The comfort of a warm bed was pleasant, but not pleasant enough to let Guelder rest and heal. Her old friends had done for her whatever they could in terms of hygiene, fresh bandages, clean clothes and emotional support, and they even had the decency not to snicker at her. She clung desperately to the only comfortable position her injury allowed, equally troubled by her wounds and her humiliating failure.

  Her right shoulder, breast and pectoral muscle would probably never be the same without some expensive intervention the state couldn't afford right now, but that was the least of her worries at the moment. Her philosophy on scars hadn't changed a bit, and as long as her body as a whole remained operational, she could accept this degree of loss. The mental part was worse. How could she be so daft? Arrogance, she'd thought, was not one of her faults. But was it not arrogance to think she could charm a magical beast into communicating with her? Was it not arrogance to claim the throne of the Stolen Lands in the first place? It was pure luck that neither Irovetti nor Drelev had chosen to join this merry amusement and witnessed her shame firsthand. On the flip side, she was sorely missing the company of Maegar Varn. If anyone, he would be able to comfort her and make her laugh at her ill-advised endeavour, even though laughing would probably hurt like hell. Pangur's restless behaviour and eagerness to rejoin the hunt didn't help, either.

  After a while, she gave up her attempts to calm her mind into a trance. With a groan, she pushed herself up to a sitting position to drink a little water.

  Pangur sat up and perked up his ears, ready to defend his mistress if necessary. Then she, too, heard the approaching footsteps. Who could that be? She'd made it clear that she didn't want visitors or lunch.

  The door opened with a painful creak.

  A man stumbled into the room. Guelder recognised him as the sickly servant. Before setting out on the hunt, she'd made sure that he would be granted a few days off until he'd get better, out of basic kindness as well as good manners towards her guests. It didn't seem to have mattered much. He looked a lot worse than before, his eyes alight with fever, bloody spittle drying around his mouth. For some reason, he reminded Guelder of the late Davik Nettle dragging his dead, bloated body out of the river, hungry for vengeance, embodying the suffering of the land.

  "Help," he croaked. "Please. Your Grace. You can heal."

  Pangur growled and bristled his fur. Guelder knew Hazel would throw the miserable fellow mercilessly out of her room. But Hazel was out hunting, and Guelder let her healer instinct take over. With some difficulty, she rose to meet the man, adrenaline pumping through her veins and putting her own discomfort out of her mind. Instead of wallowing in her own misery all day long, now she could make a difference for another person.

  "Sit down here," she said. "Let me see what I can do for you."

  Not quite wide awake, she fumbled to focus, to find out whether she was rested enough to have her spells refreshed. She had to realise that she hadn't prepared Remove Disease, either. She'd expected wounds and venom, maybe nausea, but not a full-blown illness. Still, she had to do something. Bloody saliva meant some internal lesion, probably in the lungs or in the stomach, so a Cure Wounds spell should improve the situation. Perhaps it would keep him alive until Tristian could fix him.

  She laid a hand on the man's chest, focusing on his internal organs, and pushed some life energy into his body.

  The man gasped and convulsed, as if having a seizure. Guelder instinctively backed away, frightened by his response to the treatment. A sudden flash of yellow-blue light tore into the air, in the shape of a portal, as the man exploded, splashing blood and other bodily juices into Guelder's face, with shreds of skin and internal organs mixed in.

  This could not be real.

  Guelder was certain that she was having a lucid nightmare. Her best chance was to scream at the top of her lungs, hoping that her dreaming body would also scream and get awakened by one of her companions. So she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, as loud as she could.

  A terrifying sound came as an answer, somewhere between a screech and a roar. She knew this sound. She'd heard it many times, even today, just before the blow that had maimed her body and made her world go black. The battlecry of an owlbear. The bed creaked its last as it gave out under the monster's weight.

  Why did it always have to be godsdamned owlbears?

  Time slowed down, as it tends to happen in nightmares. Tonight Guelder's companions were particularly sluggish to wake her up and rescue her from her own mind. She had no time to wait for their help. Smelling of blood was already a bad start, and the owlbear knew that her cry was not a battle roar but a squeal of prey. It launched an attack.

