“What do the Sidhe look like? Now that is an interesting question, a difficult one as well. But to spare you the complexity of fae fashion and flesh crafting, I’ll describe a “typical Sidhe” if such a term is at all applicable. Take an elf, with all their lean, sharp features, and magnify all that is unique about them twice over. Thy Sidhe are impossibly thin, impossibly graceful, and profoundly alien in form and movement. Now, take this exaggerated body and give it a near-random smattering of animal features, particularly those belonging to insects. Glistening wings, twitching antennae, proud horns, sharp claws, patches of fur or chitin, and most importantly of all, chimeric eyes. See, every Sidhe is born with unique eyes, and they are the one feature they are most loath to change in themselves.” - Peregrine Priest Battu Mauro, addressing a class of Vindabonian acolytes.

  Cole stood atop the ruined watch station, staring down at the plaza below while mentally debating exactly how hard he could punch Mak without killing him. Coming from the four cardinal directions, down the main streets leading to the plaza, were four separate rivers of dead flesh. Summoned by Mak’s ridiculous explosion, the ghouls had come in force. Hundreds, if not thousands, of shuffling corpses filled the previously deserted streets, with the first of the tide already dribbling into the plaza like a leak of sewage.

  If push came to shove, Cole might be able to cut a path through the swarm. His experiences back at Azyge showed that such a feat was possible for him, but attempting this while also trying to protect his allies seemed a bridge too far. Perhaps he merely needed to distract the ghouls long enough for Natalie to finish her… meal, and for Mak to lead the others back to his lair? Maybe that would work, but another question, one profoundly more worrying than if he could fight some ghouls, hung over him. Who and what else had noticed the explosion?

  Glancing behind him, Cole noted the three rodents he’d been asked to help. The years he’d spent with Isabelle had mostly inured him to the strangeness of vampire magic, but protecting two living rats and an undead one was peculiar even by his standards. At the very least, this trio seemed canny survivors, and would be able to take care of themselves if Cole kept the swarm away from them.

  Pointing with his halberd, Cole gestured to the rodents and then up to the tower’s crumbling insides. While he was probably wasting valuable time, elevation was always valuable when it came to dealing with ghouls. Surprisingly, the rats responded, following their ghostly leader up the nearest wall, and then perched on a half-broken support beam.

  “I should have figured,” muttered the Paladin as he left the rats behind. Of course, Natalie would manage to find a trio of Aether-touched rodents.

  The flash of reflected light caught his attention then, and Cole noticed a glimmering spot near his feet winking in and out of existence. He recognized the pattern; this was lantern-cant, a favored form of communication for sailors, soldiers, and spies. Contained in the sporadic flashes was a simple message.

  “HOLD”

  Cole tried to trace the reflection back to its source, but whenever his eyes got close to the building he thought it came from, his focus would slide right off the structure. Well, at least Kit and Yara’s subtlety array was working well. The lantern-cant, though, that had to be Mak, he’d taught it to Cole, afterall. In the tight military parlance favored by cant-users, “hold” meant neither to advance nor retreat, but to simply maintain a current position no matter what the enemy did.

  While admittedly this had already been Cole’s plan, he now felt more than a little uncertain. Of course, Mak could be simply telling Cole to stay put and not lead the tide towards his position, or maybe he just needed a distraction while getting Kit and Yara away from the plaza. But the Homunculus’s own worries about his former mentor had grown like a nasty fungal rash, and giving Mak the benefit of the doubt seemed a mistake. Sparing a look for the bell tower, Cole silently asked Natalie to finish up her predation. The sooner she made contact with Yara, the sooner they’d know how worried to be

  Without any good options available, Cole was forced to stand his ground, eyes flicking back and forth from the coming swarm, the broken bell tower, and where he thought Mak was perched. Sudden violent movement from one stream of ghouls ended this nervous rotation as Cole’s focus settled on the most obvious threat. Forcing their way through their duller brethren was a pack of grinners.

  Cole reached down into a nearby pile of rubble and hoisted up a large hunk of intact masonry. Hefting what was practically a small boulder with one hand, he gazed out at the coming swarm and made a few quick mental calculations. Then, with a grunt, he hurled the boulder as hard as he could. Propelled by Homunculus muscle and a magi-made trinket, the masonry hit the front of the pack, smashing a few ghouls and making more stumble and fall. A few more rocks like that and he’d have softened up and split up the grinners enough to make them a trivial problem.

