The slope from the trail to the valley floor was rocky and steep, but still passable, with plenty of sturdy shrubs and saplings to assist their descent. While Iskvold found it challenging enough, it had to be that much harder for Whydah, given their size difference. Being unable to see her companion also complicated things. Maybe we could have waited on the invisibility spell. At least they could still speak, given the current distance from both the marks and the pawns. A fact she was grateful for when a shower of pebbles cascaded down the hillside a few feet in front of her.

  “You good?” the drow called into the seemingly empty landscape.

  “Yep, all good,” Whydah chirped in reply. “Just some loose rocks.”

  The pair carefully picked their way to the valley floor, regrouping at the base of a tall pine.

  “It’s thicker than I expected down here,” Whydah remarked, surveying the surrounding foliage.

  The mix of black pine, oak, and maple prevalent along the trail and through the foothills had been replaced by a dense canopy of lower conifers. The occasional pine still stood proudly above the fray, but cedar, twisted and dense, dominated at ground level. Bathed in shadow, despite the late morning sunshine, a blanket of green moss and ferns covered the characteristic orange of dead needles. The area was choked with deadfall and bare, leaning trunks, unsuccessful in their pursuit of sunlight. Standing water pooled at low points on the uneven ground.

  “How do I find you in all this?”

  Though unable to see her, Whydah could hear the doubt and hesitation in the monk’s tone.

  “You don’t, remember?” she answered reassuringly. “I’ll find you. As soon as the clock runs out on our invisibility, I’ll cast the same locate spell I used on the demons in that last fight and track your movement.” Whydah reminded the other woman of the plan. “Magic isn’t affected by the terrain. Just keep this slope on your left and wait for my messages. I’ll guide you toward the marks and be there to get us out.”

  “Right,” Iskvold confirmed, her tone more confident. “How much time do we have left on the invisibility?”

  “I would say about fifty minutes,” Whydah estimated. “You should get into position. Our window will be tight once Woodsy lights up their camp.”

  The drow’s face broke into a grin, hearing the halfling adopt Tsuta’s ridiculous nickname for the stoic ranger.

  Two hundred feet into the valley, the pair parted ways. Whydah settled down to wait for her friend’s return while Iskvold carried on through the cedar swamp toward the gnoll encampment. Consciously keeping the valley’s rocky slope within view on her right, her boots crunched softly across the soft, needle-covered earth. The cool air beneath the canopy’s shade was ripe with the scent of fresh conifer and loam. As she wound past shallow pools and over deadfalls, the camp’s brush barrier finally materialized through the dense foliage.

  Still invisible, Iskvold quietly cased the perimeter of the boma, noting the three guarded ‘gates’. A half-dozen saplings, lashed together in a raft-like frame and interwoven with brambles, lay propped up over gaps in the brush: one in the center of the arc, and one close to either end. On the far side, heavier fortification work, upgrading the brush to vertical timbers, had nearly reached the flimsy gate. At each egress, a single gnoll stood on a stump, spear in hand, facing the forest. Their eyes were glazed with disinterest, lulled by the peaceful shadows beyond the camp. I guess they don’t get many visitors. That suits me just fine!

  Avoiding the busier construction zone, she backtracked toward the main entryway, scouring the surface for an inconspicuous point of entry. The drow finally found what she was looking for. Fifteen feet from the central gate and obscured from the camp at large by a stack of logs, undoubtedly headed for the new barrier wall, a small opening in the brambles at ground level was just big enough.

  Taking one last look around, and mindful of the dwindling arcane protection, Iskvold got down on her belly and quietly crawled into gnoll territory. A shiver ran up her spine from the surprisingly cool earth against her skin as she inched forward on her forearms, careful to avoid creating a wake of movement within the brush. She bit her lip to stay silent when a pair of thorns gashed her robes, dragging painfully along her ribs as she slipped through the barrier. And just like that, sleepy guard none the wiser, she was in.

