The river Gudrin, still young and powerful, cascaded towards Lake Silverstep in a sloping valley between two mountain ranges. The riverbanks were overgrown with pioneer trees, willow, alder, birch, which gradually gave way to ancient oaks, all dressed in the vibrant colours of autumn. A seldom trodden path snaked among the trees, following the bends of the river northeast, across the borderland between Nightvale and Varnhold.

  "Are we there yet?" piped Linzi, padding in the middle of the group beside Tristian, in a well-protected position.

  "Yes and no," said Guelder. "We are already in Varnhold territory, but it will take about two more days to reach Varnhold Town."

  "What's wrong with that guy?" grumbled the little bard. "He names everything after himself. Varnhold Town, capital of Varnhold, defended by the Varnling Host. I bet it's the same in town. Varn Avenue leading from Varn Square to Varn Road, crossing Varn Street, Varn Crescent, Varn Gardens and Varn Mews."

  "That's quite unlikely," said Valerie from behind the veil hanging down the rim of her hat, allegedly against mosquitoes. "He cannot possibly have built a town that big in such a short time."

  "Just wait until he starts to mint his own coins," joined in Hazel. "What will be the exchange rate of Brevan gold pieces to Varnhold varns?"

  Linzi broke into a giggle, and even Valerie snorted with suppressed laughter.

  "Get off the poor man's back already," smirked Kassil Aldori. "Not everyone can be as creative as you are, Linzi. Au."

  The General of Nightvale was not used to walking such long distances on a challenging terrain. Tristian's light healing spells had all been used up to treat the General's blisters, but they already seemed to be back in full force.

  "Why?" cried out Linzi. "Even Her Grace came up with an original name for her lands, didn't she? And quite a poetic one at that, despite her growing up in the woods and stuff. We have a nice variety of names, some traditional, some brand-new, instead of Fort Guelder, capital of Guelderland, blah-blah-blah."

  "Stop badmouthing our neighbour, everyone," snapped the baroness. "We are treading on his lands now, whether you like his naming conventions or not. Better start to behave."

  "Let me point out that it is late afternoon," said Hazel from behind, watching the sky through the small gaps in the canopy. "We should set up camp soon if you want me to go hunting for dinner."

  "WHAT?" exclaimed Guelder, stopping in her tracks and turning back to Hazel. "There will be no hunting. We have enough rations for the rest of our journey."

  "Guel, rations are for times we are unable to hunt for some reason," argued the ranger. "For instance, when we are in a dungeon."

  "Stop questioning my decisions, Hazel. Just to put your mind at ease: this is exactly that kind of situation. You do not go hunting on an ally's territory unaware of his environmental regulations."

  "I doubt Baron Varn has any environmental regulations in place. Apart from yourself, there are precious few rulers who make nature their top priority."

  "Enough. We continue our trip until sunset."

  Hazel fell silent, disappointed. Ever since their fruitless hunt for Enneo with Jaethal, they found themself grossed out by rations. Also, Guelder wasn't doing a terribly good job of listening to her advisors (specifically, to Hazel).

  They hiked on uphill. Kassil had an increasingly hard time trying to keep up. He fell behind even compared to Linzi and Tristian, which Hazel found strange. A general shouldn't underperform in a forced march this badly, or should he? However, they made sure to stay by his side. It wouldn't do for the delegation to arrive in Varnhold Town one state official short.

  Kassil halted for a while, relacing both of his boots. Hazel stood above him.

  "We should be going," they suggested. "We are splitting the party right now. If you are tired, you are more than welcome to indicate it to Her Grace. Maybe you can convince her to call it a day and set up camp."

  "Do you think we are out of elven earshot now?" asked Kassil in a muffled voice, hardly opening his mouth.

  Hazel strained their ears to pierce through the sloshing sounds of the river and the susurration of the leaves overhead. They could still hear Linzi's continuous chattering, but couldn't understand a word of it.

  "Yes, definitely," they said softly. "Why?"

