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Chapter Text

The first thing Juniper remembered was feeling… tired. Bone-deep, from the tips of her pointed ears to the end of her tail, and with a wound in her chest that ached like nothing she'd ever felt before.

Voices spoke, talking about a wounded kitsune, and for a long moment Juniper wasn't sure what they meant. Then there was a wash of magic, there for a moment before the pain burned it away, and the back-and-forth let her get a bit more of a handle on herself.

"Who are you?" a stern man asked, as someone ran off to fetch a 'Terendelev'.

"I'm… Juniper," Juniper replied, eyes opening, and blinked a few times. "Juniper Goldeneyes."

"Name doesn't mean anything to me," the human said, a strong but easily middle-aged man wearing the heavy armour of a Mendevian crusader. "You're wounded, that much is clear… what brought you to Kenabres?"

"I'm not sure," Juniper admitted, one paw reaching for her wound. "I think… I was here to fight."

The human nodded. "A crusader, then! Not much else could bring a foxkin this far, I'll admit."

Two more armoured figures came up, both of them female, and the armoured man saluted one of them.

"Terendelev," he said. "I couldn't heal the wound myself. I assume Paladin Seelah filled you in?"

The woman called Terendelev tilted her head. "Some," she replied. "A strange newcomer on a festival day, badly wounded."

She crouched down, her eyes glowing silver for a moment, then blinked.

"This is a strange wound," she said, and muttered a spell before touching Juniper's chest.

The soothing, warm relief of the magic was much stronger, this time, and it chased away the pain from Juniper's chest. For a moment, as the pain ebbed, Juniper felt-

ancient might

nine hundred years, and the promise of millennia

-strange, but it faded away as the pain did.

"There," Terendelev said. "That was harder than I expected, but I suppose I should not have been surprised – none would accuse Prelate Hulrun of a lack of care, I think."

The armoured man looked pleased, and Juniper decided that that meant he was Hulrun.

"How are you?" Terendelev asked. "Can you stand?"

Juniper considered that question, then pushed herself up off the stretcher. She got her feet under herself, then rose, and there was a scattering of applause.

"Always a delight to see what a silver dragon can do," someone said, an aasimar by the looks of him – slightly pointed ears, eyes of a vaguely otherworldly bright green, hair that was truly golden rather than merely yellow… all signs of descent from a denizen of one of the otherworldly realms of Good. "Why, with another three hundred years of growth, she might even be able to heal the lame!"

"My lord Arendae…" Hulrun said, sounding exasperated.

"Oh, don't mind me," the aasimar replied.

"Hey, hey, no need to crowd her," another woman called. "Don't you all have a festival to enjoy?"

That helped, the crowd starting to disperse, and Terendelev signalled that she'd like to ask Juniper a few questions.

Unfortunately, after a few minutes it was clear that neither Juniper nor Terendelev could enlighten the other much on what had happened. Juniper was still feeling a little woozy and confused, perhaps from the lingering effects of her wound, while Terendelev freely confessed that she had no idea what kind of mere injury could require such powerful healing magic.

By the end of the conversation, though, Juniper had managed to put together a lot about where she was.

Firstly, she was in Mendev, a country in the northern reaches of the continent of Avistan, north of Brevoy. Everything about Mendev for the last century or so had been focused on maintaining a military effort directed against the Worldwound to their west, a demonic invasion that had consumed the old country of Sarkoris in fire and destruction and ruin, blighting the land.

Secondly, she was in Kenabres, a Mendevian city not far from the Worldwound itself, a built-up base for Mendev's crusaders to use to launch expeditions into the demon-held lands – and a bastion, to defend the Mendevian plains beyond to the south and east.

A city ruled by a silver dragon… one that Juniper was currently talking to, even if the dragon was in human form and the only silver thing about her was her armour.

"To tell the truth, it's hardly insulting that it took you a moment to remember," Terendelev said, with a chuckle. "Besides, it's festival day – a day for everyone to forget their worries, yes?"

She sobered a little. "Once the founding day celebrations are done, though, I would like a little of your time. Perhaps with some help we can work out what happened to you… and either way, I think the attempt is worth it."

"I agree," Juniper said, after not more than a moment's thought. "And then-"

"We can discuss that later," Terendelev replied. "For now, I don't think anyone needs the relaxation of the festival more."

Five minutes later, Juniper had decided that Terendelev was probably right.

She couldn't forget the worry hanging over her, not entirely, but hitting a training dummy or throwing a dart to win a little wooden prize… it helped.

And so did sitting on a stool to try out the festival drink.

Mostly.

"What is in this?" she asked, halfway through a mug.

"It's mead," the bartender said. "Fortified a little for a festival kick."

"Really?" a halfling asked, on the next stool over. "If this is fortified, then an empty field is a castle."

"I don't know," Juniper replied. "Maybe this is just a fortification in the ancient Sarkorian way."

She raised her mug. "They tended to favour earthen mounds and wooden walls, most places. And I can certainly taste the loam."

The bartender was about to reply, but a hideous noise interrupted him.

Interrupted everyone.

The change was astonishing, as if a single spell effect had unfolded across the whole of Kenabres in an instant. One moment, there were hundreds of peasants, merchants and nobles alike enjoying the celebration, the next there were thousands of locusts buzzing in the air and demons appearing in swirls of purple magic.

Juniper dropped her tankard and reached for a weapon, but she didn't have one – any weapons she might have had before were locked away for the festival, and she couldn't recall offhand what she should have had – then looked around, trying to see what was going on.

"Look out!" a woman yelped, and Juniper ducked as a bolt of fire flashed through the space she'd been a moment before. She spotted a brimorak, a four-foot-tall fire demon with goat's hooves and horns, and snatched up her dropped tankard before throwing it in the direction of the demon.

About half the mead was still in it, and the brimorak slashed it out of the air with a flaming sword. Some of the honey alcohol caught on fire with a whoosh and a smell of probably-loam, then Juniper ran sideways to where one of the festival stalls had been and jumped behind the stall's cover before the brimorak could try and find her.

A locust went crunch under her paws, and she winced in distaste as she shook off the remains of the insect. Then an apelike, hooting dretch demon puffed out a cloud of stinking gas nearby, and Juniper began crawling on all fours to get somewhere else safe.

Slightly safe.

"Behold, Iomedae!" a rasping voice declared, invoking the goddess of righteous valour and justice… though decidedly not in a context she would favour. "Behold, the death I sow!"

Juniper peeked up above her cover, then whispered words that came to her lips unbidden and flung a jet of force magic at a dretch locked in combat with one of the guards. The magic missile hit hard enough to make the dretch flinch back, and the guard exploited his advantage to bash the dretch onto its back with his shield and then cut it in half as it tried to get up.

Across the plaza, Terendelev used her much more potent magic to smash a large vulture-winged vrock demon to the ground, then looked off towards one of the walls. Juniper followed her gaze, and flinched – there was an enormous creature, a human torso atop a locust's body, a demon lord taller than houses with wings made of swarming insects. It carried a huge scythe, and loomed high enough that she could see almost down to its knees.

How could she hope to even help in a fight against that? Demon lords were not quite gods, and gods were not quite unstoppable in a technical sense, but… there was only one being that this could be.

Demon lord of infestation.

Maker and bearer of the scythe Riftcarver.

