Building watchtowers on the Nightvale border was no longer a priority for Darlac. Two of them were ready, and she waived her claim for a third one, since she hadn't fulfilled the prerequisite by joining Guelder's monster hunt, and also because her resentful and suspicious attitude towards Nightvale had changed into respect and comradeship – but most of all because she had bigger fish to fry.

  The first weeks following her return had been spent with frantic damage mitigation. Cephal and Kjerdi had been doing a heroic job of ruling the state on the baron's behalf, but the fact that the ruler and one of his main advisors had been out of commission for weeks had left them with a pile of unfinished projects. Finally, the baron could be convinced to expand the government and appoint more advisors, namely, Tirval for public safety matters and Tehara as the contact person for the people. While these reforms decreased Darlac's workload to a manageable volume, Cephal still held the office of the Regent, along with the responsibilities of international affairs and secret intelligence. Darlac could appreciate how hard it was to find suitable candidates for these roles, but that didn't change the fact that her influence was diminishing, while Cephal's was not.

  Nonetheless, she was determined to look on the bright side. Now that her workload was more reasonable than before, she could dedicate her energy to her new and most important goal: to eradicate the Ancient Evil.

  She'd had plenty of time in the First World to dredge up her tattered memories and piece together some semblance of a coherent picture from the tidbits thrown at her by the Horned Hunter. The Ancient Evil the centaurs had been guarding the land from was residing somewhere in the Tors of Levenies, not far from Lostlarn Keep (may quicksand swallow its crumbling walls forever). The lair of the mysterious power was sealed off by some sort of gate. Willas Gunderson had managed to pass through it due to special circumstances orchestrated for him by the fey lord, so that he could awaken the Ancient Evil by sniffing around in its dungeon and pocketing some of its treasure. If that was true, the enemy had been preparing to strike at Varnhold for months.

  During her days in Fort Kyle, Darlac had done her best to put this out of her mind. Back then, she'd been powerless to do anything about it, or even to raise the alarm. After her return, the urgency of the matter came crashing down upon her, disturbing the sweet and peaceful days she'd intended to spend with rest, recovery and, most of all, love. The day Willas Gunderson approached her with a present to celebrate her return, an ancient-looking jade bracelet that matched her favourite set of necklace and earrings almost perfectly, hammered home the instant need for action with cruel effectiveness. It was high time to gear up and organise the defence, or if Varnhold was very lucky, a preemptive strike. To do that, Darlac had to make the baron and his crew believe her – and, frustratingly, that was the toughest part.

  Maegar was hard, if not impossible, to convince. Even after reading Darlac's report, he clung to a set of conveniently reassuring notions: the Horned Hunter had just been messing with her, the centaurs had been right all along, the defeat of Marquise Insomnia was sufficient warning for the fey to stay away from Varnhold in the future, and the worship of Pharasma striking root at Old Stump Village would be enough to keep the odd zombie cyclops at bay. Darlac couldn't help but think he was lulling himself into a false sense of security, something a ruler could not afford. Not on the eastern edge of the Stolen Lands.

  Worse, ever since her return from the First World, Darlac was treated like a delicate flower made of glass. Maegar, Cephal and Kjerdi took turns fussing about her mental health, her working schedule, the amount of sleep she was getting, whatever. Sometimes it felt sincere and wholesome, sometimes contrived and duplicitous, but it made her job of convincing them extremely hard. Why was it that Baroness Guelder was getting her intel from fever dreams and psychedelic trips, and no one ever hesitated to act on it, whereas Darlac, too down-to-earth to even have dreams or receive Sendings, was labelled mentally unstable and constantly doubted?

  She needed proof, or at least witnesses.

