusations and implications, both of which rely on her reputation to be credible. With the right prodding, the implications of her knowledge will not just take the wind out of her political sails but probably sink the whole damn ship.”
Head cocked to the side, Cole tried to keep up with this exchange. Part of him was still back with the revelation Countess Lutisha had been engaged to her own cousin and that she’d inherited some sort of family secret from her ducal ancestry. But, Cleo was a teenage girl of some intellect, and that breed is already a vicious political animal without being raised in a court of vipers.
“Well, out with it, what’s your plan?” she said, eyes locked on Argentari with sphinxian intensity.
Amusement played at the corners of the spymaster's mouth and he replied. “It’s funny how family secrets often get divided like inheritance. It’s also interesting how a descendant's reaction to learning them says much about them. For example, you and your brother have desperately been trying to destroy the banshee without attracting outside attention. When that failed you sought professional advice, particularly from one you could exert influence over. In those actions, I see a pair of very clever children who’ve learned quickly how to play politics but are still capable of doing what’s right for both themselves and others.”
Cleo’s lips became a pale line. “Get to the point.”
Rolling his eyes, Argentari muttered. “I’d have already reached it if you hadn’t interrupted.” Answering the spymaster’s gesture with one of her own, Cleo waited, letting Argentari speak. “That’s what I see in you. What I see in Lutisha is a creature who’d not even bother to sound the alarm about a potentially castle-destroying threat sleeping beneath her liege and fiancee’s nose. Someone who’d keep that knowledge close abreast in case it ever proved useful one day, but was still so eager to exact revenge on her enemy's children she let herself slip up at the moment of triumph. It’s not a pretty picture Countess Lutisha has painted of herself, without even including her attempts to undermine her nation’s contributions to the war. Now we just have to show that picture in all its ugly glory to your court.”
Unimpressed, Cleo snapped. “You tell a good story but I can poke a dozen holes in it and so will she. Like perhaps she did tell my useless drunk of a father who never did anything about it. Or maybe she thought the seals were far stronger than they are. Hells, Lutisha could have thought we knew the same way she did. Like I said, her knowledge is concerning but not damning.”
Argentari made an amused noise. “Apt word choice. But you’re wrong, a good story is all politics is. We’re not trying to craft a sea-worthy argument but merely make her’s start to take on water, which is why you are going to need to embrace some uncomfortable possibilities about your great-grandfather. Particularly those raised by the sheer improbability of him stumbling onto a method of creating two banshees stuck in a maelstrom of grief.”
Cole got what Argentari was saying and let out a breath of shock. “Coincidence is the god’s domain.”
Glancing at him, Cleo frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Nodding, his smile fixed in place, Argentari said. “Yes, that’s a possibility but not the only one. Prince Eberhard might have very well been in contact with the vampires. If anyone would have the knowledge for this, they would.”
Looking back and forth between the two holy folk, Cleo snapped. “I don’t like having a conversation tossed around me like a child’s ball.”
Bowing his head in a slight apology, Cole explained. “That saying about coincidences has two meanings, one good, one bad, with which one being evoked depending on what type of deity is behind the coincidence. The odds of someone doing what your ancestor did at random are vanishingly small; he was assisted… by something. If the banshee’s creation really was a bizarre roll of the dice then a fell god or similar rigged things in his favor. If it wasn’t, then Prince Eberhard had access to a source of exotic necromantic knowledge, which means a demon or vampire.”
Shoulders slumping, Cleo’s voice became small. “So you’re saying he wasn’t just a murderous, manipulative monster, but also a cultist or traitor… jagging wonderful.”
Cole and Argentari nodded in unison. Throwing her hands up, Cleo spat. “How is that helpful?! Everyone knows him as my ancestor, not Lutishas. This scandal will crash down on my brother just as much as her if not more so.”
Shaking his head, Argentari got up and refilled his teacup with the last of the kettle before snuffing the small candle keeping it warm. Smoke billowed out from the extinguished wick and with his free hand Argentari ran a finger through the cloud, and it followed him, drawn through the air like it was leashed. Returning to his seat, Argentari let the smoke dance between his hands, conjuring vague shapes in the enchanted cloud.