  Moving swiftly to the cover of the log pile, she scuttled to the corner, squinting into the bright sun for a look at the settlement. Close to forty gnolls, maybe more, converged at two open pit fires for the noon meal. The light fragrance of wood smoke and cooking meat lingered in the air. She estimated another ten were busy with the barrier upgrade, while several more swung axes, preparing the timbers. Free from the shadows of the cedar canopy, the midday sun quickly warmed her dark skin, and she knew a sheen of sweat would soon follow. While her drow heritage offered several benefits, her sensitivity to sunlight was not one of them.

  Eyeballing her source of cover, Iskvold realized that not only was it the perfect hiding place, but it also offered a superb platform for her upcoming reveal. Seven timbers across at its base, the pyramid of pine rose two feet above her head. Her plan was rapidly solidifying when Whydah’s voice whispered in her mind.

  Segwyn is about to light it up, I’ll drop the spell in a minute. Get ready!

  Good to go! I’m getting into costume now, she thought back.

  Pulling on the white cotton bonnet and tying the strings under her chin, Iskvold focused her mind on the Sklir in sharp detail: its appearance, its smell, even the jagged rusty tip of its spear. She felt her form shift with a tingle before Whydah dropped the spell, bringing the demon, in all its glory, to life with a flash.

  She climbed two logs up the stack to peer over the top. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she scoured the cliff face, unsuccessfully trying to get a glimpse of Segwyn before returning her gaze to the camp. Her watch duty routine quickly took over: construction, dwellings, fire pits, guard, and repeat. Nothing happened for several minutes. She waited. A moment of anxiety prickled her neck when she realized she hadn’t put any thought at all into what she was going to say to enrage these creatures. It was completely irrational. They wouldn’t understand Undercommon, but that wasn’t the point.

  Iskvold neither saw nor heard Segwyn’s initial shot. A small tendril of smoke rising from the hut farthest to her right told her he had begun. One after another, every dwelling in the village began to burn. Chaos and loud canine yips and howls broke out across the camp as grey plumes streamed skyward from multiple locations. Fleeing the fire, the gnolls, some running upright, others loping on all fours, retreated towards the brush wall, the woods, and her position.

  The monk steeled her nerves and dipped her head low as a congregation gathered beneath her position, all eyes glued to the billowing flames rising from every structure. Even the sleepy guard left his post to watch, mesmerized by the growing inferno. This is perfect! Flakes of ash swirled in the heat, filling the air like grey snow, when a larger gnoll, adorned with a necklace of bones, burst from the cave in the corner. There’s the leader. He raced to the crowd, barking furiously, spittle flying from his jowls. Evident in his body language, blame and threats dominated his soliloquy. This was her moment.

  She drew a deep breath, cleared her throat, and quickly scrambled atop her timber pyramid. Dropping her voice a couple of octaves, demonic arms spread overhead, she let out a primal roar. The crowd turned immediately, stunned by the sight of a seven-foot charcoal fiend with red flashing eyes crowning their log pile, claws outstretched, tail flicking wildly, lording over their burning home.

  Mimicking the leader’s recent gestures, she began to taunt the crowd in her best Undercommon, adding a baritone hiss to her words.

  “You are nothing more than pathetic puppies!” She jabbed her clawed finger at the crowd, craning her neck aggressively. “Your father couldn’t fetch, and your mother slept with tabbies!”

  Iskvold swept her arm across the burning landscape. “Maybe this wouldn’t happen if you spent less time sniffing each other’s butts and more time learning how to build!”

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  The crowd was getting restless, understanding her intent if not her words.

  “I have burned your worthless village to the ground, and there is nothing you worthless meat sacks can do about it!”

  The pack surged to the base of her pyramid before she realized she may have gotten a little carried away. Time to go!

  Turning on her heel as the first spear flew over her head, Iskvold shifted too much weight to her back foot, sending the entire pyramid into motion. Spinning wildly toward the camp’s perimeter, the log’s unexpected movement threw her completely off balance. She instinctively extended her elbows and forearms to absorb the blow as she fell backwards. Pain lanced across her vision. The rolling timber burst through the camp’s perimeter wall like a stampede of cattle escaping into the woods beyond, sweeping Iskvold along for the ride. Hot on her heels, a furious and growing pack of gnolls gave chase, streaming through the gap.

