"Argh. Godsdammit. My head bursts. I'm hungry. I need to shit. Godsdammit to hell. That was it, Your Grace, word for word."

  Guelder took a deep breath to calm herself. She was sitting in the shade of the gnarled tree in the middle of the keep's court, leaning her back against its bark. It was still a normal tree, which, again, showed that Nyrissa was occupied elsewhere, either certain of her victory or just not giving a damn what her Hound was up to.

  "Thanks, Harrim. So Kassil is unavailable, and he either did not delegate mobilisation to Regongar or Reg did not take his task seriously. Now we wasted our last Sending on a hungover boy, and you need to rest for several hours before we get another chance. Can this get any worse?"

  She immediately regretted her last words. Of course it could. For example, a portal could open up behind her back, pulling her in and spitting out a bunch of ferocious primal owlbear-like treants or something similar in her place. Luckily, it wasn't happening... yet.

  "Guelder?" said Tristian softly.

  "Could you not try and send messages via birds?" suggested Hazel, pacing up and down on the pavement of the keep's court.

  "I am not that good with birds. And I certainly cannot control multiple ones at the same time, heading in different directions."

  Still, Hazel's question had her thinking. There were some druids under Sable's hands who were practised in the use of flight forms. And, of course, there was Faeli, who was probably neck-deep in Darlac's operations in Varnhold.

  "I must contact Sable," she mused. "She could help. But –

  "Guelder, I still have a Sending!" spoke up Tristian, finally raising his voice enough to claim her attention.

  "Brilliant," said Harrim, putting a coil of copper wire into the other cleric's hand. "Have fun, lad."

  Guelder relaxed her hands desperately clutching a bunch of fabric from her cloak, trying to stop herself from clawing her palms bloody again. There was still hope. She just needed to breathe and let the others chip in with ideas.

  "Thanks, Tristian, I will take you up on that. Please contact Sable and ask her to send a few airborne druids here to Silvershield Fortress immediately. At least two, but five would be best. Linzi, get writing. I will need seven mobilisation orders. Tuskdale, Silverstep Village, Shambling Steps, Levetonsk, Bronzeshield Fortress, Direburg, Tatzlford. I want one-third of the soldiers at each place to be sent over to Tatzlford immediately. We shall cross the East Sellen there and penetrate Glenebon. Hazel, find a place for us to set up camp, but first give me a piece of old rope."

  Hazel rummaged in their backpack and tossed a length of frayed rope at her. Guelder caught it and walked away, with Pangur in tow, to the little brook that ran past the keep. A weeping willow towered above its banks, its branches reaching down to the the ground like a natural pavilion. Whispering soothing words to the tree, she cut off a few branches, then sat down and set to work to tie them into bunches wrapped with pieces of rope. Keeping her hands busy helped her calm down and plan her next steps. She didn't mind losing track of the passing of time, either.

  The leaves rustled, letting someone through. As Guelder looked up, she saw Tristian enter the little sanctuary, and she heard Linzi's steps departing... to a certain point. Then the steps halted. Here we go again.

  At Guelder's silent command, Pangur leapt through the curtain of branches, snarling. Linzi yelped and ran away, this time for real. As well she should. Whatever Tristian had to say, it probably wasn't for the ears of nosy little bards.

  "I contacted Sable," said the cleric. "Four of her druids will soon be on their way here."

  "Thanks, Tristian."

  "And Guelder... We must talk."

  The baroness raised an eyebrow. Tristian had already told the team his history, how he'd been captured by Nyrissa and downgraded from a low-level angel into a mortal, then how he'd been forced to take part in her most evil schemes, hoping in vain that one day she would give him back his wings and let him go. What else did he want to talk about?

  "I am listening."

  Tristian blushed, first time since his rescue, but his voice was unusually firm.

  "Have you ever felt anything else than friendship towards me?"

  Guelder sighed inwardly. Why did he have to bring this up right now, in the middle of her frantic war preparations? The last thing she wanted to do was rub his nose into the bitter truth in this vulnerable moment, mere hours after he'd officially left Nyrissa's service and become a man of his own.

  "Tristian, you know me better than most. You took my confession quite a few times. You know what I can give, and what I cannot."

  "Just yes or no, please."

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  He was insistent, again, just like he'd been at the outpost. Back then, Guelder had lashed out, and it had ended badly. Still, this time was different. He only wanted the truth, without any hidden agenda. Why would she deny it from him?

  "No."

  "Not for a moment?"

