Darlac lay on the ground in a foreign tent, her halo put out, her eyes squeezed shut, her body curled up into a ball and covered with her cloak from top to toe, careful not to let even one red lock of hair peek out from underneath. The tent's original inhabitant (probably Lieutenant Keir, but she wasn't entirely sure about that) was away celebrating the victory of the allies over the Tiger Lords, partaking in the beer looted from the barbarian camp. Darlac had tried it herself. It tasted like horse piss, and it didn't improve on her mood in the least.

  She wasn't sure how a victorious general was supposed to feel, but she was fairly certain this wasn't that.

  Indeed, there had been great moments. Glorious, memorable moments, worthy of reminiscing by the campfire or over a mug of quality ale. More importantly, they won. Even more importantly, she was alive, as were most of her friends. She'd led and fought and killed and bled and lived to tell the story. She'd even avenged her own death, if not on the perpetrator, at least on an acceptable proxy. After she helped facilitate the surrender, bury the dead, heal some of the wounded, she ran out of things to do and imploded into the emptiness inside. The deadly pace she'd dictated to herself ever since her resurrection now came home to roost and demanded its due.

  And to top it all off, there was a Maegar-shaped, aching hole in her heart.

  For all those years, there had been no victory celebration without her melting into him, claiming the first kiss after the first toast, sneaking off for a quick ride or two, filling the void left behind by the abating battle thrill with his presence, his warmth, his scent, his love. The last time like that had been after defeating the Noose, before he'd become a baron and everything had changed. Back then, Darlac hadn't suspected she would get no more of that. It hurt like hell, and she despised herself for it. What was she even thinking, wallowing in self-pity, when so many others lay at the bottom of a pit with a dozen comrades, six feet under the ground, or were barely clinging to life in an infirmary tent? Compared to that, her pangs of loss felt shamefully insignificant and blown out of proportions. It was she who'd wanted to leave him, to walk away without even trying to break through the wall between them, without a single attempt to atone for her cowardice, to grow as a person and become worthy of him again. He'd only opened an escape route for her, protecting her reputation and breaking his own heart in the process, fulfilling her unsaid wish one last time. She would never find another who'd love her so much.

  She bit into the sleeve of her shirt to muffle the sobs, until exhaustion took over and she plunged into a deep sleep.

  A high-pitched voice pierced Darlac's slumbering mind, calling her name. In response, she stuffed her index fingers into her ears, as deep as they went. Still, the little voice didn't relent. It asked, demanded, pleaded, threatened, never shutting the hell up. Finally, it started talking in rhymes.

  How could Linzi possibly have found out how badly Darlac hated that?

  The Acting Vice-General of Nightvale dug herself out from underneath her cloak, gritting her teeth against the pain in her stiff neck, put the cloak around her aching shoulders, and pushed the flap to the side. The crisp early morning air made her feel even more wretched. Crying hangover was just as tough to bear as drinking hangover.

  "What is it, Linzi?"

  The little bard, sporting a new stringed instrument (not exactly a lute, as far as Darlac could tell), broke into a giggle.

  "Did I interrupt something, General?"

  Darlac rolled her eyes. Lovely. Now she thinks I fucked Lieutenant Keir, and any explanation would only make it worse.

  "Linzi, if you don't want to tire out your restless little tongue by using my true title, it's fine to call me by my name. Just don't call me something I'm not, okay?" For example, a slut. "But I doubt you woke up the entire camp calling for me just so you can have a good giggle at my expense."

  Linzi grabbed Darlac's hand and began to pull her, like a toddler eager to show her most recent discovery to a parent.

  "We are in trouble, Darlac!" she explained, making a desperate effort to keep her volume low. "Neck-deep in trouble, and when I say that, I mean your neck, not mine!"

  "Huh?" Darlac wasn't entirely sure if Linzi was referring to their height difference or a potential execution. It was way too early in the day for metaphors.

  "I... um... Nightvale needs you, more than ever!"

  "What happened?"

  Linzi finally took a breath and got to the point.

  "Well... it started in the Tiger Lord camp. I saw Her Grace was antsy all through the mediation process. Then, once she could be sure there would be no more bloodshed, she stuffed this note into my hand and ran off, all on her own. I don't even know if Pangur is with her!"

  Darlac held out her palm, and Linzi handed the note over to her. Squinting to decipher the writing, she recognised Guelder's angular letters, her penmanship a lot smoother than in her early correspondence, but still unique enough.

  Off to hunt down Armag. Worry not, I have a plan and know exactly what I am doing. Keep my mission secret for at least a few hours before everyone, with special regard to Hazel. If any of the allies need me, you and Darlac are hereby authorised to represent. Thanks! G.