As two vague outlines formed from the swirling gray, Argentari spoke. “If this scandal was allowed to flow free then yes it would hurt the Prince more than Lutisha, which is why I’m going to sculpt into a more favorable shape. See, stories are a malleable substance and in the right hands they can be crafted into marvelous tools.”
Illustrating, Argentari’s point, his smoke sculpture settled into shape, first showing Prince Heinrich and Countess Lutisha glaring at each other before shifting to an epic tableau of a lion-riding knight facing a sneering queen atop a throne of bones. As the smoke started to fade, the Quicksilver Player said. “In my story, your brother will be playing the heroic young lord trying to fix his ancestor’s mistakes while Lutisha shall be the conniving relative desperate to wrestle away his inheritance for her own selfish gain.”
Eyeing the smoke, Cleo replied. “Interesting trick. Now what’s to stop you from changing the story to the arrogant young prince toying with powers beyond his ken and being brought low by them the moment it's convenient for you?”
Getting up from his chair again, Argentari took a knee before the surprised Duchess. “You came here in a servant’s clothes to avoid attention and probably escape the gilded cage built by your ancestors’ actions and subject’s expectations. You understand roles and how one person shifts between them as needed. Right now I’m setting aside the mask of trade minister and putting on another, one that is not cast aside lightly. For millennia it has been the duty of the priesthood to council and protect all of humanity, which includes its worthy leaders. In that tradition, I take up that role as Hierophant of Uncle Trickster and offer you, Duchess Cleo Conrad, all the wisdom and will I can offer in defense of your kingdom.”
As Cleo looked into Argentari’s eyes, Cole tried to tell what kind of power was vested in the priest’s words. His first instinct was to sip from the Aether and try to taste any spell being worked on the Duchess, but that paranoid idea faded as Cole's understanding grew. The ripple of power that he’d felt travel up his spine with Argentari’s oath wasn’t anything as tawdry as magic, it was something older and far more dangerous. The Hierophant didn’t fill his words with spellcraft, but conviction, the type crafted from a lifetime of faith and given weight by truth.
Some of the tension that filled Cleo’s face with unearned years faded a little and for a split moment, she almost looked like the nervous girl she was. That grain of time passed fast as it came and Cleo’s expression became firm again, but this time with more confidence than concern. “Well then, tell me Hierophant, what do you advise?”
Standing up with a smile, Argentari glanced back at Cole. “Many things, but first, Cole I need you to do me a favor tomorrow when you reinforce the banshee’s bindings.”
Something in the way the priest’s lips were quirked suddenly made Cole a little apprehensive. Still, he gestured for Argentari to elaborate, already wondering if he was making a mistake. Smile widening, the Hierophant said, “I need you to capture the banshee’s song for me.”
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Cole stared down the hallway before him and forced his eyes to stay on the huge vault door at the far end. It wasn’t easy as anxiety drove itself deeper into Cole’s skull with every beat of his overactive heart. Instinct both natural and learned screamed at Cole to spin his head like a millstone in every direction looking for any possible threats, but the acrid smell of vomit from a little behind him spoke to why that wasn’t a good idea. Argentari was needed elsewhere and without his protection, the Banshees’ silent scream was taking its full toll. Even with his enhanced inner ear, Cole needed to focus on the ‘horizon’ of the door to keep himself from falling over thanks to the anxious dizziness inflicted by the twin ghosts.
Magus Lydia and the troop of guards escorting both her and Cole weren’t fairing so well in comparison. Two of the soldiers had already spilled their guts and a third had tripped over his own feet and nearly descended into a panic attack. That had happened maybe five meters farther back the tunnel, where everyone but Cole was now waiting, unable to face more of the silent scream. So now alone, Cole marched towards the door, one hand on the wall, the other clutching the box containing everything he’d need to succeed.
Reaching the vault door, Cole took his first tools out of the box, it was a vial of blood and a key, both originally belonging to Prince Heinrich. Carefully dipping the key in the blood, Cole slid it into the lock and with some effort hauled the great door open. Darkness awaited him, total unnatural darkness, the sort that didn’t just swallow light but hungered for it. As Cole’s amulet tried to fend off the shadows he remembered his battle beneath Vindabon’s streets and the hellspawn mold that ruined so many lives. Bitterly deciding his current situation was moderately better than dealing with the demon, Cole unbuckled his axe, filled himself with holy cold, and entered the vault.
