Oh, for Heaven's sake.

  Darlac sighed inwardly. Served her right for running off without telling anyone about her plan. What had she even been thinking? Now she was as good as captured. They wouldn't even need to bother torturing her: a soft breeze touching her leg would be enough for her to spill all her secrets. She had to be quick with that holy power.

  Her eyesight still messed up by the fire, Darlac's hand felt out Gale's warm body shaking in agony. Tapping into the power of her goddess, she infused her wounded friend with all the healing energy she could still muster. Come whatever might, she would not lose another horse.

  "Go, friend," she muttered, spent, empty, relieved. "Save yourself."

  The horse clambered to his hooves, squeezing her injured leg against the rock in the process and sending another jolt of pain through her. But Gale didn't go anywhere. Instead, he lowered his head to Darlac and pulled at her hair resentfully with his teeth.

  "I know, I know! I'm sorry! Then again, you're training to be a battle steed. You must get used to wear and tear. Now go. Find your way back to Varnhold Town and let me be captured in peace."

  Or not. There was still another option. All she had to do was free her other sword from underneath her broken body... which proved more difficult and painful than expected.

  By the time her eyesight returned and she had the tool of her ultimate liberation in hand, the newcomers were upon her. Well, almost. They approached with caution, eyeing the horse suspiciously as he towered in front of his fallen rider, letting out an angry neigh and flashing his teeth. One of them, trying to get around him, was sent flying through the air by a well-aimed kick. Darlac propped herself up into a sitting position, and despite her pain and humiliation, couldn't help but flash a proud grin. As the huge carcasses behind their backs attested, these barbarians had taken out both bulettes, but now they were hesitating and shouting encouragements to each other in Hallit as they faced her horse.

  Her mirth lasted exactly until the newcomers readied their greatswords and battleaxes.

  "Stop!" she bellowed. "I'm here, at your mercy. Just leave the horse alone! ... Please!"

  "Why, if that isn't little Miss Felicia! How about you call back your bloody beast and greet us like the true-bred lady you are?"

  Darlac frowned. Nobody would ever dare call her 'little Miss Felicia.' Nobody but one rival, always salty about the commissions the Varnlings had snatched from her brigade. And, for the record, only an inch taller than Darlac was.

  On the flip side, that rival would not harm an innocent horse. Darlac put her sword down. Perhaps she could talk her and Gale's way out of this.

  "Hilla? It's been too long. Still have any teeth left to grind?"

  "You know, you could at least get up and come here to say hello."

  "I would love to," growled Darlac through clenched teeth. "The thing is, I'm not that good at hopping on one foot. So no, I'm afraid you won't get a rematch today."

  "If either of us needs a rematch, it's you, missy. Now do something about your horse, or I will!"

  Darlac rummaged in her backpack for a wizened apple she'd packed from the stash at the outpost. This was her way to tell Gale everything was fine. Even if it wasn't.

  Now that the horse was out of the way, Hilla ventured closer, accompanied by two of her men. She hadn't changed much in the last years, except for a few more scars. She scrunched her face as she looked at a piece of Darlac's tibia peeking out through her trouser leg. "Are you out here on your own?"

  Darlac didn't answer immediately. Her men could likely handle ten Tiger Lords, but what if Hilla had more under her hand? It was better not to disclose the location of their camp.

  "Yes," she finally said.

  "How about your captain, or baron, as I hear? With you being out and about, I suppose he's been saved, right?"

  Darlac took a moment to shove down the kneejerk surge of jealousy bubbling up in her. Hilla's flirtatious nature when it came to Maegar was not Darlac's problem anymore. It was time to distance herself from such matters.

  "That's a long and complicated story, one which I'll tell you if you buy me enough drinks to loosen my tongue. But yeah, he is alive, thank the Inheritor... and Baroness Guelder," she grudgingly added.

  Hilla let out a hearty laughter. "All's well, then. Do you plan to spend the night out here?"

  "Sure. Spend the night out here and get eaten by wildlife before dawn. Sounds like a plan... Truth be told, I would be open to other options, if I had any."

  "Well, the bad news is I have lost one healer to the undead cyclopes, and the other to desertion. The best I can offer is a splint and bandages. Then I can see you back to your comrades you totally didn't bring along, and we can come up with something together to finally teach some manners to that fey-kissing, tusky idiot Bolga."

  Holy fringe. That was a lot to unpack. Did that mean Darlac wouldn't be captured, tortured and killed?

  "Wait. So you're not with those who pursued me here?"

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  "No. Me and Bolga had a little fallout over the role of fey in the tribe, and now she's hellbent on hunting me down. It's just that she's doing a poor job of it."

  "Then I'll take you up on your offer. Thanks, Hilla, I owe you one."

  Half an hour later, Darlac was riding Gale towards her camp, escorted by the Tiger Lords, her left trouser leg ending mid-thigh, her fractured shin in a splint, safely hidden in bandages, more or less reassembled, her lips bitten bloody in an effort to keep the screams in during the intervention. It might have been a stupid idea to attempt riding with one functional leg, but it was either that or being slung across Gale's back like a bag of flour. She would never live that down.

