The sun was about to set behind the mountains, and the unceasing birdsong in the canopy of the forest slowly dwindled into silence. Darlac dictated a deadly pace, hoping to reach the lumber camp before dark. Regardless of what awaited them there, she didn't want to spend the night in the open, if she could avoid it. Still, fatigue was seeping into her bones, and her steps were becoming less and less sure.

  Gekkor's ears suddenly perked up.

  "There is someone on the path," he said. "Get ready!"

  A few moments later, as confirmation to his words, a frightened Whelk arrived in full gallop, soared over its master's head and disappeared in the shrubs.

  "Get off the path!" barked Darlac. "Gekkor, go scout ahead in the cover of the undergrowth. Perhaps we've found our quarry!"

  The Bruiser vanished among the dock leaves by the road that could easily hide a human, let alone a halfling. Tehara and Darlac followed suit, their weapons at the ready. Darlac popped the hood of her cloak on her head, and covered her glowing eyes with her hands, peeking through the gaps between her fingers. They spent a good while lying in wait, blowing occasional spiders and ants off their skin, the scent of leaf mould filling their nostrils, until they heard voices.

  A dozen humans walked down the path, dressed in furs and leathers showing a lot of bare skin, armed with axes, greatswords and bows, talking softly in an unknown, ancient-sounding language. They put Darlac in mind of the Nightvale girl with the ginormous sword from the inauguration ceremony in Restov. But what was a group of Kellid barbarians doing in Varnhold, where did they come from, and most importantly, how had they bypassed the border patrols? Or... had something worse happened?

  Darlac began to tremble with suppressed rage. Here she was, the proud General of Varnhold, hiding behind a bunch of dock leaves, with the bulk of her army hired out abroad, while these trespassers were treading the soil of her homeland as if it were their property. And this on top of the Ancient Evil issue and the runaway zombie cyclops. She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, and Tehara's soothing hand on her arm didn't help, either.

  Soon after the last barbarian got out of sight, Gekkor returned. As usual, Darlac never heard him coming.

  "There are more of them," he whispered. "About forty, I'd say. Marching towards the Restov road."

  "Do they have a leader?" asked Darlac.

  "Yes. A man in his fifties, in excellent fighting shape, and a priestess, dressed in a funny shroud that covers everything but her eyes."

  "Any sign that they have been in a fight? Blood, wounds, anything?"

  "No. They looked pristine. As much as barbarians can, that is."

  "Any civilians? Mothers, children, elderly?"

  "No. Only warriors in their prime, men and women alike, carrying weapons."

  Darlac tossed back her hood and ran her fingers through her hair. A Kellid force materialising out of thin air in the heart of Varnhold, and the majority of them heading towards the Restov road – that can mean an attack on either Varnhold Town or Restov itself. Either way, she had her work cut out for her.

  "Screw that cyclops," she said. "We have an enemy incursion to deal with. We must get home and raise the alarm!"

  "I know a shortcut," said Gekkor. "Follow me and stay close."

  The cleric led Darlac and the others up the side of the gulch on a path hardly visible to anyone but the most seasoned forestwalkers, towards the foothills to the south. The creeping dusk was playing funny games with her senses. Her mercenary gut constantly signalled danger, and somehow the hike through the woods began to seem longer than expected. Still, her only chance was to trust Gekkor and rely on his expertise.

  After a steep climb, they stopped for a short rest under a gnarled tree, and noticed the Bruiser was gone. Gekkor volunteered to track him down and he, too, disappeared into the woods.

  Despite her concerns, Darlac activated her halo, becoming a beacon in the dark. Even though the circle of light encompassing her head messed up Tehara's valuable darkvision ability and marked out their position for enemies, it would also show her companions the way back to her.

  It was high time for a little rest. Darlac was starting to feel lightheaded, like she usually did after severe blood loss. Except this time she was in full health. Perhaps it was inadequate hydration. Indeed, she'd had more important matters to worry about than her water intake. She took a gulp from her canteen and held it out towards Tehara.

  The tiefling didn't reach for it. She was bent over, clutching her head with both hands, whimpering.

  "Tehara? What's wrong?"

  No response came. After a few moments, she stood up straight and grabbed Darlac's wrist, staring at her with sightless eyeballs turned inwards. Her touch felt unnaturally cold and damp, like a drowned corpse. Darlac yelped and backed away, yanking her hand free. Tehara closed in on her and shouted into her face:

  "Vordakai!"