To his surprise, no elephant skull or other manifestation greeted him, just the darkness and lung-squishing pressure. Forcing himself to breathe steadily, Cole wondered if this was what it felt to be at the ocean’s bottom, feeling nothing but cold, while trapped in pitch darkness as your organs were squeezed into mush. Slowly stepping forward, Cole thought the sensation was worse than last time, and he didn’t think it was just because Argentari wasn’t here to shield him. The seals were breaking rapidly with more and more of the two elephant’s rage bleeding into reality.
Approaching the harpsichord, waiting for some attack, Cole pushed more power into his flesh, reinforcing his lungs and heart with his god’s blessing. Breathing became easier but that mattered little as Cole forgot too when faced with the maelstrom before him. He’d been right, things were getting worse, the Aether within the room was a cyclone of grief that buffeted against Cole’s very soul. The pressure on him wasn’t just the silent scream, but the start of the banshee’s proper keening, the terrible magic that damaged the souls of any who heard it. Grimly Cole wondered what would happen if he failed and let his body and soul be shredded by the elephant ghosts. Would he gain some ability to scream loud enough to pop eardrums or something even more bizarre?
Forcing that thought away and everything that went with it, Cole set down the box and carefully pulled out a large tuning fork borrowed from Lowenburg’s Priests of Uncle Trickster. About the length of Cole’s forearm, the tuning fork’s hilt was covered in runes while a large quartz crystal was set into the pommel. In Cole’s grip, it looked and felt more like a sword than an instrument, which was fitting considering the tuning fork’s purpose. Creeping forward, axe in one hand, fork in the other, Cole reached the harpsichord, taking a moment to admire the incredible art covering it while also forcing down more lungfuls of cold air.
With as much caution as he would pull a venomous snake from its lair, Cole reached out with the tuning fork and gently tapped the haunted keys, whispering the activation word as he did. “Swenweg”
Before Cole could even finish speaking a battering ram struck him right in the chest, ribs creaking he sailed backward, skidding to right before the vault door. Wind knocked from him, Cole barely managed to roll out of the way as a woosh of displaced air spoke to a second blow. The ground where he’d fallen cracked as Cole’s caught flickers of a tree-trunk-sized foot before the manifestation faded. Axe ready, Cole scrambled to his feet and tried to guess how the banshees would attack next. Thanking his god they’d simply tried to crush him instead of running him through with a tusk, Cole debated his options. Even partially manifesting seemed to be draining for the banshees, and judging from his last encounter if he could damage them they’d retreat into their remains.
Glancing at his right hand, Cole was mildly surprised to find he still held the tuning fork, and it was vibration hard enough to make his fingers tingle. The quartz pommel glowed with purple/green/orange light and a slight wave of nausea passed over Cole just to look at the humming tines. The magic had worked, the tuning fork held the banshee’s song and would continue to do so until the crystal was drained. According to Argentari, tools like this were common among battle priests of his temple, using them to create and maintain sounds they anchored spells to. While Cole had… doubts about the part of the plan involving the tuning fork, he’d still done his part and needed to get the arcane instrument out of the vault with both him and it intact.
Leaping out of the way of another kick, Cole grimaced, escaping wouldn’t be too hard, but his job wasn’t done, the box which now sat near the harpsichord’s base contained sheets of stargent foil and he needed to get them between the keys. Holding up the tuning fork, Cole went over everything Argentari said about it, how it was a combat tool designed to literally carry a tune in the middle of a vicious melee. Cole couldn’t do this with both hands busy and he sure as shit wasn’t going to drop his axe, so naturally he turned towards the vault door and hucked the tuning fork as far as he could. It sailed down the hallway landing with a bounce that sent a warbling scream echoing down the tunnel before rolling to a stop near Magus Lydia.
Before Cole could see if the tuning fork was intact, something wrapped around his ankle and pulled with enough force to yank him off balance. Stumbling, Cole tried to regain his stance but it felt like a ship’s rigging was twisted about his leg and its entire crew was hauling on it. Looking down he found a spectral trunk trying its best to pull his feet out from under him. Leaning down, Cole lashed out with Requiem, severing the ectoplasmic muscle, and starting to pull himself free, which was exactly the moment he learned an interesting fact about elephants; they were smart enough to feint.
