Slowly and surely, Hazel was going mad.

  Harrim had been kind enough to share his anti-nightmare blend with those in need of it, but as a result, his supplies ran out. Guelder continued to stay away, too, immersed in worries of her own. Hazel understood she couldn't pour from an empty jug, but it hurt nonetheless. However, when Hazel dozed off on guard duty and woke to their bow being primed at the dwarf, they had to admit the baroness was right to keep her distance from them. That had to be Vordakai subtly indicating to the team that they were at his mercy, whether they accepted the fact or not. Had Hazel fallen under his control with Guelder by their side, warding off their nightmares with her warmth, they would probably have snapped her neck before either of them knew what was happening. The gut-wrenching horror of unconsciously murdering the only person that really mattered to them settled down comfortably in Hazel's mind, with no intention to leave anytime soon.

  As if it weren't bad enough that Guelder put herself in harm's way as recklessly as ever at every occasion available. Like she was doing now, staring down her next foe without the slightest sign of fear. Her very own, personal soul eater, sent to her by mighty Vordakai as a welcome present. It looked like a swirling, murderous wisp of smoke around a solid core of a flesh-like substance, complete with a pair of arms and hands, equipped with claws that put Guelder's own natural weapons to shame, exuding a dark aura that made Hazel's marrow freeze. They'd already seen one in action. It had reduced Linzi into a salivating toddler after a more or less random encounter, without being sicced specifically on the bard. What would Hazel do if the baroness met a similar fate, or worse?

  On second thought, Hazel wouldn't have swapped places with this particular fiend, either. Not after it addressed the baroness as Guelder Summer Breeze, reminding her of a family connection she abhorred with every inch of her being. (Hazel couldn't help but wonder if Vordakai and his raven could ever ferret out their despised, rejected original name. That would be an even more remarkable feat.)

  "I do not accept that name," said Guelder coldly, looking the fiend up and down, ostensibly unfazed by the pure, hungry evil radiating from it. "Still, since you got at least my first name right, I am willing to fight you."

  Pangur flashed his fangs, indicating his own willingness to do the same.

  "Only you," hissed the thing. "Not the beast."

  How could it even speak without a head and a mouth? And how could it eat souls without one?

  "The leopard has a part of my soul. You are supposed to eat the entire thing, are you not? Well, if you want it all, that means you will need to fight both of us as one."

  Hazel's grip tightened on their bow, their knuckles turning white. Negotiating terms with a fiend of Abaddon was a whole new level of crazy. Then again, those were supposed to be a little more rational than, for instance, demons. Perhaps she could pull it off, after all.

  "A part of your soul in that thing?" The smoky horror would have opened its eyes wide in surprise, had it had any. "How? You are not a lich."

  Guelder grabbed her spear with both hands, and Pangur took up position by her side. "I tire of this. Let us get on with it, shall we?"

  The fiend did a somersault in the air and started a twirling dance. In the wake of its moves, an opaque dome was created around Guelder, cutting her off from her companions, maybe even from reality itself. Frustrated, Hazel lowered their bow. However keen they were to support their beloved baroness, there was no telling what would happen if they actually shot an arrow into the dome without seeing what was going on inside.

  "Is that it?" they asked desperately, their eyes seeking out Harrim as their only source of knowledge and wisdom on everything otherworldly. "Is there no way to help her?"

  The cleric shook his bald head. "Perhaps she can pick up some healing energy channelled near her location, but that's pretty much all we can do for her."

  Linzi tentatively reached out with a finger to touch the dome, and immediately yanked it back with a yelp.

  "We can't pass through this," she announced. "But maybe my music can!"

  She flipped out her harmonica and began to play her most recent masterpiece. The regrettable fact that her lute had died a hero's death in the Forsaken Mound definitely had its silver lining. Playing the harmonica kept her mouth occupied, which meant she blabbered a lot less. The music helped Hazel's mood a little. Perhaps sending good vibes into the dome would make a difference.

  But Linzi's music suddenly tapered off. Her parted lips trembled in horror, and the harmonica fell to the ground from between her numbed fingers.

  Then Hazel saw it, too. More soul eaters were filing out of a dark gap in the wall. One for each member of the team, of smaller size than Guelder's one, and two more of the bigger type. It was a meagre solace that the big ones paid them no heed and disappeared into the corridor the team had come from. Perhaps those would return later to feast upon the leftovers.

  "Play, Inky!" snapped Valerie. "We can't let Her Grace down!"