  Darlac suppressed a sigh. For some reason, she was not surprised. She even found herself approving of Guelder's most recent lone wolf (or lone leopard?) mission. Hunting down Armag was a dangerous endeavour, but Guelder was a seasoned adventurer, and if she said she knew what she was doing, it was probably true. Even if her plan was just as crazy as Maegar's harebrained method of tricking the Noose had been. After all, that had worked, too, and he'd even got to keep his manhood. Darlac whispered a quick prayer to Iomedae, asking her to protect the baroness and bless her in whatever she was about to do.

  "I'm sure she'll be fine, Linzi," she said aloud. "Hazel must be hot on her trail by now."

  "Don't even get me started on that! They almost ripped me a new one when they found out... But I digress. The REAL problem is that Lady Natala Surtova sent for Her Grace, urgently. Someone has to jump in as a substitute! I mean, a representative! I mean, an emotional support person for my humble self!"

  "And this is how I became someone," said Darlac wryly. "Isn't there anyone on her squad more suited to the task?"

  "Who? Valerie would have been the best choice, but she is in Tuskdale, ruling the barony in Her Grace's absence. Hazel is tracking down the baroness to berate her for her reckless and irresponsible behaviour, as is their custom. Amiri is catching up with her tribe and looks too much like a Tiger Lord, anyway. Who else should I take? Tristian, who was the reason for our delay, and also kind of, well, a traitor? Dour Harrim? Silly Nok-Nok? Pain-in-the-bum Sable? Creepy Jaethal? Hmm... Maybe Jaethal is not such a bad idea, after all... If you're not up to it, I mean. She has been with us from the start, she is old and wise, perhaps a teeny-tiny little bit evil, but nobody is perfect, right?"

  "Jaethal?" Darlac could remember names as well as any officer worth their salt should, but she needed some time to identify its bearer from her memories. "She is that... culinary genius, am I correct?"

  "Um... that's one way to put it, definitely. She... um... serves her hunger, and sometimes ours, too."

  The blood ran out of Darlac's face. The necromancer. Old and wise and evil and... Urgathoan. She found it weird that Guelder tolerated a person like that in her entourage (or within a hundred miles from herself, for that matter), even more so after the Varnhold events, but not weirder than the fact that Linzi was willing to have the follower of a repulsive, dark deity represent Nightvale. Well, Darlac would die and let herself be reanimated before she allowed that to happen.

  "Fine!" she snapped. "I'll do it. Whatever Lady Natala wants to tell Baroness Guelder, she can tell it to us two."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "All... RIGHT!" The halfling bounced up and down with excitement. "I'll accompany you on my new vargan, okay? A present from Nilak, Amiri's friend. She had an extra one lying about in her tent, with my name on it. Awesome, isn't it?"

  Darlac groaned inwardly. Why was she even doing this?

  On their way to the Surtova camp, Linzi and Darlac were intercepted by a group of Aldori Swordlords and hijacked to Lady Jamandi's headquarters. More exactly, only Darlac was escorted into the spacious tent, while the bard was made to wait outside, despite Darlac's protests and her own.

  The last time Darlac had seen Lady Jamandi was at her mother's funeral in Restov. This was a very different encounter. Instead of a proud and benevolent figure exuding authority, now she saw a defeated warlord, sulking, wounded and bitter. Even her nasolabial folds cut deeper into her face.

  "Where is Guelder?" she said gruffly as a greeting. "Pushing you forward to meet her allies in her stead?"

  Darlac braced herself against the coming storm. However, it didn't feel safe to inform Jamandi of the details of Guelder's mission as yet.

  "She is out hunting, my lady. It's anyone's guess when she will return."

  "Oh. I tend to forget she is half feline. I should have considered that factor before putting my trust in her loyalty."

  Darlac balled her fists. Heavens, was it hard to restrain herself from lashing out.

  "If I'm not terribly wrong," she said with forced calm, "she was the one who brought you back from the Death's Door in the battle. Before that, she risked life and limb to rescue my baron and my people from the clutches of an ancient lich. With all respect, I do not think there is an issue with her loyalty. The only mistake she might have committed was that she failed to double-check if the General of Nightvale was doing what he was supposed to do and marching the army to Glenebon."

  Jamandi pressed her lips together, biting back an animated response. Perhaps Darlac shouldn't have rubbed salt into her wound. She could imagine how heavily Kassil's death weighed on the Swordlord's heart. Even she was devastated by the news, despite the fact that the man had apparently been an utter moron.

  "My apologies," muttered Darlac, lowering her gaze, and Lady Jamandi graciously changed the subject.

  "I know you're in a hurry to heed the summons of that Surtova snake, my dear, so I will only claim your attention for a short time. Care for a drink? I have a bottle of Chelaxian dry red."