  "Not for a moment."

  Tristian heaved a sigh of relief. He must have ruminated on this question for a long time. Well, he finally had his answer.

  "Please forgive me, then. You know, I am still fumbling to navigate mortal life. There are all those stories about a man redeemed by a woman's love, and... By the Dawnflower, this is hard. I craved for your love with a desperate hunger, disregarding your wants and needs. I've realised just now that, in fact, what I craved for was redemption. And that you have redeemed me, even without giving your heart to me."

  "I have not redeemed you, Tristian. You were the one who started to make the right choices and took the first step on the right path. But if I am any judge, it will be a long and arduous journey until you really redeem yourself. You did horrible things during your captivity, and it will take a lot of hard work to make up for all that."

  "I know. Thanks for making it possible for me."

  "Whatever the others might say, Tristian, know that I am proud of you, and happy to have you back. Do you want a hug?"

  Tristian nodded. Guelder put down the willow bunch she was working on, and embraced him. A heartfelt, trusting, friendly embrace, where neither of them felt the need to see more into it.

  "Never underestimate friendship, Tristian," she said, letting go of him. "Still, I think I know of someone else who is trapped in a bad place and could use a helping hand to turn her fate around. I surmise you have not seen Amalia ever since we cracked down on the Kingdom of the Cleansed."

  "Indeed. She might still be in the cult... I let go of her hand the moment she ceased to be useful to me. Another failure I must atone for."

  "When this emergency is over, do what you can to reach out to her. She is a good person and deserves a chance for normal life, regardless if you two are still in love or not. If you can pick her off from the herd and give her some guidance, perhaps she will not end up in another cult."

  "You are right, Guelder. I must pick up all the loose threads I've left behind and resolve them. The small ones, like Amalia, and the big ones, like Nyrissa's stranglehold on the Stolen Lands. It feels so liberating to have a purpose that's actually good... I don't even deserve it."

  Guelder smiled at him. Maybe he could hear it in her voice.

  "It is a good thing that we can sometimes get things we do not deserve."

  The nagging feeling in her mind suddenly returned, making her smile wilt, and her stomach cramped so badly that she almost started retching. Another Sending. What was going on? Had the battle started without her? She didn't want to answer it. As long as she didn't, she could pretend the bad news was not there.

  Then she steeled herself and opened her mind.

  She saw the image of a familiar, dark-haired half-elf, dressed in hunting leathers. At first, she couldn't really place him. Hearing his message helped.

  Baroness Guelder! Darlac crossed the Crooked with one hundred Varnlings, plus garrison from capital, marching to Glenebon. She requests briefing on assembly points and timeline.

  Guelder let out the breath she was holding, realising she didn't have to deal with this alone. There was someone to bring her succour, someone who actually knew what she was doing, unlike Kassil, Regongar, or even herself. And now to give the cleric a coherent briefing in 25 words, sticking to the point, without wasting precious words on the fact that Darlac's coming felt like sunrise after a suffocating, dark night...

  Thanks for coming. Unite with my troops at the confluence of the Thorn and the Shrike. I will send a messenger there with further instructions.

  She squeezed her eyes close, and let a single teardrop of relief roll down her cheek.

  "Good news?"

  Guelder started, oblivious of Tristian's presence under the willow. How could he tell without even seeing her face?

  "Yes. All is not lost yet. The Varnlings are coming to our aid!"

  Tristian grinned.

  "You've got this, Guelder. Everything will be all right. Hope will prevail."

  The baroness couldn't tell why this felt like the tide was turning. Darlac's coming didn't guarantee they would make it to Glenebon in time for the battle. Still, Guelder prepared the last three willow bunches to go with the mobilisation orders with actual hope in her heart.

  By the time she finished, four of Sable's druids arrived at the campsite chosen by Hazel. Guelder sent out one to the capital and the Outskirts, another to the Kamelands and Silverstep, another to the Narlmarches, carrying willow bunches to drop at the main square in the centre of each region, a signal of the ruler's call to arms. The fourth one Guelder trusted with a document she drew up on the spot, dictated to Linzi and sealed with her signet ring. The document appointed Darlac as Acting Vice-General of Nightvale and assigned her to lead the Glenebon campaign.

  The team spent the night encamped near the keep. Surprisingly, Guelder managed to find peace during her rest. Tomorrow they would set out to Tatzlford, where they would wait for the troops to unite, and then march to the Flintrock Grassland together. Perhaps they would even make it in time.