Regrets came shortly after Guelder set out on her journey in cat form. At first, Faeli held her in a gentle clutch, as much as that was possible given her razor-sharp talons. But once they rose higher, she tightened her grip, lest she would accidentally drop the new ruler of her homeland to her death. The talons sank into the cat's flesh, holding onto her shoulder blades, which was just as secure as it was painful. Guelder had a hard time deciding whether to focus on the pain and distract herself from the dizzying terror of heights or the other way round. Still, the worst of it all was the certainty that she would have to travel back in the same way. Padding back in leopard form, holding a woodpecker between her jaws, not quite as carefully as she could, would have felt a lot more satisfying.

  Finally, following Hazel's instructions, Faeli swooped down like a plummeting stone and dropped her charge in front of a cave surrounded by rows upon rows of raspberry bushes. Two leafless, dead-looking trees guarded the cave mouth, standing in an uncannily symmetrical position. Faeli alighted on a thick branch, keeping her bird shape for the time being, whereas Guelder let out a long, convoluted, querulous meow and unloaded her heaving stomach into the grass. Backing away from the result in disgust, she sat down on her haunches and set about licking the blood off her fur to make herself presentable.

  Her pleasant self-soothing ritual, now a bit clumsy due to her wounds, was interrupted by a shrill cry. Faeli was in the air again, frantically beating with her wings, soaring up and away from the furious, creaking slams of the tree's branches. Alas, she was too slow. One whiplash got her square in the crop. She somersaulted in the air and almost crashed to the ground before she regained her bearings and fled to a safe distance above the treetops.

  Quickwoods. Of course. So much about sneaking into the cave unnoticed. Instead, Guelder leapt into a mad dash up the trunk of the other tree, careful to remain on the side opposite from the aggressively flailing one, perched on a branch, flattening herself against the bark, and started to meow at the top of her lungs, hoping the ruckus would draw the druids' attention before the angry tree found her.

  Unfortunately for her, the hitherto peaceful tree didn't take kindly to her attempt to seek refuge among its branches. It shook and rippled, trying to cast off its small burden. She held on for dear life with all her claws, thankful that the branches were not flexible enough to simply reach for her and yank her off her perch. That worked for a while, until her tree turned to its companion for help and pivoted just enough to expose Guelder to the thrashing tree limbs.

  At that point, something stirred among the raspberry bushes. The silhouette of an elf delineated itself against the greenery, heading towards the two guardian trees.

  "What is wrong, friends?" he asked in the secret language of druids. "I hope it is not those nasty bark beetles giving you the itch again."

  "MEOW!" Guelder did her best to claim the elf's attention, just in time before a groping branch found its way to her and swept her off her roost. She twisted her body mid-air to land on her paws, looking up at the elf and showing him the cutest kitty face she could possibly make. "Meow?"

  "Oh, hello, little one. What are you doing here?"

  The elf bent down to lift her up, grabbing her under her front legs, his thoughtless fingertips touching raw flesh.

  "Ssh," he whispered. "Do not squirm. Embrace the pain. Own it."

  What?

  Guelder stopped herself from hissing, kept her claws in, and measured up the elf. His face was uncannily pale, with little blue blood vessels shimmering through his skin, his hair dazzling white, but his eyes were inky black, kind of like Jaethal's. The only bright colour on his face was an angry red inflammation around a dagger-shaped piercing in the skin of his right eyebrow. All in all, he was definitely not an average citizen of Kyonin.

  It was time to drop the shapeshift.

  The pale elf let go of Guelder at the first sign of her transformation and took a step backwards, politely allowing her enough space.

  "I hope very much you would not do this to a real animal!" she snapped in Druidic.

  The elf's lips drew into a leering grin, exposing a set of teeth perfect to a fault, except for the upper canines filed into pointed fangs and their lower counterparts missing, leaving the gums raw and bloody.

  "Of course not," he said. "But some druid I would be if I could not recognise a colleague in Wild Shape."

  "Fair enough," said the baroness, not letting go of his unsettling gaze for a moment. "Let me start this all over, then. Greetings, my brother in Nature, and thanks for calming down your trees. I am Baroness Guelder of Nightvale, and the eagle circling up there is Faeli, my companion. I am coming to you with a request for help. Please lead me to the grovetender."

  The elf let out a chuckle, not looking as surprised as he should have been.

  "Welcome, Your Grace. Nice to meet you in person. The name is Fronidius Red Sunset, grovetender of Raspberry Gully."

  "In person?" Guelder raised an eyebrow. Faeli landed by her side with a soft thump, clutching her quarterstaff in both hands, in case she needed protection.