Usher of the Apocalypse.

"Deskari!" Terendelev shouted. "Lord of locusts! Leave! My! City!"

Her form exploded outwards, growing wings and scales and mass, and by the time her demand was finished she had taken on her true form – an ancient Silver Dragon, half the size of the plaza, her scales shining like the interlocking steel of plate armour and all four paws tipped with claws like swords. Terendelev slapped a demon with her tail almost casually, killing it in a single stroke, and roared her defiance at the demon lord who had invaded Kenabres.

There was a crash as an abrikandilu demon like a hunchbacked, rat-tailed human broke through one of the festival stalls, then looked menacingly at her, and Juniper reached out to pull another stall down as a barricade before darting behind a table. For a moment she wondered if she should use the ancient legacy of a kitsune, disguise herself and sneak out, but that seemed pointless – she'd be a human, not a kitsune, but still an easy target for the demons.

Then she saw a blur of motion, and looked around.

The demon lord Deskari had jumped into the air, leaping higher than any building in Kenabres, and Terendelev spread her wings to take off and fight him – and one wing hit the nearest building as she began her downbeat, fouling her takeoff and sending her stumbling instead.

It was a moment's mischance, but Deskari exploited it as he landed. In seconds he pinned the dragon's head to the ground, then slashed it off with his enormous scythe, and just like that the strongest defender of Kenabres was dead.

And the city with her, most likely. Deskari's apocalyptic cult and his armies of demons had been the main cause of the devastation that had torn apart Sarkoris, which meant nothing good for those nearby.

"Let the feast begin," Deskari gloated.

"Hey!" a voice rasped, and Juniper looked around.

A heavily armed halfling had taken cover with her behind the table. "Did you see that?" he asked. "Deskari himself is here! One minute we had a dragon, and next – bam! She was gone!"

He looked furtive. "Listen, I've got a protective spell scroll to spare, if you want to use it to get out of here… or a crossbow, if you'd rather fight. Better than nothing, eh?"

"Crossbow," Juniper answered promptly.

She hadn't known Terendelev long – hardly any time at all – but right now she wanted to do something.

And she was no good at running anyway.

"Right!" the halfling said, eagerly, and pressed a light crossbow into her paws. "Best crossbow I've got! The person who I got it from said it could even pierce the hide of a demon lord!"

Right now, less than fifty feet from a demon lord, Juniper would try anything. She pulled the string into tension, checked the bolt – which tingled on contact with her paws, sending a cool shiver of frost running down every nerve in her body – and looked out over her barricade.

Then she fired.

Her shot arced through the air, striking Deskari, and the Demon Lord flinched. It was an astonishing sight, one that heartened Juniper no end, and she ducked down behind her barricade to reload.

It was absurd to think of the table as a barricade, really. It would hide her from the demon lord's sight, nothing more.

"A mortal gnat snaps its jaws at the Lord of Locusts," Deskari rumbled, then struck the ground with his scythe. There was an earthshaking crash, as a rift began to open up in the ground itself – yawning wider than a cart in moments – and Juniper stumbled, one paw slipping as her footing vanished beneath her.

A flicker of magic flowed over her, then she fell into darkness.

When Juniper picked herself up out of the rubble, she wasn't badly hurt.

That was a surprise, because she could see how far she'd fallen in the light filtering down through the rift, and it was much further than she'd ever have wanted to fall, but… it was the simple truth.

She wasn't badly hurt.

The ground trembled, and she picked herself up before looking around to see where she was.

It was some kind of… underground cavern, and not one that had just opened up. The rift overhead was new, and still showering down stones and some larger rocks, but there were obvious signs like existing underground plants that showed that this had been here all along.

Another tremor ripped through the earth, and Juniper snatched up the crossbow before moving away from where she'd landed.

Glancing around the first corner, she saw a heavily armoured human woman, with black skin and hair and the muscles to match her military gear. There was a sword by her side and a shield at her back, but she was mostly working on trying to free another woman from debris – a much slighter woman in light armour, with paler skin and an archer's build.

And equipment, for that matter.

The women looked familiar… she'd seen them in the festival, overhead. Before the demons showed up.

"Can I help?" Juniper asked.

The armoured woman looked around. "Mercy, yes – I can't shift this debris myself. Though… aren't you the foxkin girl who showed up injured at the festival?"

"That's me," Juniper agreed. "I didn't catch your name."

"Seelah," the knight introduced herself – yes, that was right, she was a paladin, a front-line fighter who drew on divine power to strengthen body and soul alike. "And this here is Anevia."

"Delighted," Anevia said, wincing. "I don't know if this is broken or just badly strained, but…"

"Sorry," Juniper realized, and crouched down to get a closer look.

There was a heavy wooden beam across Anevia's leg, but maybe…

A few minutes with Seelah's help let Juniper rig up a pivot with a rock, freeing the wounded Anevia, and she judged that the leg was… able to take weight, probably, but not much.

Seelah lent her scabbard as the rigid part of a leg splint, making it less likely that Anevia would topple over, but they'd only just finished when a shout drew their attention further along the tunnel – past more victims of the attack, dead or dying, to find a dead human and a wounded half-elf.

"Camellia, correct?" Anevia asked the half-elf. "I saw you at the festival earlier… what happened?"

"I didn't see who did it," Camellia replied, binding up the wound on her arm. "That's all I can tell you."

Juniper wondered at part of that… mostly that Anevia seemed only a little familiar with who Camellia was.

The half-elf was wearing fine clothes, damaged somewhat by the fall but still of good quality, in subdued greens and whites and cut for a mixture of free movement and some protection – while her skin was pale but not sallow, and her hair cut long and with great care. There was a strange snake-skull necklace around her neck as well, clearly enchanted, but the whole picture was of someone who…

...who someone like Anevia should have known, or at least recognized better, was the best way Juniper could put it. Someone important enough. But she couldn't have put her paw on why she thought that way.

Anevia frowned for a moment, clearly worried by something, then shook her head with a wince.

"The tunnel continues that way," Juniper pointed. "Since the way we came from is a dead end, then we should watch out as we move on."

"I assume we are to move on together?" Camellia asked. "Needs must."

She tapped the hilt of the rapier holstered at her hip. "I can take care of myself, a little, but who would turn down help in a situation like this?"

A few minutes later, Anevia asked for them to stop so she could re-do her splint and make sure she had her arrows sorted out, and while she sat down the other three women hovered around in case she needed help.

Juniper turned over a silver dragonscale she'd picked up, which tingled with latent power. She wasn't quite sure exactly how, but… it felt like there was enough there to release it. Somehow.

"So, I know we met before, but it wasn't like we had much time to get to know one another," Seelah said, nodding to the kitsune and half-elf. "And I don't know about you, but I think we've got at least some time to get to know one another, and we've got a great need to get to know one another. Or what we can do, at least."

"Wise," Juniper agreed.

She raised her forepaw, the back furred in rich orange and the pads black, and a little tracery of ice magic flashed around it.

"I don't know how much you know about how sorcerers work," she began. "But that's what I am…and the way that we work is that our powers are… inherent, or I suppose a better word would be inherited."

"Now, this I know," Seelah said. "My powers come from Iomedae, the Inheritor, but yours come from… yourself, but because of who your parents were. Correct?"

