At the order of Tirval Grey Heron, Warden of Public Safety (soon to be demoted to Captain of the Varnhold Militia), a taskforce set out towards the Valley of the Dead, mainly consisting of people who'd lost a loved one in the Vanishing. Velainah was among them. Their task was to collect the bodies of fallen citizens from Vordakai's tomb, carry them back to their respective home settlements and lay them to rest there, before Dri Stinvag and her miners would reopen a hatch in the tomb's ceiling and give the abominable complex over to the Little Sellen as per Baroness Guelder's orders. An outlandish idea, but Vel found herself in support of it – if nothing else, because it would make the late Willas Gunderson's soul cry bitter tears somewhere in the Boneyard.

  The taskforce marched south in perfect formation, even the civilians, under Tirval's strict leadership. Many of the citizens had some hazy memories or flashbacks of the shambling mass exodus towards their demise, and putting a disciplined face to the expedition was supposed to help avoid reopening the half-healed wounds. It actually seemed to work. Only four volunteers abandoned the quest and stayed behind in Old Stump Village due to their mental state. With Father Dalton and a couple of Old Stump workers added to the group, they made it to the outpost safe and sound, intending to spend a night there before getting to work on the next day.

  The outpost was still unnamed and unmanned, as the threat from the south was gone for good, and General Darlac (soon to be demoted, too) didn't bother to restore the pre-Vanishing defence system. Perhaps it wouldn't even be necessary at all, once General Kassil Aldori took control of Varnhold's military and integrated it into the army of Nightvale.

  The volunteers built three cooking fires in front of the barracks, using firewood they'd hauled all the way down from Varnhold Town in a Bag of Holding. Tirval allowed no alcohol, but that didn't stop conversation from flowing. Vel stared into the flames, immersed in roasting her bacon, soaking up the drippings with a slice of bread and taking small bites from it, and listened to the hum of gossip.

  "It's a disgrace that the only official who cares is the Warden. What's the baron doing?"

  "You mean, the captain. Or whatever he is now."

  "He's locked himself up in his chambers. His cleaning lady told me. He's acting like when Lady Darlac went missing."

  "Not so thrilled about marrying the beast woman, is he? No wonder. I'm told she has cobwebs down there, if you take my meaning, and I doubt he'll be allowed to keep Lady Darlac as a side hustle."

  "Why would he marry her?"

  "That's the way of things, silly. The knight saves the princess from the dragon and gets her hand in marriage, along with half the kingdom. Only here the princess has a beard, and the knight is a hundred-year-old spinster who takes the whole kingdom."

  Laughter. True. Why cry when you can laugh instead?

  "What spinster? That baroness is a cougar, if I've ever seen one. I wouldn't mind removing those cobwebs myself."

  "A cougar, eh? Dude, you clearly can't tell a housecat from a lion."

  "Anyway, I wonder how Lady Darlac didn't rip her a new one yet. She just ran off chasing those tigers or whatnot, instead of standing up for herself. What's going on? Did they break up while we weren't looking?"

  "The baron resigned from power, is all. Of course she doesn't want to be with him anymore. That's how women are. When all is well, they swear they'll love you forever, even if you get turned into a toad or lose your dick in a game of cards, but when it starts to rain shit, they're off to find someone else up on his luck."

  "You okay, Vel?"

  Vel flinched, suddenly realising that someone wanted her attention. It was Tirval, settling down beside her with her own spit of bacon, topped with an onion and a potato.

  "Mhm. Why?"

  "Your bacon's going up in a blaze of glory."

  Vel snatched the spit out of the fire, blowing out the flames. The bacon got a bit charred, but still looked edible, and she was famished. She pulled it off the spit and wrapped it into her second slice of bread.

  "Just got distracted listening to people talk," she muttered before digging in.

  Tirval put an arm around her shoulder in a warm, friendly embrace.

  "You're thinking of the Lord Regent, right?"

  Vel gave a small nod, avoiding her gaze. Losing her mentor felt like being kicked out of the nest before growing feathers. There was so much to learn from him, so many adventures to take on together... and now he was gone. Nobody knew about Cephal's expedition to the Tors, except his five accomplices, and they formed a silent agreement to keep his secret. The disaster would have happened anyway, no matter who'd opened the gates. Still, the secret was quietly chewing on Vel's conscience. She should have tried to dissuade him, if nothing else, for her own peace of mind. But now it was too late for regrets.

  "There is none of us that hasn't lost a loved one," said the half-elf softly, holding her spit into the fire. "Some to death, others to betrayal."

  Vel perked up. This was something new that piqued her curiosity. What might Tirval have meant by that? Baroness Guelder stabbing them in the back on the pretext of saving them from Vordakai's clutches? Or something else?

  Tirval let out a bitter sigh, and Vel could immediately tell that she wasn't abiding by her own ban on alcohol consumption. Had she sat a little closer to the fire, she would be breathing flames like a dragon.