  Dusk was creeping in by the time they got there. Her men had done a good job choosing the campsite and doing the camouflage. Darlac only realised how close she was when an elk crossed her path. She decided to share her camp with Hilla, even though it would be a little crowded. She wouldn't put it past the Tiger Lords to attack the Varnling camp at night, but killing their hosts in their sleep was not their style.

  "There you are, General! Where have you been?" called Gekkor's voice from the watchpost. "And who did you bring along?"

  "Better get a stretcher for her, ranger boy!" shouted Hilla. "And send your bravest to brush down her horse!"

  Darkness found Darlac sitting by the campfire with a bowl of stew set aside for her from the dinner cauldron. Gekkor had started the healing process, but it would take the evening prayer and a full night's rest for her to walk again. She had a piece of soothbark in her pouch, in case the pain would prove too much to bear.

  Of her remaining honour guard, Tehara was on night watch duty, and Gekkor, apparently, had shouldered the task of telling her off.

  "Are you crazy? You say you need some time alone and ride off into the distance, then return with shattered bones, on a horse covered in gore. This isn't right. You could have got him killed!"

  "Holy fringe, Gekkor!" snapped Darlac. "This is what proper animal companions do. They fight by your side. They take the hit for you. They trust you until the bitter end. They don't run away at the first whiff of danger, like your stupid deer. I'm training Gale up for that role. Shall I wrap him in cotton wool or what?"

  "You didn't learn from Midnight's fate, did you? How could you do that to your friend?"

  "Stop that. You're worse than a druid."

  "Since you were in such a hurry to pledge yourself to Guelder's service," said Gekkor sharply, "perhaps you could learn a thing or two from her, don't you think? A little respect for animals, for instance."

  Darlac glared at him above her bowl, fumbling for a retort, but all she could think of was an assortment of insults or a slap across the face. She had not pledged herself in a hurry. She had done what needed to be done, in order to obtain the necessary resources to oust the Tiger Lords from Varnhold. That didn't mean...

  "You think I'm a traitor."

  "Well, sort of. Putting yourself out as a bait to monsters and enemies in the middle of an operation, giving up on your duty to seek a quick and spectacular death... in my eyes, that borders on betrayal. This is why Erastil condemns suicide, not because He likes to watch people suffer. If you're alone, with no one to depend on you, then you do to yourself whatever the hell you want. But not when you have responsibilities to fulfil. Not when people look to you as their leader."

  Some leader she was, indeed. She'd failed Maegar. She'd killed a friend to protect a conqueror. She did fuck all to stop the union of Varnhold and Nightvale. Darlac fixed her gaze at her freshly bandaged leg, out of words she was comfortable saying. When all one could do was whine and wallow in self-loathing, it was better to keep quiet.

  "Listen, Darlac," said Gekkor softly. "I can see you're a bit deranged right now. It's no wonder, considering what you've been through. But for Erastil's sake, we need you. Varnhold needs you."

  Darlac nodded without conviction, staring into her bowl, just as empty as she was. Once she dealt with the last of Bolga's men, she had to make up her mind and take a side: stand up against Guelder and reclaim Varnhold's independence, or bend the knee and swear fealty. Alas, turning against the baroness meant turning against Maegar as well, and that felt like turning against herself. She was not ready for that. Just because their relationship was unraveling, that didn't mean she could stop loving him. On the other hand, siding with the baroness would alienate Tirval and probably many others from the Host. How could she shove the idea of the union down their throats if she had trouble swallowing it herself? Of course she wanted to flee. To any place with or without a military academy, the farther from here, the better. To the meat grinder of Mendev. Into the maw of a bulette. She was being ripped to pieces anyway.

  Then again, she'd been brought back from the Boneyard, and Pharasma had let her go. On hindsight, perhaps she should have stayed there, but now that she'd taken her second chance, she had to make it matter.

  Worst of all, sooner or later she had to come clean about Cephal's fate, and by that time, she had to have a narrative. Had she saved the honour of Varnhold by stopping an evil assassin from attacking their saviour? Or had she unwittingly made Cephal into a martyr of Varnhold's freedom, then took up the banner he'd dropped, regretful of her action? Or should she just lay bare everything as it had happened, along with her own doubts and inner struggle? That was perhaps the worst way to handle it. Was there any way at all to smooth things over, and if so, was she wise enough to find it?

  Darlac squeezed her eyes shut to hold the tears of despair in, at least until she would make it to her bedroll. She flinched as she felt Gekkor's arms around her shoulders.

  "We have your back, General," he said. "Never forget that. Whenever you feel the need to talk, I'll listen and do my best to say something wise. Or just shut up and let you figure it out yourself. How does that sound?"

  All Darlac could manage was a thankful smile.

  The camp was silent behind the trench and the makeshift palisade. The fire had died down to its embers, shedding its meagre light to the tents reorganised to accommodate the Tiger Lords, too. It was time to sleep and heal. Perhaps the new day would bring new answers.

  Who was she kidding?