Juniper shook her forepaw a little. "Sort of, but it's a bit more complicated than that. My parents were…"

Her voice trailed off.

"Are you all right?" Seelah asked.

"Yes, sorry," Juniper replied. "I've been feeling a little vague about some things, I don't know what I meant to say there. I don't remember much of anything about my parents."

"One would hope that someone trying to make a point would remember to have one," Camellia observed.

Seelah snorted. "Hey, now. We're all in this together, okay? And we'll all have to watch our backs together down here, so let's not start with the insults."

"The important part is, my parents didn't have this power," Juniper resumed. "Or, I don't remember them ever using it. But something in my ancestry touched me."

She gestured, indicating her eyes which shone with a faint golden light in the darkness. "That's why I'm Juniper Goldeneyes… these aren't normal, not like this. There's some gold dragon in my ancestry, I think, though I've never been able to trace it."

"It'd be hard to do that if you had no idea much of anything about your parents," Anevia said, from where she was resting her leg.

Juniper nodded.

"Aside from that, more practical realities… I know a few useful spells," she said. "Though, I admit, they're draining to cast aside from the cantrips… I'm not bad with some light weapons, either, though I suspect both of you are better and I'll be sticking to the crossbow."

"That's fair," Seelah judged. "I'm sure I can keep those nasty demons from messing up your fur… you know how paladins work, I'd assume?"

There were several nods, including one from Juniper.

"What about you?" she asked Camellia. "You've got a rapier, I can see that much, but is there anything else?"

"I may have a few spells myself," Camellia said, with a shrug. "My best work is done… working with spirits."

That made her a shaman, then, if Juniper was any judge.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "All right… Seelah in front, Camellia and myself behind, Anevia bringing up the rear?"

Moving away from the area under the market square helped, because the caverns became less obviously unstable, and there was enough light to see by as well – just about.

Juniper augmented the light with an easy-to-cast cantrip, a spell that made Terendelev's shed scale shine like a torch, and did her best to help out as Seelah and Camellia fought off giant spiders and other underground vermin.

They certainly seemed to be very giant spiders.

In fact, the whole cavern area had an ecosystem of sorts, mostly consisting of giant spiders, centipedes and flies, along with other smaller and less aggressive vermin, all living off mushrooms and algae that grew along the damp walls and floor of the caves.

Before long, though, they came to a sort of carved stone structure, and Juniper stepped forwards before running her hand over one of the columns.

"It's like a temple," she said. "But carved out of the rock of a cave. It must have taken a lot of work."

"Really?" Camellia asked, sounding unimpressed. "Because it doesn't look it."

"Think about it," Juniper replied. "With normal stone buildings, you're putting things in place, and if you get one wrong you just replace it. But here, they couldn't have made a single mistake."

She patted the stone, then reached up and touched a seam of quartz in the rock. "And they just had to take it as they found it. I know it looks in poor repair now, but for it to exist at all is impressive."

"Good eye," Anevia said, resting on a lump of stone now to give her leg another chance to recover. "I'm impressed."

Juniper smiled. "Wait until we get to a topic you know about," she said.

"Who's there?" a male voice asked, and Juniper looked up.

There was a strange humanoid watching her, clad in several layers of cloth that all contrived to leave his chest bare. One half of his face and body was a fairly normal human, the other half was a fairly abnormal human because humans didn't normally have a dense pattern of green lizard scales.

He had a horn, as well, on the otherwise human side of his face, and Juniper frowned as she tried to work out what he could be. He was obviously an archer, the bow made that much clear, but an archer what?

"Crusaders," Seelah introduced them. "We fell down from the surface, same time as that big quake earlier."

"Crusaders?" the humanoid asked. "Wenduag!"

"What's that, Lann?" someone replied, this time a woman, and when she came into view Juniper was even more confused.

Her feline features were fair enough, she'd never seen an amurrun but she'd heard of them, but to have the oversized legs of a spider on her back? And she had a bow as well, but while Lann was wearing no protective armour at all this Wenduag was wearing fairly sturdy armour – even if that was half-hidden by the same basic sort of layered cloth as Lann.

"Crusaders, from the surface," Lann said. "We could use their help."

Wenduag snorted. "They're crusaders? They're almost as motley as 'neathers, Lann."

"Is that who you are?" Juniper asked. "Neathers?"

"I think I've heard of you," Camellia said, lightly. "Strange people living beneath the city, no two alike. The word I heard used was mongrels."

Wenduag snorted. "Well, we're 'neathers. From beneath the ground, get it?"

Lann was looking oddly at Seelah. "That's the Sword of Iomedae, isn't it?"

"Oh, on my shield?" Seelah asked, glancing down at the heavy weight she was carrying with a casual ease. "Yes, it is indeed. I'm a loyal paladin of the Inheritor."

She smiled. "It's a surprise to find a brother in faith after falling through a crack in the earth, but I can't say it's not a welcome one!"

"We've kept the traditions of the first crusaders alive, down here," Lann said proudly. "Actually, that's why we're here in the old chapel. Some of the young members of the tribe tried to go early, and they might be in trouble, but if all of us go and rescue them… we're looking for the Light of Heaven – it's a sword, it's supposed to be down here, and it'll lead us to the surface when the time is right. That's how we'll rally the tribes to rescue them – and help out on the surface."

"Underground crusaders!" Anevia declared. "With the situation in Kenabres, help like that could make a real difference."

"I can't speak for the others, but I'll help you look," Juniper said, holding up Terendelev's scale to let it shed the silver light over a wider area.

"Why not?" Camellia said. "I'm sure there's nothing else to do down here."

As Lann explained while they were looking, the stone chapel had been carved by the first generation of the crusaders to go underground – before they'd spread out into the caves and caverns, and the strange and varied mutations of the 'neathers had taken hold.

Unlike Wenduag, Lann seemed comfortable enough calling himself a mongrel, but Juniper didn't like the sound of it. He could call himself whatever he wanted, but… for someone else to use the word didn't seem quite right.

Unfortunately, however, they didn't have any actual information on what the Light of Heaven looked like. It was probably a sword, which simplified things a bit, but it could have been under any pile of rubble or detritus from the last hundred years.

So, Juniper began shifting through piles of rubble.

She had a cleaning cantrip, at least – any foxkin mage of any kind learned them, to keep their fur pristine – and she was going to need it.

"Maybe… here?" she said, mostly talking to herself, and shifted aside some rocks. There didn't seem to be anything, and she glanced over her shoulder to see how the others were doing.

Lann and Wenduag were both looking in very much the same way, and Juniper noticed that they both had longbows slung over their shoulders. Maybe it was a shared cultural thing, or maybe it was because they were both archers?

Seelah was cheerfully using her shield to move a bit of material at a time, then moving on to the next. And Camellia was… not really doing anything, beyond using a light cantrip to illuminate the area Seelah was searching and looking remarkably bored with the whole thing.

Juniper stifled a snigger, then turned back to the pile she was looking in.

Her paws tingled.

Tilting her head, she dug a little further with a mounting feeling of anticipation, and the tingling got stronger. Then her paw touched something that felt like warm sunlight – an electric shock ran up her arm – and suddenly, everything was different.

A swirl of confusing sensations flashed into her like a thunderbolt. There was an angel, defending a girl, or – or she was the angel, sword ready to punish the guilty – or she was the angel, but she was there to defend the innocent.