  "There used to be an innocent young girl who joined the Host many years ago, all bright eyes, hard muscles and a pure heart. She was like a sister to me, and more. But now... Meh, I guess this is what power does to people. You spend too much time close to the fire, you can't live without its warmth anymore. If it burns out, you go and seek out the next person with flint and steel."

  Vel felt a little awkward at Tirval opening up like this, in her own, cryptic way. Had she been dumped by her partner as well? Apparently, she needed a shoulder to cry on even worse than Vel did, but Vel wasn't sure she was up for that task. Then again, perhaps Vel, too, needed someone with flint and steel. Even if she could light a fire by magic anytime.

  "I'm... sorry for your loss, Tirval," she managed.

  The Warden stroked an auburn lock of hair out of her forehead, staring into the flames.

  "Back then, I had plans for her. With her. I was willing to turn a blind eye to that fling of hers. A quick ride for a promotion, I thought. Hell, I even prepared her for that night. I never thought she'd actually hook up with a man long-term. But she did, and again, I supported her. I wanted her to be happy. Yet, if her next move is to walk out on us and wheedle herself into... Gah! Even a horse's dick has an end, you know!"

  Well, if there was something Vel was uninterested in, that was another person's private life, let alone sexuality. It made her uncomfortable to even hear about it. Partly that was why the Lord Regent had made her magically eavesdrop on General Darlac and Hazel Stormwalker on the night after the summit. He'd wanted her to toughen up, but all it had done was disgust her and create another secret eating at her mind.

  "I don't know what to say, Tirval," she said. That was the pure and unadulterated truth, and as a bonus, it also sounded compassionate. "Now watch out before you drop your onion into the fire."

  Too late. The onion was lost in the flames forever, but Tirval didn't seem to mind. She pressed her cheek against Vel's, squeezing her in another heartfelt embrace.

  "You're a good sort, Vel. Thanks for listening. You can always count on me, and I will count on you, too."

  Next morning, Father Dalton conjured a cloud of deep darkness in front of the gates, refusing to use the three cyclopean censers Baroness Guelder had sent back to the Varnhold treasury. The taskforce entered the Valley of the Dead – this time, in full possession of their consciousness.

  The tomb was now safe to enter, all the doors open, all the traps out of operation, now that the mastermind was permanently dealt with. Vel had her doubts about the occasional altars expecting blood sacrifice, if the brown stains on their surfaces were anything to go by, and she saw some of the Old Stumpers cast unnerved or even wistful side glances at them. However, Father Dalton's stern gaze kept them all in check. The priest was well prepared with a barrel's worth of holy water, a pound of incense, a censer of his own, and most importantly, an extremely rare Scroll of Mass Gentle Repose to stop the bodies from decomposing any further until they could be properly buried.

  Vel wrapped a scarf around her nose and mouth to protect herself from the worst of the smell, and wore protective gloves, like most of the workers did, although she barely touched any of the corpses. Her task was to check the dead against the list of missing people, which she carried out with a machine-like precision, undisturbed by the faint déjà vu evoked by the oppressingly spacious environment.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  They collected about three dozen bodies from different spots of the dungeon. Strangely, there were no flies or maggots around. As if the entire place had been stripped of life. Even decay seemed slower than usual, despite its omnipresent character.

  Some of the survivors worked up enough courage to peek into Vordakai's throne room, but didn't find anything interesting, except for glass shards, debris from some red gem, and a bunch of black feathers. It took an expert's eyes to notice a pile of ash-like dust gathered up in the shape of a larger-than-human body. Vel happened to know a thing or two about poisons, thanks to the Lord Regent's interest in alchemy. For instance, she was aware that real, high-quality Lich Dust actually contained some of the material it was named after. This was a good way for the late Vordakai to prove himself useful. After her companions were done gawking, Vel slipped into the chamber and quickly filled a pouch with the precious ingredient, careful not to breathe it in.

  Only one name remained on the list that wasn't yet associated with a body, and Vel began to hope, ever so faintly. After all, the Lord Regent had found a way out of the dreaded Lostlarn Keep, he'd been to the First World and lived to tell the story, and those were only his latest adventures. Perhaps he'd made it out and gone undercover, aware that the new regime would not be welcoming of his cold and calculating political wisdom. However skilled Baroness Guelder might be in adventuring, she was certainly no match for the Lord Regent in scheming and intrigue. She had every reason to fear him and want him out of the picture.

  And then she saw Igor the lumberjack squat beside another human-shaped body. He looked up and their gazes met.

  "Here, missy! I've found him!"

  Vel rummaged in her heart for some emotion. Grief, bereavement, fury, sorrow, anything. None of those came. She examined the corpse of her old mentor and the puddle of caked blood under his head, his eyelids closed and held down by copper coins in a mockery of kindness. All the other corpses had been uninjured, as it was to be expected: their souls being ripped apart hadn't affected their physical bodies. Cephal Lorentus, however, had been ruthlessly murdered, right at the threshold of freedom and new life, likely by one of the three people who'd been last to leave the tomb. Of those three, only one had the physique to casually crush a person's skull. Suddenly, the baron's depression and the General's hasty departure to war received a plausible explanation.