  Guelder had to be quick and efficient, which was not easy in her present state. She grabbed the nightstand by her bed and pushed it towards the beast, staggering with exertion. Warmth spread across her chest, blood seeping into her bandages. Exploiting the momentary confusion of her foe, Guelder lunged for the door left ajar by the unfortunate servant. She growled at Pangur, commanding him to disengage and slip out, then followed suit and pulled the door shut behind herself, just in time. A moment later a huge body crashed against it from the inside, again and again, threatening to break through.

  The people of the hunting lodge were taking notice of the turmoil. Servants and armed people ran up the stairs, including Jamel Visser and General Kassil Aldori (who, unlike the Mivoni sisters, knew that duelling skills didn't make a good hunter, and preferred to stay behind).

  "Baroness? What's going on?"

  Before she could even try to explain it, the door was smashed to splinters, and the head of the owlbear popped through. Guelder backed away until she felt the railing of the staircase landing against her back. She focused on forgotten, stray seeds stuck in the gaps of the floor or between the logs, and flooded them with the energy of life. She laid her hand on Pangur's back to soothe his urge to attack, and watched as aggressive brambles filled the space between her and the monster. Then her stamina ran out. She closed her eyes and sank to the ground, with her back against the railing. Bowstrings sang and arrows whizzed through the air, people were shouting... then a last screech, and it was over.

  Guelder didn't realise how badly she was trembling until she found herself embraced by old Jamel, a friend who was always there when she needed him. And he was undoubtedly real, which had the frightful implication that this was not a nightmare after all.

  She lost track of time recovering from the shock, wrapped up in a warm blanket and sipping hot tea, staring at the floor with blank eyes. As if through a veil, she saw Hazel and the Nightvale team return with a hydra head and win the competition, while the delegation of Pitax presented a single squirrel, charmed by Lady Annamede Belavarah's bardic performance and caught alive. The third head, a wyvern's, had been obtained by the Embeth Travellers. Hazel generously donated the prize to the family of the Mivoni Aldori sisters as Nightvale's contribution to the funeral or resurrection costs. Perhaps that would help avoid international complications.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The hunt was called off, and Jamel masterfully convinced the surviving guests and their servants to set out immediately for their respective homelands, even providing them with an escort. The demise of the two Aldori sisters served as a good excuse to cancel the merrymaking planned for the evening.

  After everything went quiet, Jamel and Kassil showed the field team around in Guelder's ruined room. The baroness didn't join them. She needed to think, now that she was finally able to do so, slowly emerging from her lethargy and scrambling frantically for answers in her head. Pangur did his best to help her organise her thoughts by curling up around her feet.

  A tiny shred of suspicion was clawing at her mind. Who or what would make a full-grown monster hatch inside a person? What an outlandish, absurd, random idea. So random that she could imagine only one type of creature who would even think of that and find it wildly amusing. Fey. Had she spotted some First World trickster behind that exploding portal, roaring with uncontrollable laughter at her frightened scream, she wouldn't have been surprised at all.

  And this idea set off an avalanche of thoughts in her brain. Ever since the failed expedition to save Tig Tannersen, she had been wondering about the First World entity that those overpowered will-o'-wisps were connected to – probably one of the Eldest, the most powerful beings of that plane. The monstrosities' glowing light had suggested a link to the Lantern King, the great jester whose devastating sense of humour was hard to appreciate even for other fey. The idea that the Stolen Lands were his playground was unsettling enough in and of itself. However, Remus and his prophecies had pointed towards the Green Mother, also known as the Feasting Flower: beautiful, seductive, and also a patroness of wild vegetation. Something like the Guardian of the Bloom in an enhanced version.

  Wait.

  Was the Guardian of the Bloom, in fact, the Green Mother? But then why had she not destroyed Guelder at the Verdant Chambers with a wave of her hand? An Eldest had much more powerful tools and methods at her fingertips than a few incompetent redcaps and juvenile monsters, too wet behind the ears to even coordinate their attacks. Surely she hadn't found a desperate, lonely druid such an enjoyable toy, worthy to keep for later amusement, or had she?

  Hazel's affronted voice tugged Guelder back to reality.

  "What the hell do you mean by that, Jamel?" they hissed, trying in vain to keep their volume low. "You knew very well that Guelder might spend a night here. Did you not perform any due diligence on the personnel of the hunting lodge? How could you let a suicide assassin get so close to her?"

