Darlac lay on her back in the bed of a small brook, the crystal clear water cooling her limbs, the blazing sun scorching her face.

  Alive.

  Someone had brought her back from the dead, and although her memories were vague and hazy, one thing was clear. That person had to fight for her. She'd awakened to the sun shining into her open eyes and her own voice screaming in her head: Get your filthy undead hands off my corpse! The evil power that called itself Vordakai was still out there, still hunting for stragglers of her people. But there was someone who resisted him, who'd come to bring succour, even though Darlac had fumbled her opportunity to call for help. Someone powerful enough to push back against the darkness and snatch her soul away from its grasp.

  Now Darlac had a new purpose: to find that person and team up with them.

  She vaguely remembered dragging her reluctant body to the water, drinking her fill like an animal, then ripping off her clothes stiffened with an unreal quantity of her own dried blood, and maniacally scrubbing her skin until it hurt. Now she was resting, letting her body get accustomed to the usual drill again, waiting for the post-resurrection brain fog to dissolve.

  Her soul had heeded the call and accepted this second chance. All imprints left on her by her brief time in the afterlife had been deleted from her mind, apart from the certainty that Maegar's soul was not in the Boneyard. There was hope. Even if her unknown saviour had left before she could thank them, and even if all her possessions were two Brevan copper coins she'd scooped up from somewhere in her confusion.

  As her consciousness slowly cleared up, she realised she was stark naked. Panicked, she sat up, her eyes seeking out the unsalvageable rags that remained of her clothing, and realised that someone else had found them first.

  Gale.

  He'd arrived silently, the chattering of the brook masking the noise of his hoofbeats. Now he was grazing in peace, nuzzling Darlac's discarded clothes, and waiting patiently for her to finish meditating in the water and deign to come greet him. Darlac scrambled to her feet and waddled over to the horse for a hug. That was the best she could do at the moment.

  "Hello, friend," she managed, patting the horse's neck. Even speech was hard on her tongue and throat... or maybe she was just emotional. She was alive, and she had a faithful companion by her side. What more could she wish for?

  Something to eat and wear, for starters.

  Tracing back her steps to the spot where she'd come to, then following the trail of blood to the place she'd been killed, she found her way to the barbarians' abandoned camp. If the carefree squeaking of rodents was anything to go by, her foes hadn't been here in a while. Darlac took the liberty of rifling through the tents in search of anything she could use. They'd robbed her blind; now it was time to return the favour. Alas, the enemy had travelled light and kept most of their possessions on their persons. Still, an hour later Darlac could feast upon some bland-tasting but thick porridge, dressed in (hopefully) clean underwear and a set of light leather armour more suited to showing off its wearer's muscles than offering actual protection. In terms of weapons, she was out of luck: she found nothing but a wooden spoon and a small paring knife with a handle fashioned in the shape of a smilodon. Which, in turn, had her thinking. She'd seen the same motif before, in an encounter with another mercenary brigade, consisting exclusively of Kellid. As she recalled, they didn't have a name, only referred to themselves by the name of their tribe.

  What were the Tiger Lords doing here? Why were they in league with the fey? Who were they working for?

  Darlac had no hope for finding answers right now. Not before her body and brain regained full functionality. Collecting some useful bits and bobs into a bag, she mounted Gale and set out at a light trot to the south, expecting to meet her mysterious saviour there.

  It took her two days to reach the Valley of the Dead, even on horseback.

  She tried her hardest to whip herself back into shape, her inner sergeant constantly yelling at her and calling her a pathetic weakling. All in vain. It did nothing for her stamina. Being gentle and patient with herself would probably have done the trick, but that didn't come as natural as struggling with gritted teeth against her own perceived frailty. Self-compassion was not Darlac's forte, and why would it be? She'd died because of her own inattention and, ultimately, stupidity in the first place. Precious days had been wasted. The least she deserved was an imaginary whiplash across her back every time she found herself longing for a little respite... until she fell off the horse in exhaustion. By that time, she had no reserves of strength left to make camp properly, so she just spread out the bedroll salvaged from the barbarian camp, let Gale roam free and cater for his own needs, and plunged into a deep, dark sleep, haunted by fear that she would never awaken. Yet, she did, and it started all over again, topped off with a healthy dose of guilt for literally sleeping on horse care.