The battering ram hit Cole from behind sending him hurtling toward the harpsichord, rolling along the ground, Cole nearly hit the relic’s legs but stopped himself just in time. Looking up he saw the box with the stargent almost within arm’s reach. Using Requiem like a dockworker’s hook, Cole snagged the box and pulled it towards him but the old stone floor combined with his frantic movements to spell disaster. Sheets of bright stargent spilled onto the ground as Cole flipped the box by accident.
Swearing violently, Cole scrambled forward trying to grab some of the precious material. Distracted and discombobulated, the Paladin didn’t see the next attack. A foot, large as ship-beam lumber, kicked Cole in the side sending him skidding along the ground and… into the base of the harpsichord. With a horrible splintering sound, Cole went right through two of the legs and barely avoided having the huge instrument fall on top of him. With a horrible crash, the harpsichord slammed into the ground, its two remaining legs propping it up in a crude tent shape. Somewhere above Cole, the harpsichord’s lid snapped shut like a coffin and a strange tinkling clatter reached his ears. Looking to the sound’s source, Cole felt his already cold blood reach boreal temperatures, in the little gap left by the leg stumps he could see a rain of silvery flakes dripping down onto the ground from the broken keyboard. As the waterful of stargent petered out, the harpsichord started to vibrate, the intact strings playing a high teeth-itching note as the shaking grew worse and worse.
Short of breath as he was, Cole still managed to say. “Oh fuck.”
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“Absolutely not! I’m not going to let this temple be dragged into these games of yours Argentari.” spat Hierophant Wistor as he glared across the table at his foreign colleague.
Alexio Argentari simply smiled at the suitably stormy priest of Father Sky and replied. “This isn’t a game, and you’re already involved.”
There was so much to do in such little time, that Alexio was forced to let Cole handle the harpsichord, while he engaged in other duties. But shameful as it was to admit even to himself, Alexio wasn’t too upset in avoiding another encounter with the banshees. While much of his temple work involved the vampires and their machinations, Alexio wasn’t used to dealing with the unquiet dead. That darkness and the unheard scream beneath the castle had stayed with him, even entering his dreams like some aural infection. So with the issues before them necessitating a division of labor, Alexio naturally let Cole do what he specialized in, while he did the same.
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Visiting the largest of Lowenburg’s four temples, Alexio was attempting to plant some seeds of caution in the city’s religious leadership. An effort that led him here, to Hierophant Wistor, and his fellows. As the god of justice and leadership Father Sky’s priests were tasked with shepherding the other priesthoods, not an easy task with them forced to share space, but one they did admirably, which was why Alexio had come to them with his request.
Meeting the sky priest’s stormy eyes, Alexio reiterated his point. “Countess Lutisha’s actions in light of the war in Alidonar are already suspicious, now adding in what we’ve learned about her grandfather and it points to some very concerning possibilities, ones that cannot be ignored.”
Brow furrowing thunderously, Wistor replied. “The same could be said about the Elector Prince himself, he’s Eberhard’s direct descendant and the one actually in possession of this haunted harpsichord. You’re trying to dress this up as some security concern to get our help in discrediting the Countess. I won’t let you turn the temples of Lowenburg into a political prop. We need the rulers of Baivuar to trust us and getting pulled into some Vindabonian plot against one of their own would alienate far more than the Countess’s faction.”
A dry cough came from a little down the table and Hierophant Reubain, a servant of Master Time, said: “The Elector-Prince made contact with a Paladin once he realized the full danger of the haunting; that’s a very different reaction than sitting on this secret.”
Elsewhere, Elder Priestess Tara of Aunt Seeress’s creed spoke up. “Yes, especially with what damage that ghost has already caused. Vollenschloss Castle wasn’t some glorified toll booth perched atop a mountain, it was a true fortress palace. For this wraith to literally shake the place apart… I don’t want to imagine how strong it is. If Countess Lutisha knew anything about this and didn’t inform the Time Priests then she’s at the very least guilty of shocking negligence.”
Eying his colleagues, Wistor snapped. “There isn’t any evidence aside from our ‘guest’s’ theory. Countess Lutisha might simply have better spies than Argentari is assuming.”
