There was one more thing Darlac had to do, before they continued their journey, and that was looting the ankou's corpse. Not that it wore any gear or treasure, but if she was any judge, it could still yield something useful. She sliced the razor-sharp claws off its wings, and took a closer look at them.

  "Are these... cold iron?"

  "Looks like," said Cephal.

  "Then here you go, Maegar. Your next set of daggers. Make sure to name them."

  "Oh no," sighed the wizard. "Name them for him, please, or else he'll come up with something like Drippy and Stinky."

  "Brilliant!" exclaimed the baron. "Thanks, Cephal! I knew I could count on your genius... Um... Shakoth?"

  The sorceress was standing motionless, staring towards the far end of the hall, where two perfectly identical dogs were wandering in circles.

  "Misha was hit by the blue ray," she muttered. "And now... I don't have the foggiest idea which one is which."

  Cephal put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

  "It's a good thing we have two Scrolls of Remove Curse. We can change back your bear friend, even if we make a wrong guess first."

  "Has the other dog been polymorphed as well?" wondered Wekky.

  "Given that they look exactly the same," said the wizard, "that's a possibility."

  "Then make sure to change back both of them," suggested the baron. "I'm horrified to imagine that someone has been living here as a dog for who knows how long, scavenging for thousand-year-old food, without even a ball to fetch."

  "Fey humour at its best," said Darlac. "Also, a guaranteed way to insanity. If we don't guess right, we'd better be prepared for combat."

  "And if we do, Maegar," grinned Cephal, "you can take the dog home and play fetch with it to your heart's content. If Darlac allows, of course."

  "No," grunted Darlac, giving the wizard a flat stare. "If His Grace wants a dog, he'd better get a real one. I won't stand for polymorphed or non-polymorphed individuals intruding on my privacy."

  Cephal held her gaze and flashed a malicious smile. Of course he knew. Not that it mattered anymore.

  Meanwhile, Shakoth sneaked up on one of the dogs, scooped it up into her arms, and carried it to the wizard. It endured her touch with complete indifference. Cephal took a few steps backwards, just in case, unfurled a scroll, and read out the spell.

  It took Shakoth a few seconds to realise that she was hugging the waist of a hideous giant, with fangs too big to fit into his mouth and an extra arm protruding from his torso. Also, he smelled worse than a dog ever could.

  Shakoth let go and backed away with a frightened scream. The giant let out a roar, then unceremoniously grabbed a column, ripped it out of its place and slammed it to the ground to break it up into tossable-sized chunks. The roof groaned above their heads, threatening to cave in.

  "Retreat!" bellowed Darlac. "Dusty, with me! Everyone else, to the pad! See you in the next chamber!"

  Maegar grabbed Wekky by the collar and dragged him along to the teleportation pad. Shakoth dodged a piece of the column flying towards her, rolled to the side, and landed on top of the other catatonic dog. She scrambled to her feet, snatched up the dog, and ran to join the baron, as did Cephal. A moment before the next chunk of stone flew out, Dusty's shield slammed into the giant's groin, making him drop the missile an inch from Darlac's head. Otherwise, he seemed to be unfazed by the attack. The following blow sent Dusty flying through the room.

  The ceiling groaned again, leaking dust and debris on their heads.

  "Okay, that's enough!" cried out Darlac. "Retreat!"

  As a farewell gift, she rammed her sword into the giant's knee to stop him from giving chase, reinforcing her attack with a Smite Evil spell. That bought her enough time to flee and reach the teleportation pad along with Dusty. They winked out half a second before a flying boulder crashed into the pad.

  "Ugh," said Dusty. "That was a close call. I guess we won't return to the great hall anymore."

  They left the pad with cautious steps, keeping an eye out for new monsters, and rejoined their companions. The baron greeted Darlac with a relieved embrace, and for a moment, the dungeon ceased to exist for her. It felt so good that he trusted her in combat and didn't question her decisions, and it felt even better that he'd been worried for her nonetheless.

  As if on cue, Marquise Insomnia materialised above their heads and ruined the beautiful moment.

  "Hahaha, that was fun, wasn't it?" she cackled. "And now it's time to decide whether you want to go on with your heroic quest, or scurry back home and save whatever is left to be saved. Behold!"

  Then they noticed the portal.

  Cephal was perching on the head of a fallen column, absently puffing his pipe, half-listening to the lovebirds' conversation about the fate of the mission. He managed to create a nice ring of smoke, replicating the shape of the portal in front of them. But he wasn't skilled enough by far to copy what they saw happen on the other side.

  Dusty was sitting on the other end of the column, closer to the portal, staring at it with glazed eyes, his ruddy face now pale with nausea, his brain trying in vain to process or reject the sight of his fellow citizens plucking out their own eyes and digging themselves into graves. Wekky was trying in vain to calm him down, perhaps because he himself didn't sound calm at all, either. Shakoth stood behind them, placidly redoing her braid and keeping an eye on her bear (still a dog). She was a hundred percent sure that the portal was part of the fey trickery permeating the dungeon, and had voiced this opinion. They were all waiting for Baron Varn and General Darlac to decide on the next step.

  Cephal had already expressed his stance. If they chose to give up this mission and return home, he would prefer to do it the traditional way, instead of using a potentially rigged portal that could take them anywhere on or outside Golarion. His brain was ceaselessly working to find another way out of here, now that the entrance had closed behind them and they were several teleportations away from it, anyway. However, if Maegar and Darlac decided to cross the portal, he would not stay behind. Wherever this fey prank would cast them, they would surely need a wizard to guard their backs.

  So he couldn't be bothered to listen in on the couple's conversation using his magical enhancement. He was perfectly content with the fragments he could catch.