  "I want to talk to you about this alliance in the making."

  Hazel raised an eyebrow.

  "Does Lady Jamandi have something against it?"

  "Oh, no, no. Quite on the contrary. You know, Baron Varn is, how shall I put it, very different from Baroness Guelder. It seems he cannot assess his situation as wisely as Her Grace. He is much less keenly aware of his obligations towards Restov, and my mother finds that a little disturbing. You see, it's hard to tell if we can calculate with him in case his military support is needed."

  "Yes, I can understand that," nodded Hazel. "The Varnling Host must be instrumental in Lady Jamandi's plans of independence. How about Hannis Drelev?"

  Kassil shook his head in disapproval.

  "Another dark horse. We never even heard from him since his inauguration, so it's anyone's guess what he is up to. Anyway, back to Varn. As you said, it's crucial to have him on our side. This alliance would be a great way to ensure that. If we can establish a strong enough friendship between the two states, then Varnhold will support Nightvale in an eventual war, be that for self-defence or for supporting a common ally. My mother wants to be entirely certain that this will happen."

  "And how does she hope to achieve that?"

  "By marriage."

  Hazel furrowed their eyebrows. They didn't like being dragged into the treacherous swamp of court intrigue at all.

  "Specifically?" they asked, although they knew what the answer would be.

  "The union of Baroness Guelder and Baron Varn would help them forge a stronger state together, based on Nightvale's resources and Varnhold's military. Perhaps they could even upgrade that state into a kingdom."

  "But Guelder is not interested in men," blurted out Hazel without thinking. "Or any other gender, for that matter."

  "That's irrelevant. This is about uniting two states by means of uniting their rulers. Surely she is smart enough to realise that, above a certain social standing, marriage has little to do with love and attraction—and wise enough to work out a solution satisfactory for both of them. Still, as I saw how nicely they got along at the inauguration banquet, there is reason to hope this could work out despite her sexual orientation... or lack thereof."

  Hazel grunted something that could be taken as agreement.

  "There is one obstacle in the way, though," continued Kassil. "Felicia Darlac. A relic from Baron Varn's mercenary past."

  "A girlfriend?"

  "Mhm. She is also an old friend of mine, so I would prefer for her to be removed in a gentle and peaceful way. A heartbreak, rather than a dagger in her back. It would be best if she walked away by her own decision."

  "And why would she give up her chance to become a baroness?"

  "This is where you step in, my friend. You know your way around women, and you have something of a silver tongue. Get close to her. Feel out any cracks in the shield you could exploit in order to orchestrate a breakup."

  "Am I meant to seduce her?" asked Hazel sharply. This conversation made them want to take a bath and scrub their skin raw. Kassil flashed a knowing smile.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "If you're willing to do so, you're more than welcome to give it a go. If not, informal friendly conversations could serve our purpose just as well. Anyway, do your best to drive a wedge between her and the baron. In the very best case, she will realise that their relationship is not as perfect as she thought, and step down of her own accord. You don't have to take responsibility for her afterwards. Enjoy her company for as long as you wish, in the way you wish, or don't, it's all up to you. Perhaps a second heartbreak would even make her leave the Stolen Lands for good and pursue her dreams and ambitions somewhere else."

  Hazel gave the matter some thought. It sounded to them like the feverish nightmare of a courtier who had never seen a mercenary in his entire life. Hazel, too, was labelled a mercenary in Guelder's court, but the Varnling Host and the Pathfinder Society was not the same thing. Just because Hazel was a failed Pathfinder, hired out to rulers in need of an expert or an elite warrior, that didn't mean they were ready to hit on a rowdy human female with prison tattoos and hairy legs, smelling of sweat and cheap beer. And even if they could trust that Guelder's feelings for them would never change, not even during the fleeting decades of a dynastic marriage, they were reluctant to promote such marriage and watch their beloved friend being broken in for the traditional role of women.

  "I do not think I am interested, Kassil," they said softly. "Unlike that predator above your head."