  After sticking Requiem into the broken plaster at his feet, the paladin got to work hurling more hunks of masonry at the ghouls. He’d always had a knack for throwing weapons, something Isabelle credited to her efforts in improving the human brain, so getting to put that skill to proper use was good. In fact, as he struck the legs out from beneath a quartet of tightly packed grinners, Cole wondered if maybe Kit might be able to enchant his set of throwing knives. But that was something to consider in the future, as the ghouls were already upon him.

  The first four of the creatures were nearly naked, clad only in stained scraps that did little to hide their cracked, leathery skin and myriad open wounds. They clambered up the ruined building’s side, moving with a unique kind of desperate dexterity. Unconcerned with where rubble cut into their already damaged flesh, the ghouls were focused solely on Cole, their rigor mortis grins speaking to the unnatural hunger driving them. In one smooth move, the paladin picked up Requiem and swung it at the climbing ghouls, splintering four skulls and sending the twitching bodies tumbling down onto the next batch.

  Desperate hands with broken nails, missing fingers, and exposed tendons, scrabbled against the debris, hauling more and more ghouls up towards the paladin. They all met the same fate as the first four. Grinners were nought but an annoyance to Cole now, especially when stymied by a steep ramp. Soon he’d have cut through them all, and gods willing, by then Natalie would be ready to leave. Still, Cole was finding himself surprisingly strained by this effort, as his heart was beating dully in his ears. Perhaps throwing those rocks had taken more from him than he’d thought?

  Wait. That wasn’t his heartbeat. The noise was coming from somewhere nearby. After slicing through a few more grinners, Cole spun about, trying to figure out what the hells he was hearing. Upon facing the western street leading from the plaza, he caught sight of the noise’s source. A horse-drawn carriage was barreling down the dusty cobblestones, scattering ghouls before it like weeds before a farmer’s plow.

  Utterly mystified, Cole stared at the oncoming carriage, trying to understand what kind of undead was headed his way. Was it another dullahan? They usually favored skeletal horses as their mounts, but could infuse all manner of things with their power. No, it couldn’t be a dullahan; he didn’t see any of the green witchfire that marked those undead and their servants. In fact, as the carriage grew closer, Cole realized it wasn’t being pulled by horses, be they living or dead. Whatever was galloping towards him had horns, the kind found on the great northern elk.

  Many-pronged antlers battered aside any ghoul that got too close to the carriage. These great horns sent ghouls and parts of ghouls flying, while heavy hoofs crushed any corpse that went beneath them. Strangely, the swarm didn’t turn and lunge at the creatures or the carriage; they ignored this new presence even as it charged through them.

  Cole was so stunned by this that he barely noticed that two grinners were clambering up behind him. He twisted at the last moment before the ghouls lunged, striking both down, then kicking their remains onto the next batch of climbers. With that problem delayed, he refocused on the carriage just in time for it to enter the far side of the plaza. A trail of broken, twitching corpses lay in its wake.

  Now what exactly was pulling the carriage became properly visible, and it made Cole’s insides turn to lead. They weren’t horses, they weren’t elk, they weren’t anything sane. The creatures didn’t have the long snouts of animals; instead, below those great antlers were human faces. Each was doll-like in its unnatural perfection, only marred by the crass makeup and unsettling expressions they wore. At first, Cole thought they were in pain, but… the more he looked… the more it seemed the opposite, the exact opposite.

  As the shock of the creature’s ecstasy passed, Cole examined the rest of their bodies and felt nauseous, a rare thing for him. The “elk’s” fur was thin to the point of near non-existence across their flanks and limbs, but a long, thick strip of tawny hair ran from the top of the skull, down the spine to the tip of the tail. The flesh exposed beneath the fur was pale pink, with a blush. Myriad multicolored swirling patterns decorated the rosy skin alongside odd patches of scar tissue that had the rippling texture of badly stirred wax. Cole knew what made that type of scar: shoddy flesh-crafting. Cruel, hideous magic had sculpted these creatures from living beings, and Cole could guess the original material.

  The carriage came to a stop roughly fifteen meters from the ruined bell tower, and the elk-things reared up on their hind legs. Mind dull with growing horror, Cole absently noted the cloven hooves kicking the air. Even hidden beneath the overgrown mass of hardened material, he could see remnants of stretched-out and fused fingers. Then, as if this wretched display needed a climax, the creatures bugled. The sound they made little resembled the cries Cole had heard out in the deep forest, and better matched the sort of exaggerated noises one might find in a brothel.