  "It's my town and my responsibility. If there is only one percent chance that it's real..."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  "This is a trap, or I'm a tiefling." Apparently, every once in a while, Darlac managed to use her pretty head for thinking, instead of breaking people's noses with it.

  "But what if the fey put this one genuine element in this entire maze of illusions?" In fact, that actually made sense.

  Darlac pursed her lips, giving the baron's argument some thought.

  "Try to place yourself in the enemy's shoes. Why does she show this scene to us? If we enter the portal, she will get rid of us, maybe for good. If not, we go on but with a weakened resolve and a worse chance for victory, because our hearts will be elsewhere. She wins either way."

  "Felicia, it's just your mercenary gut against mine. How can you be sure?"

  "I can't. But our allies are counting on us here and now. We can't just walk out on them!"

  "Do you even hear yourself?" lashed out the baron. "Where are your priorities?"

  Cephal hoped the portal would fizzle out under their noses, bored with their indecision. But no, it was an unusually patient portal. It probably enjoyed the drama that followed, with Darlac imploring the baron not to make her betray their allies and her code and Maegar doubling down, exploiting his power, which he rarely did. Too bad poor Arno had passed. He could have written a heartwrenching duet from this tug-of-war between two heroes and lovers. Now they had to make do with Willas Gunderson, who would probably find a way to turn it into porn.

  Should he try to form a redcap out of the next puff of smoke?

  "Would you walk out on Guelder like this?"

  Whoops.

  Cephal knew this was the point where Darlac lost the battle. Instead of hammering home this cruel but effective jab, she would blush to the colour of her hair and back down, ashamed of herself. Being a paladin granted her admirable boons, but spoiled her of many of the traditional weapons of womankind. Hell, she probably didn't even know to manipulate her man using sex withdrawal.

  He was right, of course, like nearly always.

  "We march on Varnhold Town, then," growled Darlac, beaten into submission. "I follow you wherever you go, Maegar. Even into death, default, betrayal. But just in case things go from bad to worse and I fail to protect you, let me give you something that will get you to safety."

  She took something out of her backpack and smuggled it into his hand. Cephal had no idea what it was.

  "Are you sure you want me to have it?" asked the baron softly.

  "Sure as Heaven. My life and blood for Varnhold and for its ruler."

  A quick, passionate kiss followed, but Darlac didn't seem very enthusiastic about it. As she caught her breath, she turned back towards the others.

  "Formation!" she yelled. "Prepare to cross!"

  "At least send the dog in first," suggested Cephal, just a heartbeat too late.

  Not waiting for the formation to take shape, the baron stepped through the portal. Before Darlac could follow, the hole in the air snapped shut, and the gateway winked out of existence. The force field pushed her backwards and crashed her into Dusty.

  "What a twist," muttered Cephal. "Nice job, Marquise Incontinentia. Colour me impressed."

  "I hate to rub salt into it," remarked Shakoth, "but I warned you."

  For a moment, Darlac looked lost and shocked. Cephal half expected her to break into tears.

  "What did you give him?" he asked to distract her.

  "A rescue ring," she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

  "The type forbidden in the Host?"

  "Yes. My father's legacy."

  Cephal smiled fondly. He'd never thought she had it in her to break the rules this badly and, in doing so, save a life. Her nasty little subterfuge might well make a world of difference for his hotheaded friend.

  "I'm proud of you, General. Lead the way. We've dallied here enough."

  Darlac closed her eyes, mouthing a prayer. Then she began to tremble.

  "Oh no," she whispered. "Please, no. Not today."

  Cephal grabbed her arm and pulled her aside.

  "What's going on, Darlac?" he hissed. "Whatever it is, get ahold of yourself. You're destroying your men's morale."

  She remained silent. The stalwart General of Varnhold was gone, replaced by a frightened teenager pushed into deep water. What was it all about?

  He gave her a good shake.

  "Darlac? Speak to me!"

  "She left me," she muttered, her lips trembling.

  "Who?"

  "The Inheritor. I can't feel my connection to her."

  Cephal frowned. Would Iomedae leave a faithful servant of hers in the middle of a difficult dungeon run, less than an hour after she'd freed another good-aligned deity's angel? Just because she'd had a fleeting affair with that elf, and she'd agreed to follow the baron into the portal? He'd seen paladins get away with so much more without falling from grace. Something was not quite right.

  He squeezed her arms so hard that his fingers hurt.

  "Look at me, kid, and listen closely. I'm not a fan of your goddess, but I can't imagine her leaving you just like that. What you're experiencing is either some fey trickery or you're doing it to yourself, but there is no way in hell Iomedae would give up on someone like you. Trust yourself. You'll figure it out. Until then, remember there is one thing you can always do. What is it?"

  "Stand my ground," she muttered.

  "That's my comrade. You still have your sword and your heart to guide it. You've trained hard enough to make do without divine support. And if you feel you absolutely need a deity by your side, just let me know, and I'll draw up a contract with Asmodeus for you."

  Darlac broke into a timid smile.

  "Thanks, Cephal. I shouldn't let politics make me forget what a great friend you are."

  He pulled her into a short embrace and patted her back.

  "Everything will be all right. I promise."

  She broke free and turned to the others.

  "All right, soldiers," she called out. "His Grace is apparently gone, and so is my connection to my goddess. Still, I am confident we can turn this around. The baron will be safe, and even without divine support, I stand strong with you. Let's wish him good luck and brace up to do what we came here to do."

  Cephal made a mental note to check that ring from closer up once they got back to Varnhold. This sounded like a curse, a bad case of ability damage targeting the owner's charisma – and that didn't bode well for the success of their endeavour.