Hierophant Dival, a follower of Uncle Maker nodded. “Lutisha is a born and bred creature of the court. Not to impinge upon our young prince’s abilities, but it's very possible someone in the Countess’s employe slipped into his inner circle. I mean, if anyone would have the resources, motivation, and knowledge to get such a lever on Heinrich it would be Lutisha. So I’m going to have to agree with Wistor, this is a mess but of the political not religious kind. Getting involved wouldn’t be prudent, and besides this haunted harpsichord seems a much bigger priority than a dynastic struggle.”
Margret, the senior priestess of Aunt Huntress snapped her fingers. “Yeah, and I’m not so happy with the fact Heinrich didn’t come to us when they uncovered the harpsichord. While I have no doubts Paladin Cole is capable of handling this, we’ve all heard the stories from the solstice ball, there wasn’t any need to get him involved. Lowenburg isn’t some small town with half a dozen country priests, we have resources and knowledge enough to face a dangerous ghost. Besides, both Lutisha and Heinrich sat on their knowledge, maybe too different extents but still. This doesn’t seem like something we should meddle with.”
An amused snort escaped Alexio. “Some of you are doing a very good job of justifying Heinrich’s choice to seek outside help. He feared turning this into a political mess, which is exactly what you’re all doing.”
Dival bristled at that. “Don’t try and put on a performance for us. We’re not going to get involved with this controversy, maintaining our impartial status is important for trust and cohesion.”
Smiling, the Hierophant of Uncle Trickster said. “There is no such thing as impartiality, inaction is a type of action, by doing nothing you default to supporting one side or another and don’t even get to choose which one. By getting so invested in some illusion of being outside the court’s politics, you’ve simply surrendered your agency for the ability to pat yourself on the back. A war is raging in the Southern Marches, the dead devour the living while Harmas itself is lost to us. Countess Lutisha is doing all in her power to stop your nation from helping its cousins face our enemy and somehow letting that happen is considered the ‘neutral’ option?”
That got some uncomfortable looks from the conclave and Priest Manuel, a servant of Brother Moon half-whispered. “That may be true but we don’t have grounds to interfere. You probably know better than any of us the accords between crowned heads and holy hearts. We can’t simply remove or negate a powerful noble like the Countess.”
Smile broadening, Alexio held his hands out before him. “Which is exactly why Countess Lutisha’s knowledge of the harpsichord is so important! It gives you the justification to open an inquiry into House Luitpold. Even if nothing incriminating is found, the scandal alone with short-change her political capital and give the prince the opportunity he needs to regain control.”
Head resting on one elbow, Wistor frowned with enough intensity to make Alexio wonder if one could pull a brow muscle. The senior Hierophant’s expression was still thunderous but no longer glowering, which seemed a good sign. Speaking slowly, Wistor said. “It’s too flimsy, we’d need something more. Find evidence of her maintaining whatever connection Prince Eberhard had with our enemies or something similar. If we are going to act, it cannot be done so flagrantly as you suggest.”
Nodding, Alexio accepted that. Between Cole and him they should be able to sniff out some dirty secret of the countess, or more importantly, give a big enough impression that something was rotten with House Luitpold. See, Argentari knew getting a full inquiry into Lutisha’s affairs was unlikely. He’d come here to try to roll those dice but also plant a very important seed; that of doubt. While he’d not convinced the temple conclave, Alexio had put an idea in their heads, an idea that wouldn’t die easily as it was fed by a good story.
Everyone knew tales of scheming nobles plotting with dark powers to usurp their righteous relatives. Children grew up hearing legends of noble princes casting down evil uncles or aunts to reclaim their thrones and bring new prosperity. While even adults whispered about what dark debauched things aristocrats did with all the money, power, and secrecy their position afforded. There were a dozen different archetypes Alexio could pull on, weaving a yarn that would sit in people’s minds and make them think thoughts he wanted them to.
This was just the second of many seeds the Quicksilver Player would be planting across Lowenburg, and even if the efforts he disguised his gardening with were totally fruitless, the mere spread of his story would be a triumph. Laughing on the inside, Alexio Argentari could never understand why so many people coveted the magic to control people’s minds. In his experience, doing it without magic was so much more rewarding.