  “What in the world’s fucking name are those?”

  Cole nearly jumped from his armor in surprise. Natalie stood a little behind his right side, staring at the creatures with a horrified expression that probably matched his own. It seemed even the bloody mania Molek engendered in her wasn’t enough to overshadow what had just arrived.

  As the creatures settled down onto all fours, Cole responded. “The reason we use that oath. They are creations of the fae.”

  Movement from the carriage’s driver's seat pulled his attention from the flesh-crafted abominations to the one holding their reins. Having set said reins aside, the driver clambered down onto the plaza floor. Short and slightly hunched over, the newcomer wore a shabby servant’s livery along with a bizarre leather mask. Large bat-like ears stuck out from either side of the stranger’s head, which, when coupled with their stature, meant this was a goblin.

  The masked goblin took three powerful strides towards the ruined tower before pulling a serpent-like horn from his ill-patched coat. Bizarrely, the surrounding ghouls ignored the carriage driver, even when he raised the odd instrument to his lips and blew into it. The resulting sound made Cole’s teeth itch, and Natalie flinch; this wasn’t something meant for sane ears.

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  Once the unseelie trumpeting had finished, the goblin puffed out his chest and loudly proclaimed in a croaking voice. “Hear ye! Hear ye! Trespassers and interlopers, thy presence has notith gone unnoticed! Thou stand accusedith of undeniable crimes against this venerable and virtuous polis! Be honored and ashamed, for thy actions have brought a most regal and gallant member of the court to pass immutable judgment upon thy heathen heads!”

  “So that’s what Yara and Kit meant about the masked men speaking strangely,” Natalie muttered as she and Cole exchanged stunned looks.

  The goblin then scuttled over to the carriage’s side, opened the door, and then knelt on all fours, acting as a living footstool for the figure that emerged. To Cole’s genuine surprise, the court member was not some mutated horror dredged up from the bleakest faerie tale, but instead a handsome young man with pointed ears clad in full military dress. One hand casually resting on the saber at his side, the other tucked behind him, the noble surveyed the plaza with the kind of disdain his ilk must practice.

  His gaze eventually settled on Cole and Natalie, and his already haughty expression turned into a barely constrained sneer. A sneer that didn’t sit right with the Paladin, something in how the noble’s face contorted, itched at Cole’s instincts. This one was also hiding behind a mask, just perhaps a less literal one than the tanned human leather his coachman wore.

  Without even acknowledging his servant, the noble stepped onto the poor goblin’s back and then to the plaza. With this humiliating duty done, the coach driver pulled himself up into a bow so low he could have kissed the dirty stone, then finally stood to proclaim his master’s identity.

  “Grovel before his excellence, Baron Bastian Veers! Marshal of the second Harmas host! Victor of Zornstadt! Prince Jan’s blade of justice! Knight of Silver Acron! Brother-in-arms and in law to House Janic!”

  This list of titles echoed across the plaza and rang hollow in Cole’s ears. Hand tight on Requiem, the Paladin stared down at the Baron as he slowly approached the ruined bell tower. Moving with a dancer’s grace and a lord’s arrogance, the noble strode through the scattered ghouls, his focus never leaving Cole. For their part, the ghouls actually made way for the noble, their rotting bodies shuffling to the side with a deference impossible for their kind. More magic was at work here than those skin masks.

  In a musical voice, Baron Veers shouted. “Name thyself trespassers! Name thyself and fall upon my mercy!”

  Natalie let out a nervous snort at that. Every child the world over knew never to give anything fae their name.

  “I am a servant of the Tenth God,” Cole answered. “And I have no desire for your mercy. Instead, I have a question.”

  The Baron stiffened at this, but before he could spit a sneering reply, Cole gestured at the elk-things with Requiem. “Who were they?”

  Veers’ expression shifted from confusion to annoyance in a change too quick for a human’s face. Instead of responding, he jerked his head at his herald, who spoke in his place.

  “Yonder beautiful steeds are the property of the court. Their history before then matters not.”

  “Who. Were. They.”

  Clearly frustrated by this line of questioning, Baron Veers drew his sabre and pointed it at Cole. The blade shone umber and gold, its bronze length sporting intricate inlays. “If thou seekith not mercy, then thou shalt face an ignoble end!”