  Pain screamed from both her elbows as the pack converged. A familiar white-hot ferocity began to boil inside her. Not now! As tempting as it was to let it consume her and embrace the battle, their entire plan hinged on these pawns, these blind mice, believing she was a demon. If they so much as touched her demon form, the illusion wouldn’t hold, and everything would unravel. Reluctantly swallowing the blossoming rage, she jumped to her feet. Staff in hand, the monk took off into the woods toward the Sklir position with sixty gnolls howling in rabid pursuit.

  Whydah smiled at Iskvold’s mention of her costume change. The image of her in a frilly sun bonnet will live rent-free in my head for a long time. Seated on a moss-covered, fallen log, her sudden apparition startled a nearby waterthrush into panicked flight. She couldn’t concentrate on both the invisibility and the tracking spell necessary for the next part of the plan. Regardless, the former was almost out of time anyway, so no great loss.

  Fishing through her shoulder bag, Whydah retrieved a single strand of Iskvold’s white hair and her tuft of hound’s fur. Squeezing the two together in one fist, she began humming the required tune, the fingers of her free hand sparkling in the shadows under the cedar canopy. Bringing her hands together, she closed her eyes, ready for the magical blip of her friend’s position to appear in her mind’s eye, but none came.

  The back of her neck tingled as she checked her concentration. The spell is active, I can feel it. Why is it not finding her? Her fist began to tremble. Stilling it with her other hand, she struggled to stay calm, mentally reviewing the spell’s limitations. It’s not affected by terrain or weather. I have the right components. Is she too far away? Did we miscalculate the area of the valley? Leaping to her feet, the halfling sprinted toward the center of the shady swamp, scrambling over deadfall and around heavy brush. If I can’t find her, the plan is shot, and she’s in big trouble.

  Staying ahead of her canine contingent wasn’t initially difficult for Iskvold. She was faster, having to pause occasionally among the shady conifers, pretending to be winded, to prevent them from giving up the chase. She even had her Ki for an extra burst of speed or a longer jump. Having used it once already to clear a large pool, she had enough juice for three more bursts. In the initial chaos, it took her a moment to get her bearings. However, the ridge was now comfortably in sight off to her right.

  But the gnolls' tactics were changing, they started trading off pursuit leaders. Switching out every minute, three or four different pursuers would race to the front of the pack, barking aggressively to push her forward. They were trying to exhaust her, and it was working. She tapped her Ki a second time, keeping the latest chargers at bay. Why hadn’t she heard from Whydah yet?

  Still unable to locate her friend, Whydah gazed skyward, twirling in a small circle, frantically estimating her current position. Hustling through the difficult terrain forced her breath into ragged gasps. I should be able to see her anywhere in the swamp from here, I don’t understand! Open palms instantly rose to her face as the answer struck. The hat!! Her demon disguise is also hiding her from the spell!

  Realizing the futility of the location magic, the bard immediately dropped her concentration and switched to her messaging cantrip, firing a desperate thought out into the universe.

  Iskvold, can you hear me? Please respond.

  The thought reply came almost instantly. It’s about time! I thought you’d left me for dog food!

  Whydah’s shoulders sank and she let out a deep sigh of relief. Her mind, however, was already racing, calculating a new solution. Thankfully, she had an unlimited number of messages at her disposal.

  Where are you? You should have reached the mountain by now, but I haven’t seen or heard you.

  I’m moving along the agreed path, ridge on my right, away from the camp, with about sixty of man’s best friends right up my butt!

  Whydah’s pulse quickened, and a tingle raced up her spine; fear rapidly consumed her fleeting relief. The ridge was on her right heading toward the settlement. It should now be on her left.

  That’s the other ridge, you’re headed for the plains! Cut hard left. Just don’t leave the swamp. I’ll think of something!

  Copy that. You’d better hurry, though; they’re starting to tire me out.

  Iskvold had understated her fatigue. She now fully understood the expression ‘like a dog with a bone’. The gnolls were relentless, and their tactics were working. As she veered left, four new pursuers seamlessly took over the lead position, cutting the corner of their pursuit line, gaining ground. Forced to use her Ki a third time, she leapt across another large pool, stretching her lead. Hot pain throbbed behind her eyes, not to mention the elbows, and her thighs burned. Despite her peak conditioning, she couldn’t keep this up much longer.