  When the outpost at the Valley came into view, she broke down in uncontrollable sobs.

  After all, her efforts had not all been in vain. The outpost she'd built couldn't stop the necromancer from dealing a lethal blow to her homeland, but at least it offered her a somewhat civilised environment for her to spend the night in before... before whatever the next day would bring. The place still felt lived in, as if her soldiers had left only yesterday. She helped herself to a fresh set of uniform, getting rid of the Tiger Lord armour that was just as sultry as her succubus disguise used to be, and had already chafed her skin raw at sensitive spots. Instead, she took a breastplate and a pair of shortswords from the armoury. One last meal and night rest, and she would recover enough to climb the tors again and follow the ridge to the entrance to the Ancient Evil's lair.

  Next morning, Darlac arrived at the gigantic gates on Gale's back, in a light trot, ready to face her destiny... or something. She was more than surprised to find the gates thrown wide open, with a forlorn figure sitting at the gate post built into the rock, his head lowered between his knees. A layer of thick black smoke lingered on the ground, covering him up to the chest.

  Darlac slowed her horse to a walk.

  The man raised his head at the noise of Gale's hooves. Darlac blinked repeatedly to confirm what she saw. It was Tristian. But what was he doing here?

  Apparently, he was getting scared to death, scrambling to his feet and taking off into the valley.

  "Tristian, wait!"

  He didn't listen. He didn't even look back. But however frightened he was, his speed couldn't match a warmblood's. Darlac nudged Gale into a canter and cut before him. Panicked, the cleric took cover behind an ancient, crumbled piece of wall, only peeking out for a moment to unleash a wave of positive energy at his pursuer, then ducked back.

  "Thanks, Tristian, but I don't need healing right now. I just want to talk!"

  The cleric's blond head appeared above the wall, cautiously looking Darlac up and down.

  "Felicia Darlac? Back from the dead? Still serving the Inheritor?"

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  "Yes, yes and yes, obviously!" exclaimed Darlac in annoyance. Then she paused for a moment, thinking aloud. "Wait. How do you know what happened to me? Unless... Holy fringe, it was you who brought me back, wasn't it?"

  Tristian avoided her gaze, blushing. Darlac dismounted, ran up to the dumbfounded cleric and gave him the best bear hug she could muster.

  "I am in your debt, Tristian, and I will know no rest until I repay your kindness. Is the baroness here, too? Can you take me to her?"

  "I'm afraid I can't. At the moment, I'm not part of her team."

  "How come?"

  "Well, it's a long story, but... She refused to add me, that's all. Which is bad because I know how to defeat Vordakai. I have the entire ritual in my head. And she just... sent me away."

  Darlac was pretty sure that there was more to this story, but that had to wait.

  "Where is she now?"

  "She entered the valley yesterday morning."

  Darlac thought frantically. So Guelder was here, without being called, and was already making her way into the dungeon to free Darlac's people. If Darlac wanted to be a part of it all and make a difference, her best bet was to join forces with the baroness once again. And perhaps she could put in a word for Tristian as well. Whatever reasons Guelder had for rejecting him, she might revise her decision in the light of Darlac's experience.

  The gates, well behind them but still in sight, slowly slid shut again. The only way led forward, into the tomb.

  "Come, Tristian. We're going in."

  She mounted again, then reached out towards the cleric to help him get onto the horse behind her. Gale snorted in protest at the extra weight.

  "Ssh," said Darlac. "Remember, you're training to be a warhorse. We have to test your limits. How else do you want to grow?"

  They set out in a very cautious pace on the ancient road, broken at several spots, peppered with wayward chunks of marble and occasional patches of weeds. Gale proved to be surprisingly good at handling this type of terrain, almost as if one of his ancestors had been a goat. He wove his way between fallen boulders, shattered columns, pieces of broken sarcophagus lids, and twice-dead cyclops bodies showing claw marks, sword stabs, arrow wounds or even mutilation. Guelder and her squad had not been wasting their time.

