The orange-blue flag flew proudly in the wind, a declaration of Varnhold's strength, on a windy mountaintop near the source of the river Gudrin. Darlac saluted, her fist above her heart, and held the stance for a long time. She was proud and thankful to be here, still General of the Varnling Host, despite her shameful transgressions now buried deep in the past. She knew where she belonged, and wouldn't have it otherwise.

  This would be a perfect place for a watchtower. One was already under construction along the northwestern border, atop a mountain opposite the ancient structure known by the name Sorrowflow. This second one would overlook the eastern part of Silverstep, a portion of Nightvale wedged into Varnhold territory between Dunsward and the Tors of Levenies. The baron had not been easy to convince about the usefulness of such observation points at the Nightvale border, but he'd finally let Darlac have her way. Even if he trusted his western neighbour with all his heart, the Stolen Lands were a dangerous place, and there was no guarantee whatsoever that Baroness Guelder would rule in peace for as long as her elven longevity allowed, and wouldn't be toppled or downright assassinated by a ruthless and unscrupulous pretender, eager to trample the treaty underfoot and expand their territory eastwards.

  Darlac still didn't know what to make of the baroness, and that disturbed her to no end. On their way to Varnhold, they had begun to develop some mutual respect and appreciation for each other, which had then collapsed like a house of cards due to the events after the banquet and Hazel's... subversive activity. Darlac had relapsed into her initial guarded and apprehensive attitude, and she found herself regretting it a little. Another thing to hate Hazel for. In retrospect, it was not hard to see that the charming elf had been striving to sever the ties between Darlac and the baron, probably in order to weaken Varnhold's inner cohesion. Deep inside, Darlac still loathed herself for being such an easy prey. She would have deserved to be sent into the Worldwound as demon fodder. And yet, here she was, forgiven and absolved by the baron but not by herself, enjoying the second chance she'd never thought she would need.

  The sun inched closer to the tops of the smaller mountains to the west. With a sharp about-face, Darlac turned towards her squad lined up behind her.

  "At ease," she said. "Let's go. We'd better find shelter for tonight before the sun sets."

  "I know a loggers' hut to the north," suggested Gekkor. "Nothing fancy at the moment, just a single space with a fireplace and some straw for sleeping. It would be useful to check it out anyway, in case the lumberjacks will want to use it while building the watchtower."

  "Lead the way, then," said Darlac. But Gekkor's mind was already at a different place. He was staring at the treeline, racking his eyes.

  "Whelk, I told you not to come here today! Shoo!"

  Too late. Shakoth, the silver-haired Sylvan sorceress in the course of training up her new bear, made a heroic but vain effort to catch the rope she was using as a leash, as her pet threw itself after the elk.

  "Misha, come back! Bad bear!"

  "Attention!" bellowed Darlac, right before chaos would break out. Of course, the bear didn't give a damn, being completely ignorant of the chain of command, but at least the people obeyed. "Let the beasts sort this out amongst themselves. Survival of the fittest, natural selection, whatever. If Misha and Whelk are sufficiently trained for combat, they will make it back to their masters in one piece each. If they prove to be lacking, well, it's better for us to find that out under controlled circumstances."

  With a stern glance, she silenced the two half-elves preparing to go at each other's throats in defence of their pets, and nodded to Gekkor to lead the way, as agreed. Arno the bard strummed his lute and started to play Breeze over the Lake, a soothing melody for music-loving enemies and irritated friends.

  The squad started down the mountain, with the cleric and the sorceress at the lead, the Bruiser and Arno sandwiched in the middle, and finally Darlac and Dusty, the squad's almost bear-sized fighter, bringing up the rear. After all, it was a good idea to bring some variety into the squad, instead of always working with the same people. If nothing else, it kept Darlac on her toes. Especially with regard to the bear. Misha would one day become a great asset for the Host, once Shakoth gained full control over it. For Darlac, that day seemed disturbingly far away, but she believed firmly that, with sufficient practice and training, even an elk and a bear could learn to cooperate. According to the gossips their Nightvale spy picked up at the Tuskdale inn, the beast woman had no issue using a dog and a cat (more exactly, a wolf and a leopard) in the same adventuring team. Of course, being a druid was a great advantage—but Sylvan sorcerers, like Shakoth, supposedly knew everything druids knew, with the added perk of spontaneous spellcasting. So maybe it all boiled down to the well-known fact that Whelk was stupid as dirt, Erastil's favoured animal or not. Perhaps Misha would do the world a favour today and get the cleric rid of his elk, making it possible for him to tame a more useful animal companion instead. Hopefully not another elk, though.