  A wet sound issued from the Baron, and he rolled his shoulders, a gesture that sent his short cape flapping, allowing what emerged from the noble’s back to spread free. He had wings, giant insect wings with the color of a soap bubble in sunlight. The wings buzzed to life and in the space of an eyeblink, the Baron had shot up towards Cole, sabre aiming for his neck. The Paladin deflected the blow, forcing the Baron to retreat from his and Natalie’s counterattack.

  But in that split-second where their weapons clashed, Cole had gotten a good look at their foe and better understood his nature. The faux-changling’s eyes were made of hundreds of turquoise lenses, and his skin was composed of countless perfectly interlocked chitin plates. Cole and Natalie weren’t fighting a mutant noble; they faced something uncannily close to the sidhe.

  Buzzing up into the sky, the Baron stared down at Natalie, face warped with rage. “Yee breakith the pact, leech!”

  Natalie made a rude gesture and then shot a trio of hardened blood spikes at the flying noble. He dodged easily and then shot towards her with that same incredible speed. Before Cole could move to intercept, wolves materialized around his partner, and their snapping jaws drove the Baron off. Twisting through the air, the noble conjured up an iridescent sphere of magic and hurled it at Cole.

  Working with freshly crafted intuition, the Paladin channeled a surge of divine entropy into Requiem and struck the oncoming spell. He wasn’t experienced in using this aspect of his God, but right now, it seemed the best option instead of cold or preservation. The sphere shattered into hundreds of sparkling pieces that fizzed into bubbles, which popped with the sound of a wind chime. But Requiem did not come away unscathed; little flecks of rust now decorated its head. Cole couldn’t guess if they were a side-effect of his working, the enemy’s, or both. Ultimately, it mattered little, considering Requiem’s enchantments.

  After shifting his halberd into an axe, sloughing off the rust in the process, Cole reached to his belt and pulled forth a sheath of throwing knives. He doubted any of them would hit the dexterous sidhling even when coupled with his telekinetic trinket, but that wasn’t his true intent. Cole’s gaze still slid off the safehouse, meaning Mak and the rest were inside. So if there was anything left of the Paladin Murtery he’d known, Mak was readying a shot to knock the Baron out of the sky. So all Cole had to do was keep the fae-touched noble distracted.

  The Homunculus launched several knives at the Baron, each twisting mid-air to help box in the sidhling. Following his lead, Natalie joined in with her own blood spikes. They were painfully inaccurate thanks to her unfamiliarity with this power, but they helped close off enough of the sky to help, which made the fact that Murtery hadn’t loosed that much more concerning. Despite never being much of a marksman, Cole had noticed at least three different moments where the Baron had been forced into an error. What was Mak waiting for?

  “Thy trinkets and cantrips be beneathith mine notice!” Shouted the Baron as he flew high up into the sky, blade held aloft. The sun caught on the sabre, creating strange reflections that hung in the air around the Baron. This was another spell, one prepared for Veer’s next attack.

  In a split second, the sidhling transformed from a silhouette hovering maybe thirty meters in the air, to a blur shooting towards Natalie. Cole leapt to her defense, filling himself with preservation in the process. Relying on battle-born instinct more than anything else, the Paladin struck out at the blur. Requiem clashed with the enchanted sabre, sending out a torrent of sparks and ice crystals. Momentum gave the bronze blade enough power to make Cole stagger, leaving him open to the oncoming reflections. Panes of hardened sunlight, whipped at the Paladin like a razor wind, many splintering against his armor, but a few found flesh and sank shockingly deep into his preservation-infused flesh.

  Using the icy blood flowing from his new wounds, Cole grew Requiem’s back spike into a long, thick hook and lashed out with it, trying to snag the Baron. In response, the noble pulled back, flipping and spinning through the air, and away from Cole. Gossmar wings flaring as he stabilized, Baron Veers swung his sabre at Cole despite the good distance between them. The weapon left a trail of light shards in its wake, shards that went straight for the Paladin’s eyes. He pulled his chin down just in time for the immaterial blades to splinter harmlessly off his helm. The cutting reflections lacked mass, but were horribly sharp. He’d need to harden his flesh further, or otherwise make sure his armor alone took the blows.

  As Cole recovered from this attack, Natalie shouted. “Oi! Cockbiter, what’s it like to sell out your city, citizens, and your own jagging species!”

  Head snapping her way, the Baron snarled, his lips, not so much peeling back as folding in on themselves to show small needle-like teeth. Shooting towards Natalie, he drove his blade forward, seeking her heart. Cole frantically lunged out with Requiem’s new hook, trying to buy Natalie time to dodge, but he wasn’t fast enough. Yet to his surprise, his partner made no effort to escape the oncoming sabre; instead, she leapt straight up into the air at the last minute, taking the sword right through her gut.