  "Tell me about Vordakai," said Darlac, hoping that some conversation would take her mind off the aura of pure evil throbbing in her bones. "I must know what we're up against."

  "Imagine a lich king of the ancient cyclopes, chosen of Charon and wielder of the Oculus of Abaddon, an artifact bestowed on him by the Four Horsemen. After millennia spent in a dormant state, now he has been awakened by a careless thief and is wreaking havoc on your barony. And once he is done here, he will probably expand his reach to Nightvale, too."

  Darlac couldn't help but feel vindicated. She had not been mad or paranoid or overreacting, after all. On the other hand, it would have made no sense to launch an all-out military attack against an enemy that could tamper with their brains to his heart's content. In fact, Maegar had unwittingly saved many lives by hiring out the bulk of the army and removing them from the barony.

  "And how do the Tiger Lords come into the picture?" she asked. "Do they serve him? Were they supposed to conquer Varnhold after Vordakai emptied it of its defenders and inhabitants?"

  Darlac could feel Tristian's arms holding onto her waist grow tense.

  "My guess," he said, "is that they're after the artifact. The Oculus is powerful enough to destroy cities, to hold sway over entire peoples' minds, and to see what is hidden. The downside is that it's meant to replace the wielder's eye and feed upon their agony."

  Finally, something that made complete sense for Darlac as a mercenary. There was some ruler or whatnot out there who wanted to enhance their power, so they'd hired a famous mercenary brigade to get the artifact for them. And the presence of that fey priestess amidst the Tiger Lords suggested that this was part of Lady Bloom's next scheme for another kingdom grain.

  "So we lived our lives in plain sight," she mused, "being observed in every single hour of the day or night, until the artifact's full power was unleashed upon us. And here I was thinking Willas Gunderson catching a glimpse of my ass was a problem. What an arrogant fool I was, gearing up for a surprise attack against the valley, and all the while this Vordakai was watching me, reading me like an open book. How could I think I even stood a chance?"

  "Still, you're here, riding your horse with me. He has no power over you. He couldn't spirit you away, and he couldn't turn you into an undead, either."

  "Because you stopped him."

  "No. I fought for you, but I lost. My resolve snapped at the worst moment, and I... I fled like a coward, leaving you to your fate." Tristian's voice broke. "That's why I ran from you. I thought you were coming for me, to take your revenge for letting him claim you."

  "Except you didn't. I'm here, alive. You are stronger than you think, Tristian, and I'm ready to add my strength to yours. We'll face him together. All we have to do is catch up with the baroness and sort out that little misunderstanding between the two of you. By the way, we are here."

  Gale halted at the end of the valley, at the entrance to the dungeon. It was closed, just as Darlac had last seen it while escaping Vordakai's poison cloud at her first visit. The baroness and her squad were probably already trapped inside. Had they made it through the gas? How long would it take for the door to reopen?

  She was snapped out of her musings when Tristian let go of her waist, dismounted and started to rummage in his backpack.

  "I have a few scrolls," he said. "One of them should help us get in."

  "Just take your time," said Darlac, slipping down from the saddle. "I need to say goodbye to Gale first."

  She removed the tack from the horse and piled it up neatly under a scrawny tree sapling, then brushed off his coat, whispering soothing words to him. Gale wasn't yet ready to follow her into the dungeon, but since he had already proved his unwavering loyalty to her, Darlac felt comfortable leaving him behind without a tether. In this way, he could find food and water on his own, and if the need arose, he could flee or defend himself from eventual attackers.

  "I'll be back, friend. I promise. Wait for me here."

  She wished she could prepare her steed better for her absence, but Tristian was already growing fidgety. It was time to enter the tomb.

  With an intricate move of his hands, the cleric made a portal. On the other side, Darlac saw the antechamber of the dungeon with the short column the raven used to perch on. Still, she felt a little extra unease in addition to the general evil aura of the place. Was it the memory of her previous portal-related ordeals? Anyway, she swept it aside. She had no reason to distrust her only ally, just because she hadn't seen him use a scroll after all. Her hand reached out to grab Tristian's, and they stepped into the portal together.