  Kassil froze in place, his hand slowly moving towards the hilt of his duelling sword. A soft growling sound came from between the trees.

  "Do not look up," whispered Hazel. "Just act naturally and start walking forward, at a brisk pace. Whistle a tune for additional safety."

  Kassil obeyed. After a few uncertain steps, he broke into a jog to catch up with the rest of the team, forgetting about his blisters.

  "Stop giving false advice to Kassil," sounded Guelder's voice just behind Hazel, loud enough for the General to hear. "One should never turn their back to an unfamiliar feline. I had the hardest time restraining myself from pouncing on him."

  Here, the bed of the Gudrin was much narrower than before. They were drawing near to its source. The adventurers soon reached the edge of the forest, which gave way to meadows peppered with towering rock formations that resembled tall piles of grey pancakes. Similar ones were to be found in Nightvale, too, especially on the Kamelands. Still, they made Hazel uneasy. They couldn't help but think of archers camping on top of the pancake rocks and sniping away at passers-by.

  "Look!" exclaimed Guelder. "A waystation! And... fire."

  "Did someone just set fire to the inn we were supposed to sleep in?" wondered Kassil, seething with indignation.

  "No," said Hazel. "The building is intact. There is something else going on."

  Then they spotted the elk.

  It was a young bull, a specimen either very curious or very stupid, or both, walking towards them. It stopped at a distance from their vanguard, watching, twirling its ears.

  "Guel, are you sure you want us to have rations for dinner?" asked Hazel softly. "This bad boy is practically offering itself as a welcome feast. We can get it cooked at the inn."

  "No way," said Guelder. "Let me try and contact him. There must be a reason why he does not run from us."

  However, Pangur was too hungry to wait for that. As Guelder proceeded towards the elk, the leopard positioned himself for the pounce, crouching down and shaking his butt. The baroness sensed his intention at the last moment, too late to hold him back by sheer willpower.

  "Pangur, no!" she shouted, and stomped her foot to scare off the elk. The deer let out an eerie scream, turned around and leapt into a mad dash towards the waystation, with Pangur on its heels. The baroness immediately shapeshifted and threw herself after them, but those few seconds of delay proved to be a serious handicap. Hazel and the rest of the group followed, everyone at their own fastest pace.

  The waystation consisted of a single building, probably functioning as an inn. The billowing smoke came from a burning wagon standing outside it, and the air was heavy with the appetising smell of roast meat. There were people, too. One was kneeling on the ground, resting his head on an improvised chopping block. Another one stood above him, wearing a hooded cloak and holding a longsword. A woman, based on her voice.

  "In the name of Baron Maegar Varn, Lord of Varnhold and Dunsward, you have been found guilty of complicity in the murder of at least three innocent travellers. The sentence is death!"

  At this moment, the elk arrived. Noticing the fire, it screamed again and abruptly changed its direction, barging straight towards the executioner and her victim. It soared above them in a jump, causing the woman to lower her sword and duck, and disappeared behind the house. By the time the criminal made a desperate attempt to scurry away, she was up again, knocked him down and stabbed the longsword through his heart, nailing him to the ground. She had apparently no need for the chopping block, after all. Pangur halted at a distance from the scene, finally reined in by Guelder, who dropped the shapeshift to reveal her identity.

  "What is going on here?" she demanded.

  The executioner stood up from the kill, wiped the blood off her sword and tossed her hood back, revealing a mess of deep red curls and a pair of glowing golden eyes widened in panic. Still, she did her best to regain her composure and greeted the new arrivals with a sharp salute.

  "Welcome to Varnhold, Baroness Guelder," she said. "Your timing is... well, it could have been a lot worse. You might remember me. Felicia Darlac, General of Varnhold."

  Guelder nodded in acknowledgement.

  "General Darlac," she said. "It is good to see you again, although I expected our meeting to take place in more tranquil circumstances. Did we interrupt something?"