  Notwithstanding her misgivings about Cephal's role in the Lostlarn Keep fiasco (for despite her victory over the Marquise, she couldn't think of it as a success for the life of her), Darlac approached the wizard and tried to gain him as an ally, if only for a reconnaissance mission to the south. Her endeavour brought only partial success. Cephal was unwilling to make the trip to the Tors again, the dry, dusty air being bad for his lungs, but he offered the support of Velainah, his apprentice in dire need of battlefield experience. A few years back, the Varnlings had rescued Vel from a gang of bandits. She'd come a long way since then, and even though she didn't belong to Darlac's personal favourites, she deserved a chance to learn and test her mettle in a live operation.

  So Darlac set out to explore the Tors of Levenies, making good use of the mild spring weather. Besides Vel and the usual squad comprised of Tehara, Gekkor and the Bruiser, she also included Willas Gunderson, the only man who could lead them to that mysterious gate and, hopefully, beyond.

  To spare herself the necessity of long conversations with the Chronicler, who still triggered a certain degree of loathing in her, Darlac ordered him to make an excerpt of his journal entries related to the site the bracelet-ring was from. She did her best to familiarise herself with the write-up during their southbound journey, reading by candlelight in the overhauled Blackstones Ford inn, now surrounded by a developing settlement. Next night, in Old Stump Village, lodged in the cult leader's home repurposed as an inn, she passed the notes on to Vel for further study, hoping the girl was mentally equipped to make sense of the archaeological infodumping and technical terms. The interesting part, the dungeon's layout and denizens, was missing from the text anyway. Willas claimed neither he nor his journal could remember any of that.

  Frustrated, Darlac chose to pay a visit to Elder Cvetislava (once the leader of the apostates) and check how the village was doing without the patronage of its dark deity.

  When the baron had first visited the village and helped the apostates prevail over the cultists, in the heat of action, he'd had about fifteen minutes to present the apostates with a new deity they would feel comfortable serving. These poor peasants, striving to eke out their everyday bread from the stingy soil, couldn't live up to Iomedae's expectations of valour and excellence, so Darlac had refrained from propagating the worship of the Inheritor. Desna, the baron's goddess was a little too dreamy and chaotic to help with their everyday struggles, and Cephal's offer to convert them to Asmodeus had been unanimously downvoted. Which had left them with Pharasma, Wekky's goddess, a perfect choice to replace a creepy deity of Abaddon with.

  As Darlac saw, the villagers were eager to embrace their new faith. They were in the course of revamping the old cave sanctum of the Charonites into an underground temple of Pharasma, and remarkably, they had already hired a priest, too. Father Dalton was a middle-aged half-elf from the Boarwood region of Galt, with a handsome appearance, greying chestnut hair and a preacher's voice. The locals seemed to have accepted him immediately.

  The new or reborn settlements were coming along nicely, which filled Darlac with a sense of contentment. Perhaps her battles against evil rearing up its ugly head at the least likely spots of Varnhold were coming to fruition. Over time, even that accursed Lostlarn Keep adventure might turn out beneficial in the grand scheme of things, proving that the deaths of her companions had not been in vain. Now it was up to her to use the information she'd obtained from the Horned Hunter to stamp out this Ancient Evil once and for all.

  In the late afternoon of the third day, the squad arrived at the location of Willas Gunderson's adventure. They crossed a large basin surrounded by a range of tors, interconnected and grouped tightly together, like two half-circles of tall dancers. Behind the eastern line of tors lay Lostlarn Keep. However, now the squad headed due south, to the very middle of the tor range, where the natural heights were interrupted by a giant structure. A wall, reaching up to half the height of the tors, framed by two pillars carved from the living rock. It was the dream of every archaeologist or art historian, with a bounty of reliefs, inscriptions, and an intricate system of geometric patterns. In the middle, above human eye level, it depicted three humanoid silhouettes reaching towards a disc-like shape with three small metal hooks protruding from it.

  "Behold the gate!" announced Willas, striking a pose.

  "This is not a gate," said Darlac, frowning in disbelief. "I can see no lock, not even the thinnest line where the two wings meet. This is a wall. And it's evil."