Bowing his head, Alexio “Thank you, that’s all I ask. Paladin Cole is an expert in hunting after dark secrets and darker powers, he’ll find-”
The door to the chamber burst open and a wild-eyed priest of Mistress Void stumbled into the room, chest heaving as he nearly collapsed onto the table. Gaunt with an unhealthy pallor and greasy hair, the priest fought to regain his breath. He’d clearly been running and wasn’t the sort used to it.
Priestess Tara rushed forward, violet light already flowing from her fingers. “Priest Arkhi? What’s wrong?”
Looking up at her Arkhi managed to push words out between gasps. “Doing… doing scrying ritual… checking… for… threats… found one… one bad.”
Wistor put a calming hand on Arkhi’s back and the priest started breathing better as the very air did its best to help him. “What kind of threat? Has another giant been spotted-”
Grabbing onto the senior Hierophant’s arm, the priest said. “Something undead and incredibly powerful, it’s… it’s in the jagging city. Fuck! I think it’s in the castle!”
Shock rippled through the room and Hierophant Reubain shut his eyes and said. “Strange, something agitated the wards but didn’t trigger them.”
Nodding frantically, Arkhi said. “Whatever this thing is, it surged with power and then vanished less than a minute later. That might not have been enough to raise our normal alarms. But I still felt it, it’s strong and… oh by the Mistress’s cloak, it’s angry.”
Voice taught with tension Reubain hissed. “What do you mean it vanished?”
Shrugging pitifully, Arkhi said. “It disappeared, one moment I could feel it through the spell, the next it was gone.”
Smiling broadly, Alexio said. “Well then, that’s good news.”
All eyes fell on him; some expressions were confused, others were shocked, and one or two clearly understood his logic. Reubain was among them and he asked. “Paladin Cole? You think he freed the wraiths?”
Nodding, Alexio explained. “He was going to reinforce the seals, but it seems plans must have changed. I’ll return to the castle and find out more, I suggest some of you accompany me while-”
A thought struck the Quicksilver Player then and he trailed off. Cole had privately confided his worries about facing the banshees, that even if he beat them the effort might kill him. The last thing Alexio needed was Prince Heinrich finding Cole’s pulped corpse in his dungeon and witnessing the homunculus’s resurrection.
Speaking quickly, Alexio asked. “Who here is the strongest healer?”
After a moment of consideration, an elderly woman with long plaited hair cleared her throat. Clad in the green and brown of Mother Earth, the priestess hadn’t spoken the entire meeting, merely listening to the exchange. “That would be me.”
Wistor’s back straightened and he started to say something but the woman held out one hand to silence him. For a moment Argentari thought her palms were intricately tattooed but on closer inspection, he realized the rippling pattern of umber and gold shone with the glint of crystal. This priestess was walking the path of the Anchorite and every spell cast took her step farther down that road.
The priestess came towards Alexio and said. “I am Hierophant Ruth. Do you fear the Paladin has been injured?”
Nodding, Alexio considered what to share. If Cole had gotten himself killed the presence of a powerful healer at his bedside and a story about his supposed ‘blessing of regeneration’ might be enough to convince people he’d not actually died. “Yes, he was worried about his ability to face the banshees. If Cole managed to free the souls by himself, I fear for what condition he might be in.”
Already heading towards the door, Ruth said. “Well then, let’s stop wasting time.”
They arrived at Conradbau Castle to find it in a state of chaos. From what gabbled accounts could be extracted from the servants it seemed the entire castle shook for maybe twenty seconds and in that time panic, nausea, and general disorder reigned. Stunned by what happened, the castle staff was in no shape to countermand a small squad of Hierophants as they pushed their way toward the castle’s dungeon. Wading through the shocked faces and stink of sick Alexio could bitterly imagine how the banshees might have destroyed Volenschloss Castle. All its occupants forced into a state of terrified vertigo, unable to stand or even do more than scream and vomit while the very stone came crashing down atop them. Prince Eberhard had been a very cruel man.
Reaching the entrance to the dungeon, they found marginally more resistance as a pair of ill-looking but still-standing soldiers blocked their path. Addressing Wistor, who was nominally leading the group, the guard said. “I’m sorry sir, but the Prince’s orders were explicit, to not have anyone enter the dungeon.”
With all the calm but undeniable authority of one sworn to Father Sky, Wistor replied. “Send someone to get him then. This is beyond important and he’ll want to speak with us.”