Compassion and righteous fury both surged at once, and something deep in Juniper's heart told her – this was a memory. But a memory that was full and rich, like a vision, and one that it almost felt like she could guide.

The angel raised his sword, warding off the evil creatures that swarmed around him, then declared that one day someone would take up his sword and…

Save the innocent. Punish evil.

The words blurred together, as if both had been said at the same time, then with a gasp Juniper found herself crouched over the pile of rubble again.

And her paw was glowing like sunset, before the light faded away.

"What was that?" Lann asked. "There was a flash."

"Did your spell go wrong?" Seelah checked.

"None of you saw that?" Juniper asked, then shook her head. "Sorry, I'm – I'm a bit shaken. I just saw something… there was an angel, and a sword."

"The Light of Heaven?" Lann checked, intent. "Did you find it?"

Juniper frowned, straightening.

"I think…" she began, then tried to remember the vision.

The angel had flung his sword away, in this direction, and Juniper stepped away from the pile a little to the same place as the angel had been.

Eyes half-lidded, she repeated the same motion – and, for a moment, her paw closed not on air, but on something solid.

The light of sunset shaped itself in the air in her paw, forming the shape of a sword, and the Light of Heaven shone.

"...wow," Wenduag said, softly. "Is that what sunlight is like?"

"Yeah," Lann agreed. "This is great! You found it!"

Wenduag snorted. "Yeah, after generations, it's an uplander who finds it. Sure sounds convenient to me."

"We need to go and show Chief Sull," Lann declared. "Come on!"

He began to move, then glanced back. "And – listen, you need to know what's going on."

Halfway back to Neatholm, Wenduag came to a decision.

"Hey, uplander," she called, softly.

The foxkin girl glanced back, then fell back a bit, and Wenduag gestured her over to the side of the path.

"Is something up?" Juniper asked.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask something," Wenduag replied. "What do you think of this plan of Lann's?"

The kitsune looked at Wenduag, cocking her head slightly.

"You don't sound confident," she said.

Wenduag shrugged. "Lann and I don't agree on everything. But I asked you a question."

"I don't know enough to be sure," Juniper said, thinking, and her tail flicked behind her. "Lann made it sound like it's not a simple process, if some kids got stuck."

"Right," Wenduag agreed. "There's an area that leads to the surface, the Shield Maze… but it's dangerous."

Juniper nodded, and her ears twitched a little.

"There's arguments both ways," she said. "Either it's a better plan to gather a big strike force and storm the maze, overwhelming any dangers with sheer force of numbers, which is Lann's plan… or it's a better plan for a picked group of the best few fighters to go in, without exposing anyone who can't handle it. Which… isn't."

"And I think the second plan is better," Wenduag replied. "Not all the dangers in the Shield Maze are the kind that you can handle with numbers, and raising the alarm is a bad idea… take it from a hunter, you want to avoid being noticed for as long as possible."

"Perhaps," Juniper said.

Wenduag rolled her fingers up and down, wondering how to best make her point.

"Look, uplander girl," she said. "What matters is – we move quickly. Old Sull would take days to gather the tribes to do anything significant, not that they'd do much beyond die, and that's time those kids won't have. Just don't show the Light, and I'll lead you though the Maze myself. I know the layout, it'll be quicker than any other option."

Juniper cocked her head to the side, considering, and Wenduag wondered what the odd uplander was seeing.

So far, nobody had figured out her deal with Hosilla and Savamelekh… and it was going to be much easier to fulfil her deal with the demon and his cultist if she only had a few clumsy uplanders to quietly kill off. Rather than all the tribes bumbling around at once.

"I'm surprised you don't think the tribes can do much," Juniper said, eventually.

"I'm a realist," Wenduag replied. "So, what do you think, uplander girl?"

Juniper reached up to scratch her muzzle. "I'll consider it."

That was probably as good as Wenduag was going to get, really.

That evening… or what felt like it might be evening, since telling time underground was inherently difficult… Juniper lay back on a bundle of old clothes and tried to get to sleep.

As best she could, in the unfamiliar surroundings of Lann's village. There was something about it that wasn't quite sitting right with her expectations, though she couldn't tell if it was the smell of the lakewater around the almost-island on which the village was built – or the underground gloom, and the lack of the sound of the wind… the wet smell, or the size of the small huts in which the 'neathers lived… or simply the situation.

She'd done her best to navigate between Lann's enthusiasm for calling on the 'neather tribes and Wenduag's conviction that it would only cause more problems, and eventually she'd had to compromise… and she thought it was a good compromise.

Juniper had shown the Light, to prove that there was more than words behind what she was saying and because it was that or outright contradict Lann. But she'd also insisted that the tribes had to wait until everything was ready, until a small strike force had gone into the Maze to try and rescue the missing children.

It had seemed like a good idea… but the flash of sheer hatred on Wenduag's face, for the moment before the 'neather had turned that into a barbed comment, was enough to make her wonder.

At the time, Juniper had mostly written it off because there were other things to deal with. A nobleman of the city, Horgus Gwerm, had asked for an escort out of the caves – though that wasn't going to be safe until they'd cleared the Shield Maze. And then there'd been finding food, cleaning up after the long march through the caves… but now she had to wonder.

And, hours later, she wasn't very surprised to find that Wenduag had quietly slipped away while they were asleep.

From there, the only sensible thing had been to move forwards. Lann had taken them to the Shield Maze, leading them to where a whole assemblage of the cave people had already gathered by a door, but Lann's chief… hesitated. Saying that they needed to wait, for a little longer.

Until the other tribes had arrived, or possibly until he'd worked up the courage.

At first Juniper had just sighed, because it meant that Wenduag had been right about that, but… it also meant that the compromise she'd suggested would naturally come about. Something that didn't even have the downside of trying to restrain the other 'neathers.

She'd hoped that Wenduag would have been waiting here, but if not – presumably the other 'neather archer had gone into the maze first, and perhaps they'd find her.

Or perhaps not.

Sull was a little cautious, but took only a moment to convince that it was for the best. The four of them – the same as the original compromise plan, less Wenduag – would go into the Shield Maze, while the dozens of other 'neather warriors outside would come if they were called upon.

And, until then, those same warriors would keep Anevia and Horgus and the non-combatants safe.

"Now I don't know what this means," Seelah said, deep in the Shield Maze.

For all that it had been supposed to be a route to the surface and a potentially dangerous one, from everything they'd known, none of them – not even Lann – had expected quite what they'd found. There was nothing less than a den of cultists in the Shield Maze, worshippers of the insidious, cunning demon lord Baphomet.

Baphomet was a minotaur and ruler of minotaurs, whose very domain was mazes, and his worshippers had made themselves quite at home… and, more disturbingly, they'd run into angry 'neathers, as well.

Lann had known some of them, but not a single one of them had recognized him or stayed their hands – fighting alongside the cultists, full of a slightly disturbing rage. And unlike the cultists, there was no sign of any kind of aesthetic sense or feeling that they had made the maze their home.

The 'neathers were just… there, caring for neither the Baphomite symbols nor the decorations and furnishings, and none of them had been quite sure what to make of it.

And now the paladin glanced over. "Camellia? You've been pretty good with surprising things so far… wouldn't have taken you for a lockpick."