  "Huh?" Overcoming her initial horror, Darlac took her companion by the shoulders and gave her a violent shake. "What's going on, Tehara? Snap out of it! Look at me!"

  Tehara swept her hands off herself, then changed her mind and grabbed Darlac's wrist again, as if she wanted to drag her away.

  "Vordakai! Vordakai!"

  "Tehara, stop this nonsense! This is an order, dammit!"

  Darlac laid the palm of her free hand on Tehara's forehead, and tried to push some healing energy into her. Sadly, her friend's weird mental state was not something her paladin abilities could fix. However, Tehara gave up on her. She let go of Darlac's hand, made a despondent gesture, and ran off into the woods. Darlac threw herself after her friend, but alas, after just a few steps, she lost her from sight.

  Darlac looked around in shock. In the light of her halo following the motion of her head, the tree trunks seemed to come to life in a bizarre dance of shadows. She was alone and, loath as she was to admit to herself, increasingly scared. She'd never been entirely comfortable in the woods, not even when she had Gekkor or Faeli by her side to help her navigate the unknown. And now she had to rely on her own, painfully inadequate instincts. What to do now? Wait for Gekkor, as agreed? Try to catch up with Tehara and rip her out of her trance? Head to Varnhold Town to raise the alarm? But how would she even get out of these woods, with the thick foliage blocking even the starlight?

  "Inheritor, grant me wisdom," she whispered. "Help me find the way."

  The Inheritor remained silent, and Darlac's head began to hurt. The strange word Tehara had yelled at her was pulsing beneath her consciousness in a weird rhythm, like drums of war, like a battle chant coming from a thousand hungry maws, calling to her. She fought back. Her duty lay with her homeland, her baron, her deity. Nobody else got to call her to arms.

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  Alone in the forest, with that frightful thumping in her head, she was just too scared to wait for Gekkor any longer. He was an excellent tracker, as most priests of Erastil were, and Darlac was a city girl, deplorably bad at masking her trail. Which meant he would have no issue finding her... provided that he wouldn't fall victim to the same madness that had taken Tehara and threatened to take Darlac as well. She set out running along the nigh invisible path her party had been following so far, snapping twigs, trampling down plants, kicking up soil. Just this once, she didn't feel bad about her inability to move unnoticed in the wild.

  Undisturbed by wildlife or other random encounters, she finally reached the foothills and arrived at a road of sorts. Packed dirt, nothing fancy, but suitable for transporting timber. She thought she recognised the place. There was another lumber camp nearby.

  For a few minutes, she stopped to think. What was going on? Had the barbarians summoned an evil power to help them with their quest, whatever that was? Or were they using some kind of artifact to disturb the minds of Varnhold's defenders? Or, on the contrary, was the Ancient Evil using the barbarians for its own purposes? Anyway, one thing was sure: she had to reach Varnhold Town quickly, and now she finally knew the path to take.

  A shrill scream cut into the silence, freezing Darlac's innards. She knew this sound all too well. It brought back memories of another night, arrows piercing her body, poison coursing through her veins... and losing a friend forever.

  A horse was in trouble.

  With a metallic hiss, Darlac's sword flew out of its scabbard, the blade glistening in the light of her halo. Her feet moved by themselves as she leapt into a dash towards the source of the sound.

  Fool, she scolded herself. You don't even know what you'll have to face there. Can you handle a pack of wolves? Remember Kyle. Not even a seasoned monster hunter can take on an entire pack and live to tell the story. And what if it's not even wolves but, say, manticores?

  Still, she didn't stop until she saw an abandoned wagon by the roadside, and a horse hitched to it, rearing up and fighting off the attacks of something big, fat and smelly. She recognised those gurgling, mumbling sounds from her first encounter with Willas Gunderson, and also from the Varnlings' visit in Old Stump Village.

  Thank the Inheritor. It's just the zombie cyclops.

  Darlac didn't waste her time charging up her sword with divine power. That could wait. First of all, she had to free the horse. Empower it. Let it unleash its fury at the enemy.

  She wondered herself why her instinct told her to do so instead of simply killing the cyclops while it was occupied with the horse, but the suggestion coming from the depth of her heart was clear and unequivocal. Her sword bore down on one of the wagon's shaft in a flurry of strikes, then on the other. Only then did she set her blade alight and charged at the cyclops from the back. The same force that had cut through the thick wood now severed the rotting tendons at the undead's knees. The horse exploited the gap, rearing up again and bringing down its formidable hooves on the staggered enemy, knocking it down and trampling over it. Darlac threw herself to the side in the very last moment before falling victim to the animal's killing frenzy. Dragging the pieces of the shaft along, the horse fled into the forest with a loud neigh.