  She stepped in front of Linzi, with her back to the dome. Harrim lined up beside her to create a very rudimentary shield wall, protecting the bard and also staying close to Guelder to let her eventually partake in his healing. Hazel put their bow away and grabbed the hilt of their handaxe, taking position on Valerie's left for the time being. They expected to use their Flash Step a lot.

  Linzi restarted her song with a tremulous riff, and the battle began.

  Deep in the bowels of the dungeon, severed from his goddess, Tristian had no way to tell what time of the day it was, but he suspected Darlac would wake up soon. Slowly, carefully, imitating the deerstalking moves he'd seen from Hazel, he wiggled out from under the blanket he shared with her, after they'd left the other one behind for the three emaciated captives.

  It seemed ages since he'd cuddled up like this with another person. The last one had been Linzi in a boat, and before that, Amalia. Tonight had been different from either.

  His initial misgivings about Darlac's physical proximity turned out to be unfounded. He'd feared she would try to seduce him, as she'd allegedly done to Hazel, and soothe the pain of her grieving heart with intimacy involving the only person currently available for her. He'd feared he would be helpless to resist. He'd only accepted the blanket-sharing arrangement because the stone walls radiated an unsettling chill that seeped into the bones. And yet, today he woke without guilt or regrets (or at least with no more guilt or regrets than usual). Her warm embrace had given him a much-needed, reassuring illusion of safety and protection, without stirring up unwelcome urges in his body. Tristian felt thankful for that.

  And yet, he was about to leave her behind.

  While awake, Darlac was a lot less safe to be around. That daemon fight could have been easily avoided, just by choosing the other branch of the corridor, and it jeopardised the entire mission. True, Tristian would probably be saved from imminent death no matter what, but there was a chance his mistress would get tired of his habit of courting his demise and just let it happen. Meeting Pharasma was not something Tristian was looking forward to. The Lady of Graves was a merciless judge. She would never be moved by Tristian's sob story about his fall and captivity and being used for heinous things. He dreaded to think of the various horrifying planes his tormented, despicable soul could end up being sent to.

  Of course, his old self would have commended Darlac for her bold and selfless action resulting in the rescue of three innocents at the cost of her own blood. How low had he stooped to even be able to think otherwise?

  He recited his morning prayer to distant Sarenrae, going through the motions, not even expecting to be heard. Did all mortals live like this, detached from their respective deities? How did they even get by?

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  Picking up his backpack, he lingered for a moment. Darlac was slumbering peacefully, undisturbed by nightmares, her features illuminated by her halo left on. The expression of grim determination she wore during the day, etching bitter lines into her flawless skin, was now dissolved into calm and quiet beauty. His sister, of sorts. Another child of Heaven. Alas, he couldn't take her where he was going. He couldn't have her put the mission at risk anymore. As a farewell gift, he cast his shrouding spell on her sleeping form, accompanied by a Death Ward. It would serve her well, if she didn't sleep in and let it expire unused.

  Then he set out alone to finally see his mission through.

  His new plan was not to join Guelder's team but to overtake them, unnoticed, and accomplish the mission before they would even reach Vordakai. He had a vial of invisibility potion to help with that. If all went well and he was fast and sneaky enough, he would make off with the Oculus before the lich recovered from the surprise. In fact, this was the only way he could bear thinking of. Guelder wouldn't even know about his little ruse, and things could go back to the way they had been. He could stay by her side, support her in weal and woe, and maybe... just maybe...

  No. He'd forced himself to quit the competition for Guelder's heart long ago, and he'd been right to do so. He couldn't forget the thunderstorm in her eyes at the mere suggestion that she could perhaps return his feelings.

  Bitter resentment clawed at Tristian's heart. He'd always been there for her, trying his best to dance while tied up, risking his life and salvation for her. He gave his heart and soul and healing powers and sleepless nights to keep her alive and make her dreams happen. He defied his mistress for her, as much as he could and dared. And all the while, he was a walking cry for help. There was no way Guelder had never noticed it with those sharp elven eyes of hers. If she ignored it, that had to be by choice.

  And in that case, she failed him. She deserved to be betrayed.

  A sudden wave of pure, undiluted evil crashed into Tristian, so strong that it almost made him throw up in shock. He sensed its source was getting closer. Then he heard the voices, whispering in a language he didn't understand at first and didn't want to, either, except one word.

  His name.

  They came for him. He was surrounded. Trapped. Exposed. About to get his just deserts.