"A girl has her hobbies," Camellia replied. "And they do turn out useful from time to time… but this isn't one of my specialities either."

Juniper stepped forwards, and touched one of the runes marked on the wall. It tingled, and a matching blue symbol appeared on the wall for a moment before fading away.

"It's… a lock, I think," she said. "But a kind of arcane lock… third principle of arcane defences, they're easier to create and cast if they have a loophole."

"How's that?" Lann asked. "Isn't a loophole one of those things you use to shoot through a wall?"

He touched the string of his bow. "Because I don't think I can shoot through the wall. I'm not nearly good enough."

"I mean that… there are ways to make a magical defence so it only lets certain people in," Juniper replied. "For example. Or a defensive spell that protects against everything. But it's much easier to be specific, and in this case – yes, it can't be picked."

She tapped on the blue rune three more times, making a complete sequence form itself, then it dissolved away.

"Any rune can be in any position, including more than one of them. Four, sixteen… two hundred and fifty six possibilities," she said. "And we don't have most of an hour to work on getting through this one wall."

She flicked her tail with a flourish, then pointed at Camellia. "But. I seem to recall a set of paintings you didn't like, back on the floor we entered on."

"They were poorly composed and dreadfully out of fashion," Camellia agreed, clearly thinking back… they'd all seen it, but Camellia had been the one to pay attention.

Mostly to complain about it.

She frowned. "And two of the same painting, as well… yellow, blue, red, yellow."

Juniper tapped out the same sequence, and the door opened.

"Not bad, girls," Seelah said, then stepped forwards in case the room held anything dangerous.

And stopped, staring.

"That's…" she began, pointing at a display rack in the room. "That's Radiance! Yaniel's sword – what's it doing here?"

"Not a lot," Camellia noted. "Except rusting, by the looks of it."

"It's a legendary blade," Seelah said, with a reproving glance at Camellia. "Yaniel did amazing things with it, then it was lost when she vanished… I guess finding it in the treasures kept by a bunch of cultists makes sense, but it's still a surprise. I always looked up to her."

Juniper picked up the weapon, curious.

She remembered hearing of Yaniel – a hero of one of the earlier crusades, if she recalled correctly, and who had become missing-in-action during the fall of Drezen.

Functionally speaking, it was certain that she was dead. But how had her blade come to be here? If it would be anywhere, it should be in Drezen, many miles to the north in a fortress-town overrun by demons.

Had the infiltrating cultists brought it? And why?

"The hilt feels warm," she said, inspecting the golden longsword with wings for quillons, then a jolt of golden light flickered around her paw and ran up and down the blade.

It shimmered, a glow fizzing off the wings and trying to break free from inside the sword, then the glow faded and Radiance was just an old, rusted sword.

"Now that was strange," Seelah marvelled.

"Does that happen often around you?" Lann asked. "Forgive the mongrel for his lack of education, but was that the sword or was that you?"

"Both, I think," Juniper replied, frowning, and cast a cantrip to help her examine the magic on the sword. "It seems like… the enchantments are still there, but they're so weak that they can't actually do anything."

She examined the weapon, considering. "And it fits my paw perfectly. It's a pity I have no idea how to use a longsword… but it seems wrong to leave it here."

"Amen to that, sister," Seelah agreed. "And maybe I'll show you how, some time."

"And… there," Camellia said, pleased. "Now we can finally get out of this awful underground."

Juniper wouldn't have put it quite like that, because some of the underground had had its own kind of beauty, but she couldn't deny that there was something to be said for getting out of the Shield Maze.

It had been a slog, full of violent men and women. She was sure it had been worse for Lann, who'd known some of those he'd had to kill, but Juniper herself was more familiar with violence now than she thought she should be.

But they were nearly out, and Juniper took the steps two at a time – behind Lann and Camellia, but ahead of Seelah as the paladin lagged behind a little.

As she reached the top of the stairs, though, Camellia signalled for quiet. Lann did the same, peering over the bannister, and then Juniper reached them as well.

The landing they'd reached was over a circular entrance hall, with a flight of stairs around the edge leading down to the hall level, and beyond it Juniper could see a door. But that wasn't important.

What was important was the half-dozen 'neather teens clustered against one wall, and an aasimar standing in front of them, shifting from foot to foot but defiant despite his lack of weapons… and, in the middle of the room, a cultist with a glaive.

And a four-armed demon, a powerful demon, that Juniper recognized as a vrolikai.

Vrolikai were… catastrophically bad news, and Juniper signalled to Seelah to be quiet as well.

"What could that demon want with the kids?" Lann breathed, his voice barely loud enough for Juniper to hear.

She didn't know.

With all three of the others telling her to be quiet, Seelah managed to join them without her armour clanking, and Juniper returned her attention to the demon.

For a long moment, the conversation was simply informative, if unpleasant, and Juniper tried to see if there was some kind of opening. The demon was called Savamalekh, and his cultist was Hosilla – the leader of the cultists they'd met in the Shield Maze so far. He declared them to be starvelings from the dark, pitiful monsters not human or demon, and said that submitting to him would make them stronger.

It was terrible to listen to, but Juniper simply could not see a way to intervene. Even to safe the life of the brave aasimar, who looked willing to die on his feet.

Then Hosilla killed the aasimar, striking him down with an abrupt and brutal blow, and Savamalekh commanded the 'neathers to take what he called a sacrament… the flesh of the dead man.

Just watching would have been bad enough, but there was something… something else going on. Something more.

Blood roared in Juniper's ears, blotting out all other sounds. It felt like fire racing through her veins, making her fur stand on end, making it impossible to think. Some deep part of her soul responded to what Savamalekh was demanding, but not in disgust… in rage.

Rage at this upstart thinking that he was better than her. At giving orders while she was there!

The pure, incandescent fury fizzed and crackled through her, tinting her vision red…

...and yet, at the same time, there was a spark of sunset's light trying to break through.

Juniper had to choose.

She couldn't choose.

She had to choose.

It felt like the wound on her chest was tearing apart, then she said a word in a language she didn't know and a spike of light hammered down from the ceiling.

There was an explosion of light that knocked everyone on the lower level sprawling, not just the neathers but Hosilla and even Savamalekh, and the demon scrambled back to his feet before ripping open a portal and fleeing in panic.

"What just…" Hosilla said, picking herself up as the missing teens stayed down, and looked around before spotting Juniper.

Juniper tried not to show how tired she was, descending the stairs, and Camellia, Seelah and Lann followed her down.

She'd never felt more grateful for anyone's support.

"How did you do that?" Hosilla demanded. "That was angel's magic… but you can't do it again, can you?"

Her voice turned cruel as she said the last part, and she raised her glaive. "If you came through the maze, you must have killed most of those idiots… I'll kill you for that. Wendaug!"

"Wenduag?" Lann repeated, surprised. "What's she…"

"Surprised, Lann?" Wenduag asked, coming through a nearby doorway and holding her bow ready. "I got a good deal, that's all."

"Traitor," Lann said, the surprise bleeding into total contempt.

He said something else, as well, but Juniper didn't hear her.

The contempt from Hosilla, the way Wenduag must have been trying to manipulate her… the same rage came boiling up again, and this time she shouted something and threw a bolt of force magic at Hosilla.