  "An evil wall," chuckled Tehara.

  Willas struck another pose.

  "Would you doubt a druid's word on the coming storm?" he chanted. "If not, then do not doubt a paladin's word on detecting evil."

  Darlac couldn't decide whether Tehara's smirk or the Chronicler's ornate flattery was more infuriating.

  "Willas, instead of being poetic, would you mind refreshing our memories as to how exactly you got through this... wall?"

  The Chronicler cleared his throat.

  "I was standing by the gate, just as we are doing now, taking notes, admiring the ancient artwork. Suddenly, a cloud of darkness arose from the ground, enveloping the lower part of the gate as well as my humble person. I couldn't even see the tip of my nose, but something urged me to step forward. And so I did, until I came out the other end of the darkness, and behold, I was inside the gates."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "And h-how did you get out?" asked the Bruiser.

  Willas let out a nervous chuckle.

  "In a jerboa gallop, so to say, due to the deplorable fact that two undead of considerable size were on my heels. I could feel their putrid breaths on my neck –"

  "Thanks, Willas, that's enough," interrupted Darlac, trying to unsee the image of zombie cyclopes chasing the Chronicler on all fours, imitating laboured breathing, just for the fun of panting into his neck. "Stay on the point. Based on your write-up, you spent hours in there, studying this and that, and when you departed, you got past the gates without any issue. Right?"

  Willas nodded.

  "So once the gates are opened, they don't close back immediately."

  "Or they were opened once again, so that Willas could get out," suggested Gekkor. "How dark was that darkness? Like an average moonless night or darker?"

  "I'd say an average moonless night experienced through a blindfold."

  "Deeper Darkness, then," muttered the cleric.

  "And... at what time of the day did that happen?" joined in Vel.

  "I arrived early in the afternoon and departed before nightfall, sweet lady."

  "Keep your compliments, Willas, and stay professional," snapped Darlac. "So the trigger that opens the gates is either an unnatural degree of darkness or a sudden change in the level of light."

  "The keyword is 'unnatural,' I think," said Vel. "It wouldn't be a very effective barrier if it only worked during the day."

  Gekkor narrowed his eyes, examining the sky.

  "We'll find out soon," he said. "The sky is overcast, and the moon is new, hardly more than a sliver. Once the sun sets, we'll be able to observe how the gates react to normal nighttime darkness, if at all."

  "Which begs the question whether we want to linger down here until then," said Tehara. "I, for one, would feel more comfortable observing it all from a safe spot."

  "Such as?"

  "Up the top of a tor."

  "Are you crazy, woman?" screamed the Chronicler. "Those mountaintops are above the clouds!"

  "Above the clouds, my ass!" laughed the tiefling. "You've never been in a crow's nest, have you, landlubber? Also, Feather Fall is a thing, right, Vel? Not to mention ropes."

  Darlac looked up at the tors around the wall (she still had trouble accepting it for a gate). They were about twice the height of the one she'd once skylined upon to Hazel's consternation, and generally much more massive, but the climb seemed doable. At least she and her honour guard would have no issue getting to the top, and using the ropes Tehara always had about her person, they could help Vel and Willas keep up with them. And if they wanted to find out what was in the hidden valley without actually opening its gates and releasing whatever was lurking behind them, the only way was to peek in from above.

  "There is not much of the day left," she said. "We'd best get climbing before darkness falls."

  They had two lengths of rope at their disposal, which they used to create two groups of three people linked to each other. One consisted of Tehara, Gekkor and Vel, the other of the Bruiser, Darlac and Willas. The first climber was someone who could easily get to the top, the middle person was supposed to be strong enough to hold a companion's weight, and the last one was the weakest link in the chain. Although Darlac's every nerve screamed in protest at the thought of being tied to the Chronicler, this seemed to be the most reasonable solution. Vel was thin and wiry, easier to hold and also more disciplined, so Gekkor would be able to help her out if necessary. Willas, however, was an unpredictable factor Darlac preferred to deal with personally.