  Guelder rose from her seat and intervened.

  "Stop that talk, Hazel," she said firmly. "I shall not have you address an old friend and ally in such an unbecoming manner. There was no assassin here. Just a sick man, without any hidden agenda, grabbing for straws to save his life."

  "A sick man, eh?" snapped Hazel. "That was more fervour than fever. I am ready to bet one month's worth of Nightvale's full income that he was from the Kingdom of the Cleansed. A fanatic who chose to undergo the ritual, whatever it is, to become a ticking human bomb, kill the evil baroness, and purify the land from the curse in one fell swoop. He would probably have done it anyway, but your injury and isolation played into his hands."

  "Now, Hazel, if you'd be so kind as to let me speak," said Jamel Visser calmly, "Her Grace made me aware of possible cultist activity in the neighbourhood. She even asked for the input of the Embeth Forest druids on the identity of the goddess worshipped by the cult. So yes, I did perform due diligence. This man was a devout worshipper of Erastil, like all the other people working here."

  As he raised his hand, they saw a chain dangling between his fingers, with a pendant on it, dripping with gore. It depicted an antler-shaped, drawn bow, the symbol of the stag-headed god. Hazel didn't seem completely convinced, but they sounded a retreat.

  "In this case, I apologise," they said. "You know, there have been weird things going on. And now that we know what the cultists mean by giving birth to a monster, it makes me wonder if this is their way to dispose of their enemies in case normal weapons fail to do the trick. But if the servant was innocent..."

  The last drops of blood ran out of Guelder's face.

  "The linnorm," she whispered. "What if it was not killed by Kassil but by a portal exploding from its victim? This is a plague, Hazel, and it is probably spread intentionally by the cultists."

  "No!" Tristian unexpectedly entered the conversation, dabbing a handkerchief around his mouth, as if he'd just finished throwing up at the sight of the servant's remains. "At least not outside their own circles. They consider this... thing... a blessing to be earned, not something to waste on the uninitiated."

  Guelder cast a scrutinising glance at him. A long silence followed, until his embarrassment became palpable. Then Guelder let go of his gaze.

  "You might be right," she said. "Anyway, it is outside the cult now, infecting simple folks, like this servant, or Jan from Shambling Steps. And this means..."

  She shuddered. Jamel Visser finished the sentence for her.

  "You've found where the monsters are coming from. Guelder, I'm afraid the support the Embeth Travellers can provide won't be sufficient. I'm happy to leave a handful of my men with you to patrol the countryside and help deal with some of the hatching monsters, but that will not solve the problem. You need to find the root cause and eradicate it. Until you do, may Erastil have mercy on your people."

  Guelder's horror slowly gave way to determination. She had to get back to the capital and talk to the priests. Preferably all three of them, but most of all Tristian. It was kind of sad that even they couldn’t see through the fanatic ramblings of Remus and his cultists, and also that the Cleansed hadn't chosen to present the issue in a clear form, so that even the cursed baroness could understand what it was all about.

  "If I may suggest, Your Grace," said Kassil Aldori, "make sure to treat this... um... phenomenon with discretion. The last thing we need is panic among the population."

  "Quite on the contrary," said Hazel. "If this is an epidemic, open communication is of utmost importance. Otherwise the people will not trust their ruler when she tries to enforce protective measures or solutions."

  "That is all well and good," said Guelder wearily, "but what exactly can we openly communicate at the moment? I know of two occurrences so far and heard some tidbits from the cultists, drenched in so much religious sauce that it was impossible to uncover their core of truth until today. And I do not even know if the cultists are victims or perpetrators or both. That is all we have now. I will not keep secrets or silence witnesses, but I will not spread panic either. As soon as I have more information, I will step on the way of open communication."

  "And how do you want to collect more information without talking openly about what is happening?" asked Hazel, switching to Elven. "Through your trusted Councillor? Correct me if I am wrong, but he has not exactly flooded you with details on this matter so far."

  The world turned with Guelder, and she had to get ahold of the table to stabilise herself. Hazel nodded at the question in her gaze. She switched back to Common.

  "I see," she said. "Now please tell everyone to get prepared and be at the entrance of the lodge in ten minutes. I want to make it back to Tuskdale as fast as possible. Before you point it out, Hazel: yes, I know the sun is about to set, and no, I do not care."