  Whydah, armed with a general idea of Iskvold’s position, took off in the direction of the Sklir on the adjacent hillside. She needed to get eyes on their sentry guards and guide Iskvold toward them. She recalled her father and uncle’s conversations about hunting deer with their beagles when she was young—‘Let the dogs’ music tell you where the deer will run’. Once she could hear gnolls barking, she could use it to determine the other woman’s path across the valley floor and guide her accordingly. They could still salvage this.

  Keep them barking and follow my instructions.

  Okay. Please hurry!

  Even in thought, the reply was clipped and desperate. Her chest burning as she ran, Whydah scrambled through the underbrush until the ground started to rise out of the swamp. Ducking behind a fallen stand of trees, she desperately tried to control the volume of her ragged breathing as she scanned the hillside above. Finding no sign of the demons, she shuffled another fifty yards along the swamp’s edge, staying out of sight. This time she saw it! On a small rocky outcropping, level with the low cedar canopy, a lone Sklir stood watch over the valley floor. Quieting her breathing again, she began to hear the distant cacophony of canines moving from left to right.

  Iskvold was beginning to stumble more frequently. With every fourth or fifth step, her toes failed to clear the ground cover. The ferocious chorus of yips and howls was nearly on top of her. Whydah’s voice whispered again in her mind.

  I found the marks, and can hear the gnolls. You’re not far! Cut right.

  Okay, was all she could muster in reply.

  Her heart hammered as she willed her body forward. Tapping her last bit of Ki, the drow turned hard right and surged ahead of her pursuers one final time.

  Whydah needed somewhere to intercept her friend where neither the Sklir nor the gnolls would see her fulfill her duties as the wheelwoman. They needed Iskvold’s pursuers to switch targets, unaware of the deception. Since she could hear them coming, the Sklir guard most certainly could as well. The canine music grew closer, still slightly off to her left, while the halfling searched desperately for a spot to intervene. Thankfully, she didn’t need a lot of space, it just had to be hidden.

  She settled on a narrow gap between a cluster of fallen cedars and a small mound covered with ferns. The mound should shield the flash of her dimension door from the demon’s eyes, and the fallen trees should do the same for the gnolls. Distant branches began to crack off to her left, signaling the approach. Quietly getting into position, Whydah shot one last message to her friend.

  You’re almost there! Cut a little left, then head for the high ground.

  There was no reply.

  Iskvold staggered, lurching from tree to tree as the gnolls closed in. The pace of their tongue was fast and steady, now less than thirty feet behind and closing fast. She had nothing left. Eyes fixed on the ground in front of her feet, she continued to stumble forward, running on sheer force of will. Even Sifu’s rigorous training regimen couldn’t sustain her any longer. She heard their padded paws crunch the dry cedar carpet, gaining on her. Her mind flashed to the fuzzy memories of the mother she would never get to meet, the abandonment she would never get to understand. Even the rage that she tamped down several times in the last thirty minutes had wilted. Her legs buckled, and the ground raced up at her.

  Then, from nowhere, small arms grabbed her waist, pulling her to the side. In a flash of light, the two women collapsed on the soft earth next to the tall pine they had stood at only ninety minutes earlier. Every muscle burned, and it was all she could do to roll off her groaning companion. Only their syncopated, desperate struggle for oxygen broke the immediate solitude. A choir of desperate barks and yelps droned in the distance.

  Iskvold allowed her entire body to go limp as she lay, looking up, at the green branches whispering secrets to each other on the breeze. She removed the bonnet and, in a flash, was herself again. Still struggling for breath, she turned her head to find Whydah in a similar posture.

  “I didn’t think I was going to make it,” she wheezed. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”

  Whydah rolled onto her side to face her friend. “I admit there were at least three different times that I had the same doubt!”

  The distinct sounds of battle joined the canine chorus, well off to their left.

  “From the sound of things, it worked!” Whydah smiled. “As our good friend Woodsy says, ‘if we live, we learn’!”

  Iskvold shook her head slowly. “I’ve learned that next time, someone else can be The Roper!” They broke into infectious, relieved laughter, prone on the forest floor.

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