  The climb was long and arduous, and sunlight was running out. Time was of the essence, as Darlac forbade the use of any artificial or magical light that could give them away. The rock was firm enough to hold their weight, and due to its layered structure, it offered plenty of purchase for their fingers and toes. Even with Vel as an added liability, Tehara's group made it to the top by the time Darlac's group reached the middle part of the tor.

  Then Willas screamed, and the rope tugged hard at Darlac's midsection, as if it wanted to rip her in half.

  So much about not giving themselves away.

  Darlac didn't have to look down to know what was going on. She waited, motionless, clinging on for dear life and resisting the urge to shout instructions to Willas. They had talked everything through before they'd set out. Now it was up to the Chronicler to keep his cool and find his way back to the rock wall. For a moment, it felt like he did. Then another tug came, accompanied by a silly sound people make when they start to fall.

  "Willas, get your shit together or I'll cut the rope!" she hissed, the burning pain in her fingertips giving way to numbness, which was even more alarming. She didn't have enough feeling left in her hands to draw her just-in-case dagger, nor enough strength to hold herself with one hand only, nor was she ruthless enough to go beyond toying with the idea. Still, maybe all the Chronicler needed was a little intimidation.

  She held onto the rock, teeth gritted, praying for a little more strength. On her own, she never feared heights. Her stupid angelic blood told her all she had to do was spread her wings and glide down on a breeze. She never dared to give it a go, but sometimes she chose to believe it. However, with two people tied to her body, gliding down was not an option, not even if she suddenly sprouted feathers.

  Willas took the intimidation to heart, and now he was flailing about in panic.

  Another tug, and Darlac's left hand slipped, her fingernails scraping the rock and sending a repulsive sensation all through her body. Scrambling to find purchase again with bleeding fingers, she tried to motivate her companion in another way.

  "Willas, if you could just hang onto the rock and start climbing... You could save my life! And your own!"

  Before she could add 'and the Bruiser's, too,' the other piece of rope dropped down from above her. The Bruiser apparently got bored and wiggled out of his harness to continue the climb alone. All the better. One less casualty when Darlac would inevitably plummet to her death, along with the Chronicler.

  She had to let go of the idea of avoiding the use of holy magic during the mission. Fumbling for a little healing energy to channel into her exhausted hands, something she'd never done before while climbing a tor, she faintly heard her companions' muffled discussion above. Vel was struggling to aim clearly with a Feather Fall spell. Tehara threw the other rope to the Bruiser to haul him up. Gekkor was praying to Erastil, for lack of a better idea.

  "There!" exclaimed Vel. "You have Feather Fall! You're safe!"

  "Willas? Did you hear that? Now man up and let's do this!"

  "Woohoo! Let's go!" exclaimed Willas cheerfully, as he finally found his purchase on the rock again.

  Darlac bit back a juicy Varnling curse, giddy with relief as the pull at her waist relented, and started climbing.

  Slowly, the top of the tor came within reach. With burning muscles and numbed fingers, Darlac prepared to pull herself up, when the well-known tug and silly sound came again, this time too suddenly for her to react.

  Her fingers chose this moment to give up.

  Just before she started to plummet, two pairs of strong hands grabbed at both her arms and pulled her up to safety, then hauled up the Chronicler as well.

  "I told you! I told you it was a daft idea!" he grumbled.

  "Thanks, soldiers," muttered Darlac, allowing herself to stay sprawled on top of the rock for a little while, closing her eyes, relishing victory and life... until the sensation of evil pulsating in the marrow of her bones, successfully ignored during the climb, claimed her attention again. If anyone in the valley was scrying for magic around the gate, they were already alerted to her squad's presence.

  "When we're finished here, we'll jump and use Feather Fall," she said softly. "I'm not doing this again unless I absolutely have to."