This place wasn't a cyclopean tomb at all.

  The fact that the centaurs charging into the tomb took out so effortlessly the zombie cyclopes lumbering to meet them was the first to raise Darlac's suspicion. But then again, maybe the centaurs were just so good. However, when the baron's squad had no issue replicating the feat, Darlac knew something was off. She remembered how much trouble they'd had with the giant undead attacking Old Stump Village in the last few days. The cyclopes of the "tomb" were like inert shadows of those enemies.

  And then their hostess (and probably their would-be end boss) came to say hello.

  Ever since the Varnhold–Nightvale summit, stories about the heroic deeds of their western neighbour were afoot in the taverns, not in the least because Linzi had left behind some of her songs. One of those was a hilarious song of mockery about a certain Viscount Smoulderburn, a floating skull (probably a will-o'-wisp) who'd dwelt in an abandoned campsite near an ancient tree and terrorised unsuspecting adventurers, until the baroness and her squad had taught him a lesson. That song had brought about one of the most joyful and careless moments of the summit, and the tune was quite an earworm. Darlac found herself humming it when a similar floating skull appeared here in the corridors of the fake tomb, introduced herself as Marquise Insomnia (or something like that), and welcomed them to Lostlarn Keep with an unceasing cackle, as if she'd just told them the joke of the century.

  Darlac was in no mood to laugh. Bosses who thought themselves funny were the absolute worst.

  They gradually realised that they (including the centaurs guarding the tomb for a millennium) had all been deceived by cruel fey who had moved into this ancient, partly sunken Taldan fortress and made it into their playground. After the first clash, they lost their centaur allies from sight, and found themselves in a maze of single-directional teleportation pads, without a way to use linear travel on foot, like normal people. By the time they figured out how those pads worked, they lost their way among the doorless chambers inhabited by a variety of monsters, and it was impossible to retrace their steps.

  To Cephal's consternation, Darlac ripped a crumbling page out of an ancient codex she found in one of the rooms, and began scribbling on it with a pencil.

  "What are you doing, you uncivilised savage?"

  "Making a map," she muttered. "We started in the room with the funny fresco and the oozes, right? That's A. Then the room with the magic-eating panthers—"

  "Dweomercats, General," sighed Shakoth wearily, being the only squad member somewhat familiar with fey lore, and getting tired of the others' ignorance.

  "... that's B. The one with the will-o'-wisps is C, then... D. If I map up which pad leads where, sooner or later we'll figure out how to travel inside the keep, and maybe find a way out."

  "Sounds good to me," said Dusty. "I'm more than happy to sacrifice an old book to locate the exit."

  Darlac finished scribbling and looked around. The spacious room they were standing in likely used to be an assembly hall or a ballroom. It still had its original shape with marble flagstones and elegant columns supporting the ceiling, but the walls were overgrown by a strange plant, popping up even from the floor in the middle of the hall, opening big red flowers. Sickly sweet fragrance filled the air, mixing with the smell of dust and mould.

  Apparently, the current denizens of the keep used this space as a prison for two inmates, penned up inside a force cage each. One of them was a strange black creature with an elongated, spiky body, a horned head with two pairs of unsettling yellow eyes, two clawed hands, and a pair of big, drooping, leathery wings ending in blades.

  "What in the Boneyard is that?" muttered Wekky somewhere at the back. "Some sort of daemon?"

  "An ankou," explained Shakoth. "An assassin of the fey world. Very dangerous."

  "Then I hope that force cage is secure enough," said Dusty, scratching the back of his head.

  "Misha, no!" screamed Shakoth, clinging for dear life to the rope around the bear's neck with both hands, as the beast lunged forward. It was just then that Darlac noticed the lonely dog pissing at the side of a column.

  Just this once, the bear allowed itself to be dragged back from its chosen prey.

  "Bad bear," grumbled the sorceress, playfully slapping the bear's backside with the end of the rope. "Dogs are friends, not food. Also, you've already had a whole dweomercat. That should keep you going for a while, don't you think?"

  The baron, having a soft spot for cuteness, immediately tried to befriend the dog and lure it to himself with a piece of jerky. Darlac smiled fondly and left him to his endeavour. The other force cage was hiding a mesmerising secret.

  Darlac had never met an angel before, but she'd done plenty of reading on them. The one in the cage was a lower-level celestial, probably a movanic deva, just how Darlac imagined her unknown heavenly ancestor. He looked somewhat dazed, but reacted to her proximity regardless: his glowing eyes focused on her in a silent plea for freedom. As Darlac reached out towards him, the humming energy of the force cage pushed her hand back.

  "Maegar, leave that mutt alone!" sneered Cephal behind her back. "Darlac wants to introduce you to her family!"

  "Very funny, Lord Regent," snapped Darlac, turning back to the others. "How about we try and find a way to disable this cage thing?"