  A formless shadow flowed towards him, twirling around him, enveloping him in black, misty smoke, whispering his name. Tristian... Tristian... Its spindly, fidgeting fingers threatened to grab him and rip him apart, down to his core, his once radiant soul, now tainted beyond recognition, and gorge itself on whatever it had to offer. His eyes opened wide in horror, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering.

  No Tristian. A soundless, frustrated screech tore into his mind... and it was over. Tristian was still there, unscathed, hidden by a not-so-benevolent hand from the one craving for his soul, and the loathsome attacker had banished itself back to Abaddon, where it belonged.

  Its companion, though, travelled on an invisible draft undisturbed, straight towards the place Tristian had left Darlac.

  Oh, blessed Dawnflower...

  He had to proceed, now that the danger had been averted from him. The dauntless paladin would handle herself just fine. And if not, at least she wouldn't interfere with his mission anymore... or with anything else. A necessary loss.

  Why was that insensitive little voice still yapping in his head, when his body had already made the decision for him, rushing back to his companion at full speed?

  Alas, he was not a fast runner, and a priestly garb was not optimised for speed, either. Even if he grabbed its skirt with both hands, it got between his legs, flapping around them inconveniently, as if it were trying to trip him up.

  "Darlac! Wake up! Incoming!" he cried, but his voice didn't carry, breathless from running. Please, mighty Sarenrae... Would he be able to bring her back once more, without a scroll or another diamond? Or at least could he make a soul eater vomit up its last meal, so that her beautiful soul could get to its proper destination?

  He burst into the chamber that served as their campsite, wheezing for breath. He found Darlac bent forward, with her hands on her knees, panting, her uniform stained with fresh blood and showing a lot more skin than before. A puddle of black smoke spread at her feet, with pieces of spindly fingers in it. As she saw him, she drew herself up to her full height and wiped her swords into her trousers, leaving streaks of sticky black substance on the fabric.

  "Where have you been?" she snapped. "You could have traipsed into one of these groping smoke-thingies yourself! If you go astray and get yourself killed, who will finish off Vordakai?"

  Tristian blushed to deep red.

  "I... just went scouting ahead. That shadow passed me by, heading towards you, and it was so much faster than I am..."

  Darlac relented somewhat.

  "Tristian, there's not much use in scouting if you can't relay your findings to your squad. Anyway, we have to stay alert. This thing sought me out by name. There might be one hunting for you, too."

  "Fine." He flashed a shy smile. "Then I'll stick close to you for protection."

  Tristian checked Darlac for injuries inside and outside, mended the scratches the fight had left on her body, and established that her soul had successfully avoided being nibbled on. Then they continued their way together, kicking the empty potion vial further down the road. It was high time to come up with a plan regarding how to accomplish his mission right under Darlac's nose.

  The shield wall had quickly lost its role in the fight.

  Hazel had no idea how a grumpy dwarf like Harrim could produce that terrible shriek or keening or whatever it was, but the urge to throw away everything and flee was real, even for them. Two of the soul eaters did exactly that, so Hazel quit the formation, switched back to their bow, and set about chasing them down, staying on the move lest another one would sneak up on them. But that didn't happen. Valerie had a long grappling match with the third fiend as it tried in vain to crack her armour open. Harrim bonked the last one's core repeatedly with his mace while it was trying to get to Linzi, until it did a last twirl in the air and sprawled on the ground, motionless.

  A clear voice cut through the din of the battle.

  "Someone pass me a chain, will you? These vines will not hold forever!"

  Hazel let their second quarry thrash its last on the flagstones, transfixed by no less than three arrows, and rematerialised next to the dome that slowly dispersed into thin air. They wanted nothing more than to run to Guelder, embrace her, congratulate her on still being able to build full sentences in her third language... but the moment was not quite suitable. The baroness was kneeling amidst a cloud of smoke, wrangling two groping hands wrapped tightly in a jumble of vines. Sitting on his haunches, Pangur watched her with a nonplussed face.

  "What the hell are you doing, Guel? Giving it a second chance? Just rip out its crop or whatnot, and be done with it!"

  "I asked for a chain, not your opinion!"

  Shaking their head with a resigned sigh, Hazel took Guelder's trusty silver chain from their backpack, and fidgeted with it until they could remove the collar part. They wrapped the chain around the fiend's arms and clasped its ends safely together.

  "And now what?" they snickered. "Put it on a leash and train it to beg? Pangur will get jealous!"

  A smug smile was tugging at Guelder's lips.

  "Our new companion will travel with us in the Bag of Holding until we reach our destination. The poor thing is really upset with its summoner for being sent on an impossible mission. I intend to give the two of them a chance to talk it through."