  "We have been watching your activity for a while. A druid ruling a country is not an everyday occurrence."

  "'We,' as in you and your fellow druids?"

  "Yes," he drawled. "And also as in the Umbral Court."

  Guelder's thoughts were racing as she scrambled to recall where she'd heard this name. Keeping track of the most important players and factions of River Kingdoms politics was hard enough in and of itself, but she was doing her best to expand her horizon to the entire continent, however overwhelming it felt. Still, that name eluded her at the moment.

  "Nidal," said the elf helpfully.

  The baroness blushed at her own ignorance. What did she know about the faraway land of Nidal? It was somewhere to the southwest, an uneasy neighbour of Cheliax. (As if Cheliax had any other type of neighbours.) They worshipped Zon-Kuthon, Shelyn's corrupted brother, the dark deity of pain. Also, they reared horses... which, on second thought, would be more than conducive to maintaining a friendly relationship with them. So Guelder ignored Faeli's elbow jabs and whispers urging her to get the hell out of here.

  "I hope Baron Drelev treats your grove well and is not too much of a nuisance," she offered, usurping the occasion to fish for some information about the apparently missing baron.

  The elf frowned, his facial muscles tugging at his piercing, which made a drop of blood roll down the side of his face.

  "I do not know who that is," he admitted. "Anyway, whoever tries to be a nuisance to us gets quickly discouraged from doing so."

  That was weird. Either this druidic community was too secluded from the world, focused exclusively on watching how the raspberries grew and Nightvale scrambled for survival, or Baron Drelev had never even made it to the land he'd been supposed to rule. However, that was a problem for another day.

  "Never mind," she said. "He is not why I am here, anyway. I hope whatever you saw while watching me convinced you that I would make a worthy ally."

  The elf gave her a quick once-over, sucking on his bloody gums.

  "Indeed. You did not lash out when I touched the sore spots on your body and felt out your soul through your wounds. You are no stranger to pain. You do not flee from it. Sometimes you even seek it out. You tell yourself it is a sacrifice for the greater good, but deep inside, it brings you comfort and pleasure. Whether it is your own pain or someone else's... that remains to be seen."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Guelder bit back a spirited denial. Here she was, approaching another representative of another dark religion for support in another predicament, and once again, they thought they could read her deepest secrets like an open book, finding her a perfect fit for their cult for one reason or another. This time, though, she was ready to roll with the punches. Let Fronidius think she liked pain more than she actually did. If that made them more willing to help, she could live with such a reputation. She could even hold off on healing her travel wounds until she got the help she wanted.

  It was time to talk business, then. Hopefully it wouldn't bring her more regrets.

  Darlac kept herself busy, as waiting was increasingly hard on her nerves. She'd spent the time since Guelder and Faeli's departure getting the supply carts ferried across the river, directing the soldiers' crossing through the ford, setting up a suitable place for Sable's ritual at the foothold. Then she'd watched four different birds of prey arrive (one was an owl, that was certain), one carrying a wooden statue of Gozreh not more than two spans tall, the other three holding smaller animals in their talons: a hare, a rat, and some weasel-type thing. In a little green whirlwind of Nature energy, each of them returned to their humanoid shape, and immediately started bickering about the hardships of air travel.

  Meanwhile, Harrim made another fruitless attempt to contact Kassil, which had Darlac worried for her peer's life. It couldn't be Harrim's fault because he had no issue reaching Father Ezvanki. The news coming from the battlefield were not reassuring, either. Apparently, today brought more intense skirmishes than usual. Time was of the essence, more than ever – but no mention was made of Kassil's fate. What was going on, then?

  Tristian (thankfully alive, blind but healthy, and as calm and serene as ever) was tasked with contacting Guelder. The Sending failed, similarly to another one targeting Faeli. Darlac held onto the hilt of her sword with both hands in order to stop them from shaking, as the claws of worry sank into her innards. Were they in wild shape, unable to answer? Or had something happened to them? Had Faeli made a mess of her mission and dropped the baroness midway? Or had the negotiations gone awry?

  Darlac needed perspective, someone to talk to before she'd go crazy, so she chose to join Gekkor in the makeshift lookout on the highest point of the foothold for a little while. She found him leaning out the railings, both hands wrapped around Tehara's spyglass. Luckily for him, Darlac's footsteps on the creaking rungs of the ladder were loud enough to warn him of her arrival.

  "What's up, Gekkor?"

  The cleric didn't even turn around, absorbed in whatever he was observing.