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  The baron temporarily gave up on the intransigent dog, and turned to Darlac.

  "Sorry, love. Is he really your ancestor?"

  "Gah! How should I know? He can't speak to me!"

  "Once we get him out of the cage," grinned Cephal, "I bet he'll be happy to answer all your questions about his sex life."

  Maegar walked around the cage, studying its structure.

  "There must be a switch somewhere nearby," he mused. "Probably in a floor tile, or in the wall. Look around, everyone, and let me know if you see anything of the sort."

  Wekky let out an exhausted sigh, and dropped himself down on an elevated floor tile, just the size of a comfy, low stool for a halfling. He yelped as the tile moved under his butt and sank into the floor.

  Everyone looked at him, then at the cages.

  The barriers were down.

  "Oh damn," whispered Dusty, and started running towards the ankou, with shield in hand.

  Shakoth, however, was quicker. She leapt towards the monster and threw a handful of glittering powder into the air. The powder slowly settled down on her, Dusty and the ankou, outlining their silhouettes.

  "What was that for?" grumbled the fighter, wiping the dust out of his eyes and blinking repeatedly.

  "You'll see," said the sorceress.

  "I hope I will, because now I can't!"

  Wekky started a prayer in a trembling voice. Darlac winked at the angel, who was slowly recovering from his torpor and stretching his wings.

  "We could use a little help, if you don't mind," she said softly, then charged up her sword with holy power and hurried to catch up with Dusty. A surge of warm reassurance filled her, completely unjustified by the situation. She figured it was the liberated angel's idea of support.

  And they needed it like a mouthful of bread.

  The ankou came awake, and the Varnlings immediately realised why Shakoth's glitterdust trick made perfect sense. The monster doubled, then tripled itself, creating one copy after another. However, these copies were of the original black colour, without the glitter.

  "Focus on the sparkly one!" shouted Shakoth, just in case someone didn't make the connection.

  It was easier said than done, once the ankou and its black counterparts spread out and started their murderous dance, twirling in the air and bringing down their wings and claws in dreadful attacks. Darlac heard the wing blade scrape along Dusty's shield. She raised her sword to block. Metal clanked on metal. The next twirl splashed someone's blood into her face as she dodged.

  The ankou soared up above their heads and unleashed a cone of light in the colours of the rainbow, while its counterparts set out to hunt down Wekky. A ray of red light hit Darlac. The hilt of her sword grew hot in her hand, so much that she almost dropped it, and a wave of unbearable heat washed over her. She ducked and covered her eyes with her left arm, but even so, she felt her eyelashes curl up from the heat.

  It was over in a moment. Judging from the various swear words coming from the others, they didn't fare much better, either. Healing, however, had to wait.

  The ankou duplicated itself again, then swooped down for another deadly twirl.

  Quickly making sure that no friend was in range, Darlac spinned in the opposite direction, adding her momentum to a sweeping horizontal cut of her sword. Her blade sliced open the monster's chest and ripped into its wing. Its maw opened for a silent screech, one she heard not with her ears but with her mind, and its hand shot out to grab her shoulder. It didn't have much time to find purchase, as something bore down on it from behind and took it to the ground. Darlac saw the baron kneel on the ankou's back, grab it by one of its horns and bury a dagger into its neck. Their eyes met, and they exchanged a smile.

  "I didn't see you coming," she said softly.

  "That means I'm still decent, am I not? On a different note, you're bleeding."

  "So are you."

  "Damn. This was my best uniform. By the way, where is Wekky? He should be healing us by now."

  They saw Cephal and the angel kneeling above Wekky's body, chanting a long formula from a bloody scroll together.

  "Holy fringe," muttered Darlac. "There goes our first Scroll of Raise Dead. And we've barely started the dungeon."

  Little Wekky rose from the bloody mess on the floor with an embarrassed grin. While Cephal gave him a piece of his mind about sitting down at random spots without looking, Darlac sought out the angel.

  "Thanks for your help, friend," she said.

  "Thanks for the rescue," he answered. "Do you serve the Dawnflower? You look the part."

  "I serve the Inheritor, but I have deep respect for your goddess. What might an angel like yourself be doing in this fey-infested hellhole?"

  "Looking for a friend who vanished some time ago around these parts. His name is Nasritti. Ever heard about him?"

  Darlac shook her head.

  "Oh well... Anyway, accept an advice in exchange for your kindness. If you find an anomaly in the fabric of creation, never think you can deal with it on your own. That is arrogance, the downfall of many of our kind, including myself. Always, always rely on your friends. Farewell!"

  For a moment, a golden portal flared to life behind him, then it disappeared, along with the angel.

  "I never thought angels were susceptible to madness," muttered Dusty.

  "Have you ever met your General, Dusty?" grinned the baron.

  "I'm not an angel," snapped Darlac. "If I were, this place would have gone up in holy fire long ago. As to madness, I fit in perfectly with you guys."