Guelder's team, finally reunited again, spent the last evening at the outpost. The place could house twenty soldiers and had a sufficient quantity of supplies in store. The baroness forbade outright looting but permitted her companions to cover their needs in terms of food, hygiene or weapon maintenance, and instructed Hazel to maintain a list of what they took for later reimbursement purposes.

  Despite the raven's unnerving presence as it hovered above the outpost or perched on top of a building, always alert, always out of range, the night went by without incidents. Hazel took the first turn to keep watch and Linzi the second. Alas, this time Guelder stayed away and didn't offer Hazel any protection against the nightmares ravaging their mind, now featuring Darlac's and Tristian's broken corpses waltzing through the barrens in a danse macabre. The ranger woke from their unquiet rest to Linzi's excited cries.

  "Wake up, everyone! Tristian is here!"

  "Rosary," muttered Hazel, still groggy from their sorry excuse for a trance.

  "Excuse me?"

  Hazel finally opened their eyes.

  "By the storms, Inky! You are not supposed to casually shout your companions' names into the four winds! ... Wait, WHAT?"

  But Linzi wasn't there anymore. Soon enough, she returned dragging an exhausted-looking Tristian into the barracks and pushing him down onto an unused cot.

  "He came all the way from Tuskdale to speak with Spots!"

  "A journey that could have been a Sending," remarked Valerie under her breath. Regardless, she went to fetch Guelder from outside the camp, while Linzi forced a canteen of water into the newcomer, quickly updating him on the situation and the results so far.

  Hazel shoved down the urge to discreetly vanish, pretend to be invisible, or flash a relieved smile at the cleric, celebrating his survival. They were done lying, and if either of them had something to hide, that was Tristian. Instead, they directed an unapologetical, questioning stare at the cleric. He finally returned their gaze, and Hazel thought they could see a very faint spark of challenge in his eyes. So he knew they'd tried to eliminate him – and still, he was here again. How? And more importantly, why?

  The baroness burst into the room like a gust of wind, with Pangur and Valerie in tow.

  "You should not be here... cleric!"

  "Just call him Rosary," suggested Hazel, their eyes fixed on Tristian.

  "What is going on?" demanded Guelder. "Is Nightvale in danger? Am I needed at home? What could be so important as to make you abandon your duties in the capital and follow me here?"

  "Your Grace," said the cleric, "with all respect, it was my goddess who gave me the mission of catching up with you. She led me on my journey until I found you."

  Mhm. Your goddess... The Kingdom of the Cleansed one, right? Hazel took an oily rag and set about cleaning their arrowheads, never taking their eyes off the cleric.

  "Oh," said Guelder expectantly. "How come?"

  "Because I know the way and have the means to defeat Vordakai. Take me with you. Please. Let me help."

  The baroness frowned, her face mirroring Hazel's doubts.

  "Rosary, a couple of days ago we did not even know Vordakai existed! How would you know how to defeat him? And how do you know his name at all?"

  Tristian’s hand jerked towards the item he was named after. To his luck, Linzi was quick to come to his aid.

  "Oh, come on, Spots, he told you already! The Dawnflower obviously told him everything when She sent him after you!"

  "Yes," said Tristian. "This is exactly what happened. Trust me, Your Grace. Have I ever failed you?"

  "Um... yes?" said Hazel softly. "The first months of the Bloom come to mind."

  The cleric's eyes locked onto Hazel as he launched an unexpected counterattack.

  "And do you know what comes to my mind, Falcon? Your cries for help on the main square of Tuskdale, splattered with your ruler's blood! At that moment, I did not fail either her or you. And I'm here today because I want to protect her! To stop that from happening again!"

  Hazel lowered their eyes, quite close to being ashamed. Close enough that they could pretend it convincingly. Guelder, however, could barely contain her anger. Her history of courting death during the Season of Bloom was not something she remembered fondly. Her voice was tight with suppressed tension.

  "That... is very noble of you, Rosary. However, I have already made a decision on the participants of this mission. Do you intend to challenge that?"

  Tristian didn't let himself be intimidated. He held Guelder's gaze, while his hand clutched the rosary like a lifelink.

  "I wouldn’t put it that way, Your Grace. I want to help. This is an extremely dangerous quest, more so than any quest you undertook before, including those that almost claimed your life. If you walk into that dungeon unprepared, the consequences will be unfathomable, for you, for Varnhold and for Nightvale, too. Please let the Dawnflower shed Her light on your way. Let me be your guide, your shield and your weapon."

  The baroness seemed to waver, ever so slightly. Hazel's fist tightened around the oily rag so hard that a few drops of oil dripped from it to the ground. They had to stop Tristian, whatever it took, regardless if their suspicion was correct or not. Even in the very unlikely case Tristian was telling the truth, his presence could prove detrimental to Guelder's fiercely denied ultimate goal: claiming Varnhold for herself.

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  "Actually," offered Harrim, "just this once, we could make it a group of seven. Or eight, counting Junior. Since we'll probably have to fight a host of undead, a little more holy power would come in handy."

  "And if Rosary even knows the strategy for the final battle, it will all be a cakewalk!" cheered Linzi. "Finally an easy victory, anyone?"

  "Sure, because that's what gods do all the time," sneered Valerie. "They run about teaching people dungeon strategies, and prompting them to question the authority of their superiors. Rest assured, Rosary, Her Grace knows what she is doing. You don’t need to hold her hand. Go home the way you came, and help the non-adventuring part of the government run the barony until we are done here."