  A shadow glided past above their heads.

  The music stopped. Gekkor's ears perked up, his eyes scanning the treetops. Shakoth followed his gaze. The Bruiser cracked his knuckles.

  "What was that?" muttered Dusty.

  "Maybe a roc?" ventured Arno. "I heard there was a huge one nesting on Talon Peak. There could be some of them around here as well."

  Shakoth shook her head, stroking a stray lock out of her face.

  "Rocs never venture into the forest, underneath the canopy. They prefer the open sky. I have a bad feeling about this."

  "Be that as it may," said Darlac, "now that Arno has calmed down everyone, we must proceed with more caution. No music, soft footsteps. I'll try my best to tread lighter than usual, and I expect the same from everyone."

  They hiked on. Even on a well-trodden path, Darlac found it hard to move quietly. She and Dusty had sturdy leather gear on, as they usually did on forest expeditions to avoid the clanking of metal, but in the deathly silence, even the rustling of last year's fir needles under their feet felt like a drum of war. Granted, they were in the early days of winter, but shouldn't there be at least a little birdsong or rodent activity? Was the forest so scared of the Varnlings... or of something else?

  The log cabin stood on a little clearing, leaning to the mountainside, with its back towards the forest. One of its windows was open, its shutters dangling askance, as if broken through from the inside. Whelk was nowhere to be seen, but Misha stood at the window, sticking its head in.

  Gekkor exchanged a glance with Shakoth.

  "Something stinks," he whispered. "I mean, literally."

  "Shakoth," said Darlac, "call your bear to heel and peek in!"

  The sorceress obeyed, and thank the Inheritor, the bear did, too. Conjuring a ball of light above her head, Shakoth stood on tiptoes and looked in. A moment later, she collapsed at the bottom of the wall, retching. Arno was quick to offer comfort. He put an arm around Shakoth's shoulder.

  "It's all right, Shakoth. What is in there? Any danger?"

  She shook her head, but couldn't answer.

  That was bad. Like most seasoned Varnlings, Shakoth was not easily daunted. If she couldn't handle what she'd seen, that meant... well, something like Blackstones Ford, or worse.

  "Dusty," said Darlac, "with me! We're going in. The others, stay outside and cover us. Blow the emergency horn if you need support."

  She activated her halo, drew her sword, imbued it with holy power, and kicked the door down.

  The stench of rotten blood, stale piss and other byproducts of death and decay rolled out of the cabin like a wave of old Cephal's Stinking Clouds, but twice as bad. The walls were covered in dried blood and shreds of flesh. The floor was slippery with a variety of bodily fluids, with the odd bit of bone mixed in. Something that was likely a vertebra rolled out from under the sole of Darlac's boot, almost making her trip. A piece of bowel hung from the rafters. Small rodents, mice, rats or squirrels, scurried away at the sudden noise and flash of light.

  Shoving down her nausea, Darlac forced herself to take inventory of what she saw. Two and a half corpses. The remains of an adult, apparently a woman, lying on a pile of straw, destroyed beyond identification apart from her legs, and two children, mangled to death. Nothing moved.

  "Gekkor!" she exclaimed. "I need your help with making sense of this... massacre!"

  The cleric appeared in the doorway.

  "Mighty Erastil," he muttered, pale as the moon. Then he got ahold of himself, and started his quest for clues. "The kids were killed by some big feline for sustenance, that's for sure. I can see its paw prints leading up to the window. As to the mother, search me. I can't make heads or tails of that. Like... an explosion or something?"

  "But how did the beast come in?" wondered Dusty, scratching his blond beard. "We found the door closed. The smoke hole is too small and also intact. The window is broken through from the inside. Did it just spawn in here out of thin air?"

  Puzzled, Gekkor shook his head.

  "When do you think it happened?" asked Darlac.

  "Two days ago, give or take."

  "Then the beast is long since gone, I suppose?"

  "I'm not sure about that. There is still some meat on the corpses. Maybe it's using the hut as a cache it can return to and feed off—"

  A horn blared.

  Darlac shoved Gekkor aside and burst out of the cabin, with Dusty in tow.

  The Bruiser was just getting to his feet after a roll, with his horn in his hand. Arno stood flattened against the wall, uttering the most creative curses he could come up with. His arms and legs were nailed to the wall by at least six thin, spikelike bolts, and more of those were jutting out of the logs. Shakoth was barking instructions to the bear to cover them.