  Free, at last. Until the wolves find you, that is.

  Darlac scrambled to her feet and dusted off herself. The undead didn't move anymore. She raised her sword and sliced off the remains of its head, just in case. Then the fatigue of the last few hours came crashing down on her. She couldn't go on like this. One threat had been dealt with, even though the credit for that went entirely to the horse. Probably the barbarians would need to get some sleep, too... right?

  No. She couldn't afford to waste more time. Lay on Hands would help her push through the fatigue. But first she had to find out whether the owner of the wagon was alive.

  "Hello? Show yourself! The monster is gone! You're safe!"

  Nothing stirred.

  Darlac checked under the wagon, then climbed inside it. Crates upon crates of various goods, but nothing alive. She laid her head upon her arms on top of a box, and closed her eyes, just for a few heartbeats. Then she would cast...

  She woke to the dawn choir, and also to something ripping her cloak off her.

  Startled out of her rest, she found herself locked in a staring contest with the horse, as it slowly gathered the fabric into its mouth and made it disappear. It was an unassuming bay gelding, like most horses used in the Stolen Lands, but Darlac's practised eyes immediately saw that he was a warmblood, put to back-breaking menial work by his clueless master. What kind of person would even do that? Unless... Could that be Tomin Hanvaki's horse, purchased by the merchant straight from the thief?

  Incredulous, she touched the clasp of the cloak at her neck, now only holding a thin strap of cloth that hadn't turned into horse feed.

  "What do you think you're doing, mate? That's a two thousand years old artifact you're munching on! Not to mention that it was the only thing that stopped me from succumbing to –"

  Then she suddenly understood it all. A horse, his eyes bulging, his ears flattened back, eating a cloak that protected its wearer from the worst flare-ups of fear. A smart and sensitive animal, keenly aware of the invisible danger all around. Exactly what she needed right now. Not to mention that the poor animal would be in need of urgent healing in case the cloak caused indigestion.

  Perhaps, after all those years, it was time for Darlac to quit mourning for Midnight and open her heart to a new friend.

  She dug an apple out of her backpack and held it out towards the horse on the palm of her hand.

  "You're scared," she said softly. "I'm scared, too. But if we join forces, we'll stand a better chance. Let me take you with me. You'll lend me your speed, and I'll teach you how to fight. In fact, you're already not half bad at that."

  She focused on the heavenly trait in her blood, and visualised herself sharing its radiance with the horse, as she looked into those huge, frightened, confused eyes. The animal slowly calmed down and accepted the apple from her hand without chomping her fingers off.

  "As of today, your name is Gale. Make sure to live up to it. I'll need you to be as fast as the wind."

  The horse seemed to be in decent shape, which meant he hadn't yet spent much time in service of his new master. The cyclops hadn't done much harm to him, either. Darlac scrambled off the wagon, and got the animal rid of the harness and the pieces of the shafts still tied to his sides. She could sense the tension in his muscles, even after devouring the cloak.

  In case the merchant would return and miss the horse he didn't deserve to have in the first place, Darlac took her knife and etched a message into the driver's seat: Stolen horse confiscated. Next time buy smarter. Some rummaging in the wagon led her to what must have been the late Tomin's riding tack, which she also claimed.

  She hadn't ridden a horse ever since Midnight's death, but her hands moved automatically, performing the ritual of saddling from muscle memory. Gale was definitely familiar with being ridden, and welcomed the upgrade from toiling his butt off as a workhorse. He endured the process with exemplary patience, allowed Darlac to mount him, and responded to the signals in the appropriate way, albeit with some hesitation. Darlac murmured another short prayer, thanking Iomedae for sending Gale her way, and set out towards Varnhold Town in a canter.

  Wait for me, Maegar. We'll stop the invaders and defend this land together.

  It was not easy to stay on the road. Something seemed to tilt her, and it took extra willpower to keep herself and her steed focused on her destination. However, she felt Iomedae's blessing inside her, a thin crust made of level-headed sobriety and sense of duty that kept whatever was whirling in the depths of her mind securely confined for the time being.

  And so, as the sun climbed higher above the horizon, the General of Varnhold arrived on horseback in a capital that did not rise to greet her.