  Ignoring her impalement, Natalie grabbed onto either side of the Baron Veers’ head with clawed hands, cutting into his chitin skin and setting loose rivulets of blue blood. Obviously surprised by this, Veers was torn between pulling back and pressing the attack, giving Natalie the moment she’d taken a blade to get.

  “Gotcha goatfucker!” She giggled as her crimson eyes made unbroken contact with the Baron’s own.

  Cole realized too late what she was planning and shouted. “Wait! Don’t!”

  Something immaterial snapped, and Veers’ body went limp, sending him tumbling to the rooftop, and Natalie skidding to the side, sabre still in her stomach. Hurrying after them both, Cole hurled Requiem like a javelin, stabbing right through the Baron’s torso, and then came to his lover’s side.

  She was staring up at the sky above, her pupils so wide they hid the rest of the eye’s red coloration. Odd spasms gripped her limbs, while her face couldn’t decide if it should smile or wretch. Cole cursed under his breath, then yanked the sabre from her insides. Black blood was pooling in the wound even before the discarded weapon clattered to the ground. She’d be physically fine, but there was no telling what effects there might be of psychically battling someone so warped by the Grey Beyond.

  Cole couldn’t think of any good options, so he defaulted to something crude but proven in its efficacy. Taking out his longer hunting knife with one hand, he pulled open Natalie’s shirt with the other. Before he could hesitate, he drove the blade into her heart, rendering his lover still as a corpse. After a moment of silent, desperate prayer, Cole yanked the blade free, cleaned it quickly on his cloak, then nicked his hand. Hot, warm blood flowed into Natalie’s mouth, and she swallowed. After a few gulps, she let out a gurgling gasp and blinked rapidly, her eyes shifting closer back to normal with every flutter.

  She tried to sit up, while putting one hand to her healing belly, the other to the sealing hole near her left breast. Cole gently kept her from rising and then asked. “Do you know who I am?”

  Her brow furrowed, and she tried to speak, a difficult task with a punctured lung. So instead she nodded and mouthed “Cole.”

  “Good. Where are we?”

  After a glance around them, she mouthed. “Fucking Harmas.”

  Cole couldn’t help but let a grim smile slip onto his face. “Okay, the worst seems to have passed.”

  He then put his cut hand to her mouth, and he let her drink a little more until the extraneous holes in her were gone. After licking his cut shut, Natalie let out a raspy groan and then started buttoning up her top. “I… I didn’t expect that.”

  With a grunt of agreement, Cole helped her stand as she muttered. “It was like the Heart-stealer’s mind, except so much fucking-”

  The uncanny shrieks and moans of the elk-things cut through her words, followed by the rattle of wheels and clatter of hooves. Both Homunculus and Alukah exchanged a shocked look, then ran over to the roof’s edge, just in time to see the carriage rolling away from them.

  “The driver!” Cole hissed!

  Hand still shaking, Natalie pointed down to the plaza below. “No… not the driver.”

  A mass of ghouls was packed in tight around something on the ground. The hungry dead pushed against each other, all eager to reach some shared prize, a prize that thrashed as sprays of red erupted from it. Pointing at the red splatter, then tapping her nose, Natalie said. “Goblin blood.”

  “Then who-”

  The question didn’t even have time to leave Cole’s lips. He spun towards the safehouse, and this time his eyes stayed on it. The subtlety field was down, and no one was on the balcony.

  Natalie suddenly clutched at the sides of her head, and then a feral snarl escaped her lips. A storm of ectoplasm swirled around her, forming into the Lupus pack, who set off after the carriage with an eager howl.

  “Yara just contacted me. Mak has taken Kit and the lantern.”

  Cole felt like he’d also taken a blade to the gut. “What? Why? Where are they going?”

  Her voice was a snarling growl, Natalie said. “She doesn’t know, but she’s trying to find out.”

  “How?”

  Alukah spat, “She’s hiding under the jagging carriage!”

  The Homunculus Paladin allowed himself one full second of stunned horror before running over to the mortally wounded Baron, who was weakly struggling against the halberd sticking through him. After yanking Requiem free, Cole split the sidhling's skull and sent his soul to whatever eldritch hell it belonged. Weapon in hand, he hurried back to Natalie, who now had a trio of rats clambering on her shoulders. Together they leapt down off the building and chased after the rapidly shrinking carriage.