The cultist flinched back, and Juniper threw another bolt of magic.

And another.

She didn't know where she was finding the strength, and she didn't care. Jolts of lightning and splashes of acid and jets of frost poured forth from her paws in a stream, knocking Hosilla back and keeping the cultist off balance as the spells crashed into her magical defences, then her opponent's gaze flicked to Wenduag.

"Kill her!" Hosilla demanded.

Wenduag hesitated, and Seelah charged Hosilla from the side. She knocked the cultist leader down with a crash of armour and steel, and Juniper let up her magical bombardment as the rage – and the energy that had come with it – cut off all in the same instant.

She didn't actually see Camellia dart in to finish Hosilla off.

Half an hour later, as all six of them moved through cellars – tired still, but with the chance that every minute could matter – Juniper wondered to herself if she could have handled Wenduag better.

The 'neather archer had said she wanted to join the group, explaining casually that she'd helped Hosilla because Hosilla was the strongest option but now Juniper had proven that she was the stronger option. Wenduag hadn't stinted on the details either, saying she'd taken part in the same foul ritual – and nearly died – but that it had been her only choice to avoid death… and that she'd followed Lann to look for the Light of Heaven not because she thought it would work, but to get him somewhere quiet to kill him.

As she'd already killed other 'neathers.

At the time, Juniper had felt… rage, boiling in her blood, and fierce indignation shining from her heart, and both factors at once had combined in an outburst that had made everyone else present step back in trepidation. She'd laid into Wenduag for giving up, for taking the easy way out, for doing something because it was what she'd told herself she had to do.

Then she'd said that Wenduag had been weak, and the 'neather had stepped back as if Juniper had slapped her… and darted off, through the door and into the darkness before anyone else could react.

Juniper had the feeling it wasn't the last they'd seen of Wenduag.

Lann's chief had the feeling it wasn't the last they'd seen of her, either, though he'd said quite firmly that they weren't leaving the caves… yet. The tribes had been drawn together, but they weren't ready to give up their homes, and that meant it was only Lann accompanying the five surface-dwellers through the Kenabres undercity.

But now they were approaching the surface, climbing up a partly-collapsed pile of stone rubble, and there was the sound of fighting ahead. Juniper paused, checking behind her – letting Seelah and Camellia go first, and making sure that Anevia and Horgus were keeping up – then fell in next to Lann in the back ranks, drawing her crossbow.

Seelah opened the door with a sharp motion and hurried through, and Juniper saw a battle going on. Cultists and demons fighting with armoured knights and soldiers, not forming a single front line but split into a dozen knots of one-on-one or two-on-one battles, and she took a moment to get her bearings before throwing a jet of freezing air at one of the cultists.

The flinch that resulted let a tough dwarf hack the cultist down, then turn on a nearby demon, and that plus the efforts of her companions resolved the melee in moments.

"Check them," commanded a half-orc woman in full plate armour, then turned her attention to the newcomers. "Who are-"

She chopped off the next words, staring, and Anevia limped past. The half-orc stepped forwards to meet her, and the two women embraced.

Juniper's ears picked up a few of the murmured words, then she deliberately ignored the rest of what they were saying. This had to be Irabeth Tirabade, Anevia's wife… who she'd mentioned down in the caverns, and who must have despaired of ever seeing Anevia again.

"I don't know if Iomedae or Desna or both are to thank for reuniting us, but I'll thank them both," Irabeth said, stepping back a pace. "You're wounded. Can you fight?"

"Not well," Anevia admitted. "But better than Lord Gwerm, I'd say."

Irabeth looked up with surprise, noticing the portly human aristocrat for the first time, then frowned as she turned her attention to Juniper.

"You're the foxkin girl from the square, aren't you?" she asked. "Who is that next to you?"

"Lann, at your service," Lann introduced himself. "Underground crusader, I guess. Descended from the first crusaders."

"He's been a big help," Seelah volunteered. "Everyone here has."

"Then I'm glad to have your help," Irabeth told them, all business now. "Anevia, take two guards to keep Lord Gwerm safe – head to Gemyl Hawkes' place. Everyone else, with me."

"What's going on?" Juniper asked. "Thirty minutes ago we were fighting a cult under this building… whatever it is."

"This is the Grey Garrison, the fortress at the heart of Kenabres," Irabeth explained. "When Deskari attacked the city, he knocked the Wardstone clear across town and it crashed into the building – and the demons are doing something to it. We need to stop them or there might not be a Kenabres to save."

"Wardstone?" Lann asked quietly.

"Enchanted stones put in place decades ago to prevent the abyssal corruption of the Worldwound spreading," Juniper explained. "A tear between Golarion and another plane is going to make the nature of the other plane spread onto Golarion, and the wardstones are to… stop that?"

Lann accepted that with a nod, which left Juniper wondering how she'd known that.

The knowledge was there, but she didn't remember learning it.

"This way," Irabeth called, breaking Juniper out of her reverie. "We need to move fast, before the demons can react."

True to her words, Irabeth and her strike team – with four tattered adventurers along for the ride – moved up the floors of the Grey Garrison fluidly enough, cutting down both cultists and demons alike.

Some of the cultists followed Baphomet, others Deskari, but fortunately there didn't seem to be any sign of the more powerful servants of either of those demon lords present in the fortress. That could have been simple time and chaos, as it had only really been hours since the initial attack, or it could have been that they were needed elsewhere.

Whatever the reason, though, the strike team reached the third floor within minutes – though there was an ominous rumble behind them, as the building settled and some of the damaged structure broke away from the aftereffects of Deskari's attack.

"I can't say I like what they've done with the place," Camellia said, picking her way delicately over some tumbled stone as they rounded the third floor galleries. "Though you can hardly expect cultists to have good taste, can you?"

Juniper flicked her ears, then caught sight of a group of cultists ahead of them.

It wasn't her first sight of the Wardstone, as the massive construct of rune-layered blue crystal had landed point-first so the upper end had been visible through cracked walls in the basement, but the wider end of the Wardstone brought home the scale… and the half-dozen cultists chanting in unison indicated eloquently that Irabeth's worries had been correct.

"Now, now," an amused voice said, and Juniper looked over before wincing.

A lilitu demon was standing there, applauding them with a mocking smile on the eyeless face that identified her, then laced her clawed fingers together.

"It's very amusing to see you here, but you're very late," she said.

There was an arrogance in simply standing there, in front of a whole group of armed crusaders, but Juniper knew how strong lilitu demons were… and knew that that arrogance was almost certainly justified, as they were almost as strong as vrolikai.

It looked like there was only one high-ranking servant of either Baphomet or Deskari here… and that was all that was needed.

"Oh, and Staunton!" the lilitu added, sounding delighted, and her slender tail flicked past her hooves as she adjusted how a long red dress fell on her figure. "Sweetie, it's so lovely to see you again!"

"I'll kill you, witch," the tough armoured dwarf said hoarsely, adjusting his grip on his weapon.

The lilitu smirked. "Not even going to use my name?" she asked. "Oh, darling, I really thought we had something… and you of all people should know how convincing I can be."

She gestured to the Wardstone. "Why, soon enough I'll have convinced this rock to listen to me, and it'll stop getting in the way. Won't that be nice?"