  Linzi deflated a little. Lately, she behaved more and more like Valerie's very own little squire, and found it hard to contradict her in anything. Which, thought Hazel, might well prove beneficial this time.

  "My two coppers, Chief," chimed in Amiri, clapping Tristian on the shoulder. "Never refuse another sword in your side. Uh… I mean, by your side, of course."

  Linzi broke out in a giggle, but Hazel didn't think it particularly funny. Not even knowing that Tristian couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn from an inch. Although this was not a matter of votes, the group was leaning towards accepting Tristian's offer, with only Valerie openly opposing it. Worse, Pangur abstained from making his opinion known, and preferred to take a little nap curled up on a cot.

  This would not do.

  "Rosary is right, Spots," they said. "I had my doubts first, but after giving it some more thought, I am convinced. You should leave this to him entirely. You have done more than enough to pave the way to victory. You have obtained two of the three censers. You have manned the capital with a garrison to keep it safe from the Tiger Lords. You have mostly solved the problem of the barbarian threat as well as of the displaced spriggan. Let that be enough. Stop risking your life in missions you could as well outsource to your advisors. Make Rosary your champion and let him fight this battle for you. Wait for him in Varnhold Town and reward him as he deserves."

  Hazel's words seemed to be achieving the intended effect. Guelder's pupils narrowed dangerously as she answered, seemingly to Hazel but also to Tristian.

  "The last man who tried to patronise me and take my mission out of my hands, under the pretext of protecting me, lies buried at the Womb of Lamashtu, a victim to his own folly."

  "But Your Grace," exclaimed Tristian in despair, "I don't want to take anything out of your hands! I only want to join you! To stay by your side! To be there when you need me! Is that too much to ask for?"

  Linzi's eyes opened wide in admiration, and a teardrop rolled down her cheek.

  "Oh, for Shelyn's sake! This is so touching! A veritable confession of love, without actually saying the L-word!" She gushed on, unfazed by Tristian's complexion rapidly turning into dark red or Guelder's claws popping out through the fingertips of her leather gloves. "I saw this coming ever since the two of you first met! And now he finally mans up and gets it out there! Oh, I think I'm going to swoon!"

  "Inky!" hissed Valerie through clenched teeth. "Quit that, for crying out loud!"

  "I just KNEW this expedition would end with a beautiful wedding celebration! Please, Spots, let him be your champion, let him fight for you, and let him deserve your hard-earned love! Pleeease!"

  Valerie hid her face in her palms, then tried in vain to grab two handfuls of her short-cropped hair. Amiri pressed her lips together, struggling to keep an explosive giggle in. Harrim squinted at Hazel from under his bushy eyebrows, his face scrunched with second-hand embarrassment. Hazel returned his glance with a wry smile. They'd never thought Linzi would be such a useful ally.

  Guelder's face was as dark as the sky before a thunderstorm.

  "My decision is made," she said coldly. "Return home, Rosary, and resume your duties in Tuskdale. This is an order."

  "Your Grace, please!" protested Tristian, close to tears. "Don't listen to her! You're making a huge mistake! You will need me in the final battle, and without me, you will inevitably fail!"

  "Take care."

  Defeated, the cleric bowed his head.

  "As you wish. I fear you will regret this decision. May the Dawnflower grant that I'm wrong."

  Hazel watched him walk away like a beaten dog. Alas, there was no time to go up the watchtower and follow him with their gaze until he would become a little dot and get swallowed by the horizon. Guelder commanded everyone to finish their preparations and get ready to open the gates.

  Bathed in the light of the morning sun, the giant construction loomed above the adventurers like the sole of a boot lifted to crush a handful of ants. Guelder held a dry grass stalk into the flames of an everburning torch, and used the precariously dancing little flame to light the first censer hung on the tip of her spear. Sticky, foul-smelling black smoke billowed out of the skull-shaped object's single eye socket. Alas, as soon as the baroness tried to lift it and manoeuvre it onto one of the hooks in the gate, it slipped off the spearhead and fell to the ground, extinguishing its own fire in the process. The same happened two more times.

  "Either the spearhead is the wrong shape," stated Harrim, "or the spear's energy rejects the touch of an object of Abaddon. Try something else before they harm each other permanently."

  The smoke lingered, though, gathering around their ankles.

  The second attempt consisted of a humanoid tower. Linzi stood on Amiri's shoulders, holding onto her supporter's hair and carrying the unlit censers hung on her belt, while Amiri herself climbed on Valerie's shoulders, balancing the bard while she carefully placed each censer on its hook. When all three censers were in place, everyone retreated from the gate, freeing up space for a spell to light them with.

  The raven chose this moment to officially greet them, perching on the uppermost hook.

  "Kneel before my master's greatness, thieves! Stand in awe of what was and will be again!"

  "Begone, crow, and let me focus!" exclaimed Linzi, unfurling a Scroll of Fireball. "You don't want to get baked, do you?"

  "Just do it, Inky," smirked Hazel. "While you are at it, set that oversized black chicken on fire, too. There might be good eating on it."

  The raven took the hint and left, flapping its wings loudly and cawing (by the sound of it) a series of obscenities in an unknown language.

  Linzi closed her eyes and chanted the magic words. Flames burst from her fingertips, devouring the scroll and coalescing into a small orb between her hands. She aimed carefully and released. Fire engulfed all three censers, and they started belching their hideous, fetid smoke in unison. Heavy blackness alighted on the team, wrapping them up, stinging their eyes and nostrils, filling their mouths and lungs with its foul taste. Hazel could feel rather than see the enormous gates slowly slide open.

  The endgame began.