  "Seven riders heading towards us along the river, General," he muttered. "Guided by an eagle. Like in a cheesy tale from The Archknights of Avistan."

  That had to be the druids Sable was waiting for, with Faeli leading them towards their destination. Too bad Darlac hadn't thought to set up stables.

  "Any sign of Guelder?"

  "Faeli has no passenger this time, that's for sure. Neither do the riders."

  "Damn..."

  Darlac's insides were slowly and surely turning to ice. Had something happened to the baroness, Hazel would kill her. Then Maegar would kill her, too. Perhaps Lady Jamandi would kill her as well. And all those deaths would not be enough for her soul to atone and find peace. Why hadn't she at least tried to talk her out of this, instead of cheering her on?

  Gekkor finally tore his eyes off the spyglass and turned to Darlac, sensing her anguish.

  "Hey, that doesn't mean she's gone missing!" he said. "I mean, if I could shapeshift, and I had to choose between an eagle's talons or any other means of travel... You see my point, right?"

  Darlac took a deep, shaky breath. Focus, girl. You are not Hazel, thank the Inheritor.

  "Sorry, Gekkor. I'm just... worried." She quickly added, "About everything."

  The half-elf squeezed her arm with a reassuring smile.

  "You'll do great, Darlac. Erastil willing, we'll all be fine, as much as that's possible in a war." He placed the spyglass into her hands. "Here. Take a look. Perhaps you'll spot something I didn't."

  Darlac couldn't help but chuckle. What a silly idea. How could a city girl like herself spot anything a half-elven forestwalker couldn't? Regardless, she took the spyglass and raised it to her right eye, squinting with the left.

  "Holy fringe of Iomedae," she muttered in awe. "Those druids have some damn fine horses. Are those... Chiardmar? Here in Glenebon?"

  "Are those what now?"

  "Nidalese wild horses. Which kind of makes sense, speaking of druids, and they are beautiful, noble animals, but... Oh no. No, no, no!"

  "What?"

  But Darlac was already climbing down the ladder in a hurry, frantic thoughts chasing each other in her head. Chiardmar were rumoured to be the favourite breed of Umbral Court agents. Had these druids purchased their horses from Nidal, or were they Kuthites themselves? Had Guelder got herself captured at the worst moment imaginable, and was being tortured right now? Would they accept a ransom for her? Or would Darlac have to divide her army in two and raid the cultists' lair, while sending the other part to the battlefield? How would she even do that without the ritual? Or was she seeing danger where there was none?

  She needed to grab at least twenty soldiers to face the newcomers, just in case.

  Then she bumped into Faeli.

  Scrambling to regain her composure, Darlac looked the young druid up and down. No sign of distress could be detected, aside from the exertion of flying.

  "Welcome back, Faeli," she said, trying to keep her excitement out of her voice. "Report."

  The girl snapped to attention and flooded her with a tsunami of words.

  "Yes, ma'am! The mission was a success. I brought seven more druids, ready to help with the ritual. They are weird like hell, I would even say bone-chilling, but basically nice. They transform pain into spell power, so whatever you do, don't let anyone heal them. And... here you go."

  She placed a clay jar into Darlac's hands, and finally took a breath.

  "What's this?"

  "Raspberry jam. As a token of their goodwill. They make it themselves in the grove, and it's absolutely delicious."

  Well, if there was something less appealing to Darlac's taste buds than hydra eye paté, that was raspberry jam made by Kuthites. Or any food made by Kuthites, for that matter. It stood to reason to suppose it contained traces of blood, sweat and tears aplenty. Unless they used those ingredients deliberately, for seasoning.

  “Ugh... thanks, I suppose. The baroness?”

  Faeli stood on tiptoes to reach Darlac’s ear level, and signalled to her to lean closer.

  “In the grovetender’s saddlebag,” she whispered.

  “WHAT?!”

  “Please don't tell her I told you! She refused to travel back with me, but the horses got spooked of her scent. Apparently, she is too much of a leopard for her own good. I kid you not, it was an uphill battle to put her into that saddlebag even in cat form."

  Darlac wiped her forehead, slowly relaxing. The mental image of a cat's head peeking out of a saddlebag felt somewhat beneficial for her nerves, so she clung to it.

  "Thanks, Faeli. Go and help accommodate them. I'll be with you in a minute."

  The Acting Vice-General of Nightvale found herself praying to Iomedae for strength of mind and resolve. This glorious expedition against Armag the Twice-Born increasingly looked like an absurd joke. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and if one needed a weather phenomenon of her own, one had to take whatever help one could get. And most importantly, the baroness was safe and sound.

  Perhaps they could pull this off.