The soldiers looked at each other and the one who spoke slowly picked his words. “That’s the issue, sir, he’s in the dungeon, he and his personal guard, they went in right after the shaking stopped.”
For a brief terrible moment, Alexio thought his efforts to save Cole were going to be strangled by the paradox of orders but a shout from elsewhere caught everyone's attention. Marching towards the dungeon’s entrance was Duchess Cleo followed by a collection of guards and courtiers. One of these servants, the chamberlain Norrich was pleading with the Duchess. “My lady you can’t risk yourself! If your brother really is in danger then you mustn’t-”
Whirling about, Cleo leveled a finger at her chamberlain like it was a dagger. “I’m not abandoning him!”
Shaking his head, Norrich held up placating hands. “And I’m not saying we do, let the soldiery risk themselves, that’s their profession after all.”
Stepping forward into this argument, Alexio said. “Or others more trained for this kind of danger.”
Only then did Cleo and her trail of servants seem to notice the collection of powerful priests awaiting them. The Duchess understood their presence immediately and waved a hand at the guards before the dungeon’s entrance. “Let them through, I order it!”
Those words cut through the knot and within two minutes the Hierophants were down at the dungeon’s bottom level. As they arrived a wave of nausea and fear filled them and Alexio cursed, holding out his hands and quickly preparing the counter spell he’d used before on the banshee’s song. The feeling just started to fade when the door before them opened and they entered the hallway; where they were greeted with the reeking smell of bile and filth. Soldiers lay about in puddles of their own making, all trying to come to their feet with little effort. Roughly halfway down the tunnel, a bubble of light shimmered and a few people stood clustered within it. Magus Lydia had her arms outstretched, fingers dancing in a complex pattern that fed the arcane shield surrounding her, Prince Heinrich, and two of his haggard-looking guards.
Alexio Argentari barely had time to digest this sight before his full focus was required on his magic, a great force slammed into the spell and threatened to disrupt it. The banshee’s silent song was no longer dulled by thick stone and heavy bolts, taking more and more effort to stop. Teeth clenched, trying to keep the magic intact even without his favored tools, Alexio pushed forward into the tunnel.
The other Hierophants descended upon the stirring soldiers, a rainbow of multihued magic dancing from them as they checked for injuries and healed what they could. Somewhere next to Alexio, Wistor muttered. “They’re all concussed, and showing signs of inner ear damage.”
Approaching the bubble of protective magic, Alexio met the prince’s tired eyes and offered a tiny bow. Heinrich started to speak but no sound came out, seeming to remember something the prince changed course and gestured somewhere behind him vigorously. Nodding in comprehension, Alexio eyed the sphere of magic, Magus Lydia didn’t have the expertise in sound spells to negate the song, so she’d created a silent bubble, an effort that was clearly straining her. Silence was harder than people thought and the simple option was to close off a space magically, it stopped the air from vibrating true, but also stopped airflow. Cleo had been right to be worried, if Alexio and the Hierophant’s hadn’t come so quickly the Prince and his inner circle would have been trapped between suffocation or being rattled apart.
Shimming past the sphere that took up nearly three-quarters of the tunnel, Alexio felt confusion grow like a weed among his thoughts. If Cole dispatched the banshee then where was the song coming from, and why was it so intense here but not still shaking the entire castle apart? As the rest of the tunnel came into view, Alexio had his answer and cursed himself violently. Sitting on the ground amidst a rippling pattern of cracks was the enchanted tuning fork. Its tines slowly cutting an indent into the stone floor as they carried the captured scream.
Cole must have succeeded in Alexio’s request, but all the ways he’d thought to use that bottled sound in his schemes felt suddenly pointless. The tuning fork hadn’t just captured the banshees’ scream when they’d been sealed but also when they’d broken free of their bindings. While not strong enough to fully mimic the banshee’s building-breaking wail, the tuning fork was still powerful enough to turn this entire hallway into a death trap.
Running forward, Alexio brought a heel down on the tuning fork’s pommel shattering the quartz crystal and runic marks with all his considerable weight. Instantly the song started to fade and he could let his own magic go with it. A crack and whoosh of shifting air from behind Alexio told him Lydia’s bubble was gone as well. Turning about, the Quicksilver Player found an irate Prince Heinrich charging toward him.