  Four big, catlike creatures were closing in on the squad, leathery wings spread behind their backs, spiky tails shooting another wave of missiles. One of them grazed Darlac's face, and a few got stuck in Dusty's shield.

  "Shakoth, free Arno and take him inside! Gekkor, up the roof! The others, with me!"

  The melee fighters of the Varnlings grouped together in a circle, protecting Arno and Shakoth with their bodies as she struggled to get him rid of the spikes. The monsters surrounded them, baring their fangs at Dusty, Darlac, the Bruiser and Misha, who miraculously found its place in the formation.

  "Just give him a good pull!" shouted Gekkor, while clambering up the roof. "I can't heal him until you get the spikes out!"

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Almost there," growled Shakoth. "Three to go!"

  "For Varnhold!" bellowed Darlac. She tapped into the power of her goddess to bless her companions. "Inheritor, guide our weapons!"

  "Krs-krs-krs," hissed the monsters.

  Her sword humming with holy energy, Darlac lunged forward against the closest monster, and rammed her blade straight into a snarling maw with three rows of razor-sharp teeth, piercing through the brain. Just what she'd prayed for. She reclaimed her sword from the writhing carcass, holding it down with her foot, and quickly looked around to see how the others were faring.

  The Bruiser didn't need her help. The monsters' muzzles had unsettling humanoid features, including a prominent nose and a rounded chin, which gave excellent opportunities for the halfling's fearsome jabs and uppercuts. Dusty, however, was hard pressed, as his foe had sunk its teeth into the edge of his shield and wouldn't (or maybe couldn't) let go. Its sheer weight was about to wrest the shield off his arm, leaving him defenceless. Darlac raised her sword above her head, and struck at the beast's back, three times in a row. The third blow did the trick and severed its spine. She left Dusty to free his shield, looking for another foe to fight. Behind her, Shakoth pushed Arno into the house, and before following him, chanted a spell to fill them all with an urge to act quickly and decisively. Apparently, Arno could distance himself from his own plight and the grisly environment: the opening chords of Stand Your Ground drifted out the open door and window.

  A jolt of pain shot up Darlac's left arm. Another pair of spikes had hit her, one blocked by her bracer, the other piercing her forearm just below the elbow. She ripped it out immediately, the thrill of battle muting the pain somewhat, but she couldn't ignore the implications: more incoming monsters.

  Three of the beasts were down, but their numbers didn't seem to lessen. The bear was fighting two at the same time, one of whom had the Bruiser on its back, holding onto its mane with his left hand, and experimenting with a variety of punches to the head to knock it out. Arrows whistled through the air, their sound followed by a crash and a thud, as another winged cat thing fell from a tree at the edge of the clearing.

  "Dusty, defend the window! I'll hold the door! They mustn't get in!"

  Sword in hand, Darlac faced another prowler coming from between the trees. She felt a wave of healing energy wash over her, and the pain in her arm and face abated. That meant Arno, too, would be mobile and healthy again, which could soon be heard in the renewed vigour of his song.

  Darlac moved slightly forward to face her chosen enemy. Crackling heat behind her back, Dusty's surprised swearing and the smell of singed fur meant that Shakoth had released a Scorching Ray through the window. Arrows started whistling again, as Gekkor finished healing up the squad and returned to his archery. The Varnlings were winning.

  "Watch out!" cried the Bruiser. Curiously, he never stuttered in combat.

  A big, furry body slammed into Darlac, knocking her off her feet. Her brain faintly registered that her original foe pushed past her and made its way into the house.

  "Get inside!" she yelled. That was the most she could do about it at the moment, apart from keeping this one monster occupied.

  She instinctively let go of her sword and raised her arms to protect her face. It wasn't enough. A claw swipe slashed into her scalp and cheek before her bracers dampened the impact. Ducking behind her arms, she turned to the side and fought to wiggle out from under the weight of the beast, if not entirely, at least enough to feel about her belt and find her dagger.

  "Krs-krs-krs!" hissed the beast, its breath smelling of rotten flesh.

  A surge of anger swept through Darlac. She wouldn't go like this.

  Not today, Pharasma.

  To buy a little time, she thrust her left arm between the terrible jaws. The bracer gave enough protection to stop her bones from being splintered immediately, but it couldn't entirely block the teeth sinking into her flesh. The monster sneezed, covering Darlac in her own blood mixed with saliva, and laxened its jaws a little. Apparently, it found the taste of aasimar blood somewhat disturbing.