  "Yes, please," said Darlac. Her mouth felt dry anyway. While the Swordlord filled two crystal goblets with the dark red wine (why would anyone even bring crystal goblets to a military camp?), Darlac couldn't help but wonder how she was so well-informed. She had to have spies and informants everywhere. And if she knew, then probably Lady Natala also knew that she knew, and Lady Jamandi knew that Lady Natala knew... Damn it all to hell. Cephal would have been able to navigate this maze with his eyes closed. But Cephal was no more, and it was her fault.

  Darlac emptied half the goblet in one swig, forcing the fruity flavour to wash away the haunting memory. She had to stay in the here and now.

  "The number of people I can trust has been sorely diminished," said Lady Jamandi, "but you are still one of them. It would be bad form to remind you of all I've done for you ever since you lost your father, so I will not do that. You have always been a loyal and faithful supporter of my cause, and I expect this to be still the case."

  Darlac answered with a slight nod, curious but also apprehensive of where this conversation was going.

  "I will always be grateful for your support, my lady."

  "Good." Lady Jamandi sipped a little wine, scrutinising Darlac's face above the rim of her goblet. "I thank you for your input about Guelder. The fact that you feel comfortable serving her and standing up for her is, to a certain degree, reassuring. And now let's cut to the chase. Surely you remember the weekly reports you used to write to me on developments in Varnhold. I expect a detailed account of your meeting with Lady Natala in the same vein and format. You need not mention it to Guelder, though."

  Darlac frowned. Spying was not something she was good at, and she wasn't sure she wanted to improve. Jamandi plastered a worried, motherly smile on her face.

  "You must understand my precarious situation, my dear. The losses suffered by Restov in this battle make it nigh impossible for me to make a move for independence in the near future. Quite on the contrary, I fear the Surtova will find a way to draw us into armed conflict in our weakened state and destroy us completely before we could even raise the banner. I need to stay on top of what's going on, and as I mentioned previously, the people I can trust are few and far between. Otherwise I wouldn't ask such a thing of you."

  Darlac stared into her drink, her mind racing. After all, Jamandi's request seemed justified and reasonable, and Darlac was going to write a report to Guelder about the meeting, anyway. All she had to do was make another copy for Jamandi.

  She indicated her answer with a brief nod.

  "Also," continued the Swordlord, "as you seem to be gaining influence with Guelder, I strongly suggest you keep the Varnling Host as an organisation separate from the Nightvale armed forces. I may or may not want to avail of its services later on. At the usual rates, of course."

  Darlac bit her lip.

  "I will relay your wish to Baron Varn, my lady. As to me, I'm not sure I will be in a position to exert any influence on the future of the Host going forward. At the moment, I cannot even promise that I will remain in the Stolen Lands for long."

  Jamandi raised an eyebrow.

  "How come?"

  Blood rushed into Darlac's face, and she struggled to keep her voice steady.

  "Baron Varn and I broke up recently."

  "Oh." Apparently, not even Lady Jamandi knew about everything. "That's curious... and, of course, regrettable. Does he have his eye on someone else?"

  Now even the tips of Darlac's ears were burning, but she steeled herself to remain professional.

  "No, it's just that... our paths diverge."

  "I see. You'll get over it, Felicia. There are plenty of fish in the Shrike, and you are a skilful angler... No need to stare daggers at me, child. Beauty is a dangerous weapon. Use it to your advantage, as you did before. Also, if you decide to stay (and I hope you will), make sure to remain in Guelder's good graces. Do your best to keep her on the path of righteousness, and don't let her forget whom she has to thank for her barony. Serve her, as long as your code allows. And remember, if your set of values land you in trouble, you can always count on me. I will give you all the help I can... as I did your father." She put a strange emphasis on the last words.

  Lady Jamandi reached for Darlac's hand, and her intense gaze bored into the paladin's eyes. Darlac instinctively squeezed her hand, realising a moment too late that perhaps she should have pulled away.

  "Was this Kassil's deal, too?" she asked softly. "To be your Plan B, in case Baroness Guelder proves inadequate for your purposes?"

  Jamandi flashed an appreciative half-smile.

  "No, my dear. My Plan B was Kesten Garess. Alas, Guelder somehow found out about his true purpose and had him killed during that strange plague they had. Be careful, Felicia. Our cause needs you alive."

  Leaving the rest of her wine behind, Darlac took a hasty farewell and fled the tent, bursting through the entrance flap like a drowning person through the water surface. This conversation made her feel dirty. Why didn't she refuse to get involved clearly? She had no wish to become a sleeping agent to be activated if the baroness drifted too close to the Surtova, or a successor to her father in laying claim to the throne of the Stolen Lands. And if Linzi had been eavesdropping, she'd have some explaining to do.

  Once again, the crusade began to seem quite an alluring option.