"For Terendelev and the Inheritor!" Irabeth called, shield out in front of her as her sword blazed, and knocked one of the cultists sprawling in a way that Juniper remembered from down below. Lann nocked an arrow and fired, and the other soldiers charged, then the lilitu hurled a bolt of lightning that knocked half of them down.

Juniper shot a bolt of magic forth, attacking one of the cultists, then nudged Lann. "Aim for the cultists!"

"Wasn't planning on anything else," Lann replied, firing another arrow, and Juniper closed her eyes.

She tried to reach for that light from the Shield Maze… the light that had hammered a vrolikai into panicked retreat… but it didn't come. It didn't want to come.

The rage wasn't there either, exhausted or unwilling to come at her command, then Juniper gave it up as a bad idea and aimed her crossbow instead.

Her bolt took the last of the cultists in the head, killing what she thought were experts in corrupting the Wardstone, and the lilitu hissed.

"Stop being so inconvenient!" she demanded, petulantly, and her palm flashed with magic-

-and Juniper felt like she was floating, then lost consciousness entirely.

Chapter Text

"I understand," Juniper said, running through the information she'd been told upon waking up. "Thank you, Knight Tirabade."

That was for the update… and for being carried from the Grey Garrison to an inn in the city, a fall-back base for Irabeth's own small knightly order – the Eagle Watch.

They'd disrupted the plans of the lilitu, a servant of Baphomet by the name of Minagho, but it could only be a stay of execution.

Irabeth smiled slightly, then nodded respectfully. "I'll leave you to recuperate a little, though I must warn you – time is of the essence. I don't know how long the Defender's Heart will hold out."

Juniper nodded in return, then Irabeth left the room and Juniper stood up.

And, immediately, turned.

Something had felt strange… and she flicked her tail, which was where the feeling had been concentrated, then stared in surprise.

Because she had two.

"What the…" she began, then looked up as someone entered.

"Knock knock," Seelah said. "Heard from Anevia that you were awake, came to check on you as soon as Irabeth was done with you. You were out for a while… is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Juniper replied. "I didn't expect – look."

She showed both tails to Seelah, drawing them out to make it as clear as possible that the masses of fur were different to one another, then swept them aside and sat down.

"I wasn't even trying," she said. "For kitsune, some of us gain more than one tail, but it's usually from being… very old, or very powerful. And it's usually something that the kitsune is trying to do. For this to just… happen, like this…"

"Very old?" Seelah asked. "How old are we talking about, here?"

Juniper shook her head slightly. "It's easier to gauge the power side of things," she answered. "There's stories that a nine-tailed kitsune can live forever, for example, but it's much more common that a kitsune who develops more than one tail is going to be magically very powerful, simply because it means they have enough magical aptitude to do it. I don't know how it would work exactly, not normally, but there's supposed to be… rituals, ways of delving into yourself. Or…"

Juniper shrugged. "Or being blessed by Daikitsu, goddess of rice and agriculture," she finished. "But I don't think I am, I'm no pacifist, and I wouldn't even know how to do the rituals to do it deliberately. And the fact this happened without my having to do anything…"

"Well, you know, maybe it means it's something that's meant to happen?" Seelah suggested. "I'm just a simple street-rat who ended up a paladin, so don't expect any deep insight from me, but if this sort of thing doesn't usually happen, and it did happen now, maybe that's a sign."

Juniper considered that.

"That's a comforting thought," she admitted. "Maybe we are doing things right."

Woljif Jefto, Thiefling Extraordinaire, chuckled to himself in the cell.

Sure, he was in the lock-up, but how much of a problem was that going to be? They didn't really have anything they could prove on him, and Tirabade wasn't the kind who'd execute someone because they didn't look right.

Sure, sure, he was descended from a demon – or some other kind of otherworldly creature of evil, and all that – but who cared about that? Woljif could name a dozen nobles at least who were aasimar, descended from some kind of otherworldly creature of good, and they were hardly nice people. But if you just happened to be a tiefling, then most people wouldn't take two looks at you. You'd get locked up whether or not you were a thief, and Woljif actually being a thief – and member of an organization of tiefling thieves, to boot – was only a coincidence that you couldn't hold against him.

But not Tirabade. She at least took on tieflings into her military-order, watch… thing… whatever the term was for it, and that showed she didn't think demon blood meant you were a demon. Which was good for his neck.

So, one way or another, Woljif wasn't going to be in here long. Either the city would get liberated, in which case, upstanding citizen Woljif Jefto was going to explain quite firmly that it was all a case of mistaken identity… or this place would get stormed by cultists, and clear cultist sympathizer Woljif Jefto would be there to benefit from the fact he was the only prisoner here to release.

Either way, he'd be surviving.

"...go ahead," someone said.

Woljif looked up, interested, and saw that fox-kin lady standing outside his cell. The one who'd looked him over in that odd way, but who had properly appreciated the magic trick he could do with his shadow and even listened to his problems.

Someone like that was worth… cultivating.

"Hey, nice to see you again," he said, with a bow. "It's always nice to have someone come and get a repeat showing of my shadow trick!"

"I'm sure you're very proud of it, but that's not why I'm here," the kitsune replied.

She pointed at him. "How's about this? I get you out of here, and you help me out with a few problems that need solving."

"Problems, huh?" Woljif asked, leaning against the wall of the cell. "Are these the kind of problems that involve doing violence to people out in a city overrun with cultists? 'cause, I'll be honest, I'd rather be somewhere where they don't do violence at all."

"And if I believed that, I'd be looking for a farmhand," the fox-kin said. "I don't know if you like the inside of a cell, or something, but I'm going to guess that you don't… and that you'd rather be doing something that isn't climbing the walls."

Woljif glanced around at the inside of the cell, considering, then shrugged. "Hey, just between you and me?"

The kitsune leaned forwards, and Woljif lowered his voice. "I'm not confessing to anything, you get me? But, sure, between all the cultists and all the sadly deceased upstanding citizens out there you could make a mint with the help of a good professional. Like me."

"You're putting a lot of effort into making the case for something I'm trying to recruit you for," the kitsune said, tails flicking behind her.

Tails?

"Hey, how come you get two?" Woljif asked, pointing. "And fluffy ones, too? Bet people would respect me way better if I had that kind of tail."

The kitsune chuckled, and unlocked the cell door.

"Okay, Woljif, let's see how this works out," she said. "And the name's Juniper, by the way."

"Really?" Woljif asked. "Is that normal for a kitsune name? Sounds more like a tree to me…"

Of course, recruiting someone who was obviously a thief – and part of an organization of thieves – wasn't something that Juniper could ever have expected to go smoothly.

Woljif was… well, he was a tiefling, and a fairly stereotypical tiefling in looks at that. Mostly he looked like a fairly normal human with curly black hair, somewhere on the cusp of going from boy to man, wearing leather clothes that were barely shading into armour but which could still pass unnoticed on the streets, but the pair of curled ram's horns coming from his forehead and the long spade-tipped tail were the obvious indicators that he was demonkin rather than merely human.

It was just that he was also a fairly stereotypical tiefling in terms of what he did. A thief and chancer who also used magic was about as standard as the perception of a tiefling could get short of actually being a cultist, though the strange trick where he could make his shadow appear like a horned figure two feet taller than he was… was something else.

At least Juniper was fairly sure he wasn't a cultist.