  "I have your back, General!" shouted Gekkor from the rooftop, releasing first another surge of healing energy, then a few arrows.

  Darlac was quick to put the short respite to good use. Her right hand finally found the hilt of the dagger in her belt. Shifting her position a little more, she pulled it free and stabbed at the beast's eye. Her first attack missed, cutting a gash into the all too human face. The terrible jaws clamped down on her left arm again. Blinking away tears and blood, she tightened her grip around the hilt of the dagger, and the next stab hit true. She twisted the blade before ripping it out, then went for the neck, again and again, wherever she could. The furry body twitched a few times, then it grew lax, soaking Darlac's shirt in more warm blood.

  She heard a sickening crunch from inside, the sort made by a heavy shield crushing a skull to pulp. Then all went quiet, except for her racing pulse drumming in her ears.

  Too quiet.

  She faintly heard Gekkor's voice:

  "Bruiser, can you punch both corners of its mouth at the same time?"

  The pressure on Darlac's arm suddenly eased as the Bruiser carried out the manoeuvre, then pried open the monster's jaws. She wiggled out from under the carcass and knelt up, shuddering. Hell, what she would give for a clean and dry shirt...

  She looked over the battlefield. The bear was in a sorry state, its fur matted with blood, one of its ears badly mangled. Gekkor was unharmed. The Bruiser was bleeding from deep claw marks across his upper body. Inside the building, Shakoth and Dusty were kneeling on the ground beside a monster's carcass, leaning above Arno's lifeless body, shaking it, calling his name.

  Darlac got to her feet and made her way to the body. Arno's face was pale and cold, his eyes glazed. His neck was one big wound, with no intact surface to search for a pulse. All she could do for him was gently close his eyelids.

  "Do... do we have a diamond?" muttered the fighter. "Or a scroll?"

  "No," said Darlac softly. "Due to current budgetary constraints, procurement of magical items and materials has been put on hold for an undetermined period of time. It's in the Treasurer's latest announcement. We'll take Arno's body home in my Bag of Holding and bury him with military honours, wrapped in the skin of one of these beasts. Another hero for us to look up to."

  She let out a shuddering breath.

  "You okay, General?" asked Shakoth.

  Darlac clenched her teeth. Blood was trickling down along her neck and getting caked in her hair, the pain of her remaining wounds had started to break through the adrenaline rush, her wet clothing felt increasingly cold, and most importantly, she'd lost a friend. Even though she'd killed three of the eight, she'd failed.

  "I'll manage," she muttered.

  "We'll treasure his m-memory," said the Bruiser. "And W-wekky will make him a f-funny epitaph."

  With Shakoth's help, Darlac removed her damaged bracer and endured patiently while Gekkor put a few clumsy stitches into her split scalp, then she and the cleric healed up the squad together. Misha decided to remain a good bear, so Darlac didn't lose a limb while applying Lay on Hands on its wounds. It didn't even pay attention to Whelk peeking out from behind a tree with a smug expression on its muzzle. Dusty eased Arno's body into the Bag of Holding.

  "Eight godsdamned manticores," muttered Shakoth, as she rummaged in her backpack for some bear treat to reward her pet. "I've never seen so many of them in a pride. And never heard them proclaim their hunger in Sylvan, of all things."

  "Huh?" grunted Darlac, startled from her thoughts. She had been wondering whether this monster pride was Baroness Guelder's idea of a border patrol. But she couldn't be this powerful, or could she?

  "Most manticores speak Common," explained Shakoth. "They do so whenever they want to lure their victims into a trap, or demand a bribe instead of sustenance. But the sound these made was... Well, it sounded like the Sylvan word for hunger. Am I crazy?"

  "Fey-speaking manticores?" Dusty snorted with mirthless laughter. "That's bullshit, Shakoth, and you know it. Still, it's a nice tale to tell over a mug of stout at Arno's wake."

  Shakoth and Gekkor managed to recover five manticore pelts in a decent state. They postponed laying the corpses found in the cabin to rest, and set out towards Blackstones Ford. The lonely waystation was being transformed into a settlement, which they hoped to reach before midnight. Darlac wasn't quite exhilarated by the prospect of a nighttime walk in the forest, but being on the move felt safer than setting up camp in the wild.

  She would have the foundations of the watchtower laid down over the course of next week. It would be called the Tower of Arno. And if those monsters had indeed come from Nightvale, she would find a way to hold the baroness accountable.