  A heavy hand weighed upon Vel's shoulder as she was kneeling beside the body.

  "My condolences, child," said Father Dalton's deep, melodious voice. "Rest assured, the Lady of Graves judges justly."

  "He pledged his soul to Asmodeus long ago," she said softly. "That doesn't leave much room for judgement, does it? I hope he'll carve his own path in hell."

  "If you need support, I'm here."

  Vel looked up and met the priest's sharp grey eyes. She got to her feet and cleared her throat, confirming with a quick glance that Igor had already left.

  "Actually, Father Dalton, I might need some support. The Lord Regent's life was taken by someone else than the lich. Someone powerful enough to have me doubt if I can deal with them on my own. I want justice, and I do not want to wait until they get their turn at Pharasma's court."

  "These are serious allegations, child. Are you sure?"

  Vel lowered her head, staring at her toes. This man... He had a way to swipe all her certainty in a moment. After all, anything else could have happened. The simplest solution wasn't always the correct one.

  "How could I be sure?" she muttered.

  "When we get back to Old Stump Village, come visit me at the cave temple. If it makes your grief easier to bear, I will be happy to take your confession. Or perhaps I can persuade the Lord Regent to make one."

  Vel's eyes twinkled with excitement. Of course. A priest of Pharasma must be able to cast Speak with Dead easily... if the dead person's soul had not been destroyed by soul eaters.

  "Would that... cause him any pain?" she asked uncertainly.

  "He must have loved and appreciated you. In such cases, the soul doesn't feel pain at the interaction. It might even be happy to see you again."

  Vel returned with the others to Old Stump Village in a daze, not even remembering the details of the journey back. She was too busy listing her five questions to pay attention to anything else. It was near midnight when she ventured into the cave temple.

  She found Father Dalton beside the stone slab he used to lay out the corpse at wakes held at the temple. The quaking light of candles enveloped the place in a fragile warmth, dancing on the Lord Regent's gaunt, lifeless face and reflected in Father Dalton's intense eyes. The scent of beeswax suppressed any smell of decay that might have seeped through the conservation spell.

  "Are you ready, child?"

  Vel nodded, her sweaty hands grabbing the skirt of her robe.

  The priest laid both his hands on the corpse's chest and started chanting. Vel drifted off. With such a voice, this man could recite a shopping list and she would be listening raptly.

  The dead man's eyes came ablaze with a white-blue light, and Vel's brain snapped back into focus. The spell worked.

  "Master Lorentus!" she whispered. "Is that you?"

  The answer came in a hiss, like the last lungful of trapped breath leaving the body, not at all similar to the Lord Regent's natural voice.

  "Silly girl. Do not waste your questions."

  Oh, it was him all right. It was time to cut to the chase, then. "How did you die?"

  "A bad shove."

  "Who did that to you? A name, please!"

  The dead man paused, reluctant to answer.

  "Please, Master Lorentus! This is the last time we can talk. I need to know!"

  Father Dalton's fist tightened around the holy symbol hanging from his neck, increasing the pressure on the soul. Another dose of air hissed out of the corpse, like a despondent sigh. Then it finally whispered a name.

  "Felicia Darlac."

  Vel shuddered. Just as she suspected – and still, it hurt. Even though the Lord Regent and the General had been like ice and fire, they had been friends and comrades. And although Darlac was a tad too full of herself (and also a slut), she'd seemed to be a good person. Or at least not this degree of bad.

  "Why?"

  "She... sided with the beast woman."

  Calistria help me. The mini-prayer almost slipped off Vel's trembling lips. She bit it back at the last moment, afraid that it would somehow qualify as a question and end the conversation prematurely. So Baroness Guelder, the celebrated saviour of Varnhold, practically had the Lord Regent killed by Darlac, an all too eager new tool in her hand. A traitor. Vel couldn't help but wonder where the baron stood in all this.

  One question remained.

  "Do you have a last wish? Something I can do for you?"

  The power filling the corpse began to disperse. The light in its eyes flickered, like a dying aasimar's gaze. The last words were barely audible.

  "Keep... Maegar... safe..."

  Vel took the corpse's cold hand and folded her fingers around it, holding onto it until the last drop of magic evaporated, wishing she had tears to shed. What to do now? Based on her mentor's words of farewell, Guelder would sooner or later want the baron disposed of, too. But how could Vel stand up against her and her murderous crony? She would need allies. A few names already popped up in her mind... but that was a task for later.

  Father Dalton's warm hands squeezed her shoulders.

  "Are you feeling better, child?"

  She nodded. The scorpion-shaped tattoo on her wrist came alive in a thousand pinpricks, and she became aware of the strange surge in her blood once again. In her heart, there was no pain, not even numbness, only the cold white light of certainty. Vengeance lived inside Velainah, in every single cell of her body. She would get allies, bide her time, and strike true.

  The murderer would pay.