“What in the world’s name happened!” roared the furious Elector-Prince. “The Paladin was supposed to strengthen the seals not break them! He could have gotten us all killed!”
Holding up conciliatory hands, Alexio tried to find the right words to calm Heinrich but they proved unneeded. Hierophant Ruth bustled past the recovering soldiers, moving with surprising speed for her age. “We can argue about that later, lets first see in what shape Paladin Cole is in.”
Anger faded into grim concern and Heinrich followed after Ruth, his guards, and Alexio trailing after them. Fingers working quickly, the Quicksilver Player prepared to cast his own magic, if Cole was dead he’d need to work fast to buy him enough time to resurrect. Reaching the open vault door Alexio entered with the others and found it ruined. The thick stone walls were cracked, while the pulped remains of the harpsichord sat in the center and a thin layer of quickly melting hoarfrost covered everything. At the far end of the chamber slumped against its back wall, lay a motionless figure, blood dripping from his face.
Ruth worked her way through the jumbled mess of ruined instrument and reached Cole. Light shone from her hands and in that illumination, Alexio saw the paladin was clutching a small box. Gingerly, Ruth kneeled down and tried to pull the box away to examine him better, a rattling gasp escaped Cole and his iron grip tightened on the box. Head lolling up he spoke. “Don’t.”
One of the guards next to Prince Heinrich swore as Cole’s face came into view. Blood dripped from his eyes, nose, and ears making the man… no homunculus, look like his liquified insides were running out of him. Moving quickly, Ruth put her hands on either side of his head, and the smell of good wet dirt filled the chamber alongside rich green light. The Hierophant of Mother Earth cocked her head to the side, sending her long braided hair flapping. Worried she’d noticed something strange; Alexio held his breath, preparing to intercede.
If Ruth did have any inkling of what sort of being lay before her, she made no show of it and simply let her magic flow into Cole, murmuring arcane cant as she did. The Paladin’s breathing became better and the blood flow slowed then stopped. Glancing back at Heinrich’s guards, Ruth said. “Send for a stretcher.” then addressing Heinrich himself added. “And make sure your sister knows you’re alright.”
Groggily, Cole started to shift. “I can… I can stand.”
Her voice both sweet and threatening, Ruth replied. “If you could see right now, you’d know the look I’m giving you say that’s not an option.”
Shaky fingers tried to offer the box. “Get… get this to the Tenth Temple, don’t open it.”
Well, Cole was concussed enough to forget where he was, but he was alive which let Alexio finally relax and release his prepared spells. Approaching the paladin, he asked. “What’s in it?”
Head shifting at Alexio’s voice, the blinded Cole pushed the box in his direction. “The banshees’ remains, wrapped in stargent.”
Recoiling despite himself, Alexio asked. “You didn’t free them?!”
Cole grunted. “I wasn’t strong enough, but… but it’s fine.”
Heinrich growled, doing a good impression of his missing lions. “You nearly destroyed my castle, I don’t know how that can be ‘fine”
A bubbling, punch-drunk laugh escaped Cole. “Would saving your throne be compensation enough?”
Ruth glared at the prince and priest as she tended to the paladin. “We can discuss this later. He needs better healing than what I can give in this frigid cell.”
Ignoring Ruth, which wasn’t an easy thing if Alexio had to guess, Heinrich kneeled next to Cole. “What are you talking about?”
A blood-flecked smile went across Cole’s face. “When I failed to free the banshess I saw pieces of their past and… and it was enlightening. It’s true what they say, elephants never forget, even when they are dead.”
Alexio blinked in surprise, he’d heard rumors skilled priests of Master Time could touch the memories of souls they freed, in an act dangerously close to necromancy. Still, he’d never considered it could be done accidentally during a botched exorcism. Despite himself, Alexio squatted down next to Cole. “You learned something?”
Cole tried to nod his head but he couldn’t countermand Ruth’s grip on him. “Lots of things, but most importantly, your sister was wrong, Prince Heinrich. The harpsichord hasn’t been sitting in a storage room within the castle all this time. It was moved there, relatively recently. Close to twenty years ago I’d reckon. Now tell me, when was Lutisha’s engagement to your father called off?”