  "In fact, yes. My team and myself are in the course of securing this place for your arrival, in case you would take the Silverstep route. It turned out to be a bit of a challenge."

  Valerie, panting from the race, looked her up and down.

  "You have an interesting legal system here, I see," she said sharply. "The General acts as the judge and the executioner at the same time. Did you even carry out the legal proceedings to sentence this man?"

  Darlac held her gaze across the veil, rising to the challenge.

  "As a paladin of the Inheritor, right here and now I am the closest thing to the hand of the law. I did what I found the most conducive to the safety of my homeland's would-be allies."

  "And that wagon?" asked Linzi. "Are you guys cooking dinner in there?"

  "Actually, it's a makeshift funeral pyre. For the victims of the innkeepers we found butchered in the pantry, the perpetrators themselves, and their dog."

  On cue, a half-elf appeared from behind the building, dressed in hunting leathers. He bowed in greeting and proceeded to toss the executed man onto the burning wagon. Linzi's face turned green, and the edges of her mouth quavered. She held onto Tristian's robe like a frightened toddler.

  "Their... dog?! You monster!"

  "Well," explained General Darlac, ignoring the insult, "the innkeeper was a weretiger, his wife a wererat, and their dog a werewolf. So to say, the wind blew all the rubbish together."

  Awkward silence fell on the group. Hazel watched with a smirk as Kassil made funny faces and waved his hands about, signalling to General Darlac that it was time to shut up, Linzi's eyes darted to and fro in horror, and Valerie glared at the paladin from under her veiled hat. Since she'd taken to covering her face, she'd learnt to glare with her entire body.

  The baroness broke the silence. Her pupils were vertical slots now, fixated on Darlac's golden eyes.

  "Has anyone been bitten?" she asked.

  "Yes," said Darlac, undaunted by the horrified disdain surrounding her. "My monk friend. His wound has been healed without complications, so I think... Oh damn. It doesn't suffice to heal the wound, does it?"

  "Take me to him."

  "Yes, Your Grace. Please ignore the mess. We have yet to clean up after ourselves."

  Hazel slipped into the house after the two women, as they made their way through the common room's bloodstained, reeking floor, then up the stairs and into a bedroom. They found a halfling there, tucked into bed. The right half of his face was covered in tattoos, the lower half in stubble. A tiefling woman was sitting by his bedside, so surprised by the new arrivals that she even forgot to greet them.

  "Do you have anything made of silver?" asked Guelder.

  Darlac pulled the blanket off the halfling's bare chest, revealing a silver Amulet of Natural Armour. Guelder lifted it off his skin with a gloved hand. An ugly red rash was revealed underneath.

  "I suppose he had no issue with silver previously," she said. "The curse is taking hold. Sadly, I have no access to spells that would help him without endangering his life, so I can only offer a more risky solution."

  She took a vial of bluish liquid out of her backpack.

  "Wolfsbane. A potent poison, and one of the very few true medicines for lycanthropy, if applied in a timely manner. If he survives the treatment, he will be rid of the condition. Unless, of course, he wants to embrace the curse."

  "The Bruiser as a wererat?" Darlac savoured the idea for a while, probably thinking the same as Hazel: it would be all too fitting. Then she shook her head.

  "It could work," mused the tiefling. "I mean, better than poison him, right?"

  "Wake him up," said the baroness. "This is something he has to decide for himself."

  While the tiefling girl gave a few gentle shakes to the Bruiser, Darlac turned to Guelder.

  "Thank you for helping him, Your Grace. I commend your foresight in carrying wolfsbane with you. I wish I had thought of that myself."

  Guelder smiled wryly.

  "It is the responsible thing to do. I must be prepared to remedy any mistake I might make in the moments of frenzy."

  Hazel watched with amusement from the doorway how the realisation sank in with Darlac. Actually, she was very different from what they'd expected, and in moments of profound mortification, like now, she was quite endearing for a cold-blooded headswoman. Hazel was looking forward to inducing that emotion in her a couple more times.