Clearing his name with the rest of his 'Thiefling' organization was a priority, if only to get access to the kind of smuggled supplies that could make the difference in the chaos of the stricken city, and one way or another that led the five of them – Juniper, Seelah, Camellia, Lann and Woljif – to a jewellery shop some minutes away.

A thoroughly ransacked jewellery shop.

"Let's see… yeah, it was there," Woljif pointed. "That's where the Moon of the Abyss was kept."

"And this Sister Kerismei blames you for having taken it?" Seelah asked. "Imagine, suspecting someone with such an upstanding record as you."

"Hey, I'm not saying that I wouldn't have done it," Woljif replied. "I'm saying that I wasn't responsible for selling out the Thieflings. Completely different question. Anyway, we're here to ask the shop owner who he saw loitering around the store, right?"

"That's the plan," Juniper agreed. "Lann, keep watch, okay?"

"Got it," Lann agreed, crouching down so he wasn't immediately visible and scanning the streets through the window. "So, uh, how should I raise the alarm if I'm not sure they've seen us?"

"Perhaps-" Juniper began, then stopped as she heard a muffled voice.

"Hey, can someone help me out here?" the voice asked.

"That remains to be seen," Camellia said. "Are you going to keep making noise that could bring down a dozen cultists on our heads?"

Juniper sniffed, trying to scent the air in a half-remembered way, then looked slowly back and forth.

There was the door to the basement… there was the counter, with Woljif not-so-subtly checking behind it to see if anyone had left behind anything valuable… but there wasn't enough space for anyone.

Was there?

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Over here, of course!" the voice said, and this time Juniper located exactly where it was coming from.

She crouched down, heaving to try and lift a fallen shelf, then Seelah lent her strength and the two of them turned the shelf over to join the rest of the detritus on the floor.

Most of what was revealed was just general rubbish, but there was a little bamboo tube of the kind that held a pipe-fox. They were about as smart as a cat, though, so they probably hadn't been the source of the request.

"Oh, thank goodness," the voice said, and Juniper stared.

"What the…?" Seelah asked, then Juniper reached out to their rescuee.

Because he was a sword. A scabbarded shortsword of about two feet length, shimmering slightly with magic, and Woljif whistled.

"Never seen something like that before," he said.

"What are you?" Juniper asked.

"Who am I?" the sword replied. "Finnean Dismar, Pathfinder. Phantom Blade."

Juniper turned Finnean over, then noticed the eye symbol on his scabbard.

"You're a weapon?" she asked.

"That's a poetic way of saying it, I suppose," Finnean replied. "All crusaders are weapons against the demons, after all. But if you need help, then just name the weapon you need and I'll provide it."

"Name the weapon?" Camellia asked, with a slight smile. "Now there's irony. Though after we found that sword called Radiance, I suppose anything's possible."

Juniper still wasn't quite sure what to make of Finnean.

"Are all Phantom Blades literally… living swords?" she asked. "Or, whatever other weapon… like a crossbow?"

"I can do a crossbow," Finnean agreed, and turned into one. "How is the crusade going, by the way? Last I heard the demons were breaking out of the Northmounds."

"That's not been the case for over seventy years," Juniper replied.

"Seventy years?" Finnean said, making a snorting noise. "Nonsense. I'm only human, I couldn't be in fit shape that long."

"Oh, I get it," Woljif decided. "He's cracked. Hey, Finnean, you're not human any more. Get it?"

"Woljif, there's no need to be rude," Juniper said, glancing at him.

"There is," Woljif replied, with a wink.

"Well, if you've got space for me, I'll gladly travel with you," Finnean said. "Put me up front or in the back, wherever you need."

Juniper considered.

"Short sword, please," she requested, and hung Finnean on her belt. "I won't turn down help in a situation like this… now, let's try and get Woljif's problems sorted out."

Enough back-and-forth through the streets of Kenabres, and a few shady conversations, successfully convinced Sister Kesmiri of the Thieflings that Woljif was innocent – that he hadn't sold out the other Thieflings, and that the true traitor was one of the others in the group.

It was admittedly quite a relief for Juniper when the one she named immediately began saying that they'd all pay, saying that Voetiel and Hepzamirah would get them in the end, and he was taken away to go and live on a farm.

Juniper couldn't remember encountering a more blatant euphemism, but it did at least restore Woljif's good standing among the Thieflings… which was good, because it meant extra supplies for the crusaders in the Defender's Heart.

Even if it did turn out that Woljif actually had stolen the Moon of the Abyss, not to betray the Family but because – or so he claimed – it was a family heirloom of his.

Juniper… wasn't sure. But Woljif's grandmother pawning her last jewellery to buy alcohol was a lot more likely than his tales of being descended from foreign royalty, so she was willing to consider it.

With that handled, though, Anevia and Irabeth had some jobs for Juniper and her little group of companions. Places around town to investigate – to find a route over the crack splitting the main square in half, to investigate possible cultist sites, to check in on a library and a museum and the Tirabade house.

There was a lot to do, and Juniper checked the best map she could find of the city before deciding to head to the museum first.

"So, explain a museum to me?" Woljif asked, softly, as they reached the Tower of Estrod – site of the Kenabres museum. "Loads of valuable items out on display, but everyone just looks at them?"

"They're valuable because they have cultural value, of course," Camellia informed him. "I expect common thieves wouldn't be able to understand that in the slightest – because they're common."

Woljif flicked his tail. "Hey, give me a few hours in the archives and I could prove I was descended from a nobleman! The tricky thing is finding one who's safely out of the way so he won't make a fuss."

"A museum is to show people what valuable and rare things look like, without having it be that only one family can look at it," Juniper summarized, pushing the door open. "There, see – those paintings…"

Her voice trailed off, as four shimmering, transparent spirits came walking through the walls.

"Kenabres burns," one said, with an angel's wings and wearing a helm that made his face blank metal. "The city that should never have fallen. Fate shows no mercy."

"You are strange," another said, looking straight at Juniper. "I sense light and darkness in you, like the red moon among the stars."

"That's… the Hand of the Inheritor?" Seelah asked, looking at the first ghost. "I don't understand what's going on."

"It's obviously a spirit," Camellia said, dismissively. "Listen to it if it has anything useful to say."

Another one of the spirits approached Juniper, this one a female angel, and examined the kitsune closely.

"Brother," she said, sounding sorrowful. "How far have you fallen, to hold such anger in your heart?"

"Say what?" Woljif asked. "Hey, boss, there something you're not telling us?"

"Evil comes to this place," the fourth spirit said, but Juniper was frowning.

"Camellia," she said. "Are these actually who they seem to be? I don't know enough about spirits."

The half-elf sighed.

"No, of course not," she said. "Even I know that the Hand of the Inheritor is far more powerful than this… this is a spirit of a place."

"That doesn't mean much to me," Lann pointed out. "Call me a dumb mongrel if you like, but it's not much of an explanation if it's just changing the words you use."

"I think I understand," Juniper decided. "We were talking about it… this is a museum. People have been thinking about the same stories here for decades. And if this angel is… associated with the one who held the Light of Heaven…"

She reached up her paw, and the Light of Heaven formed in it for a moment. The pulse of sunset's light washed out, touching everyone in the group, and the female angel stepped back.

"We will stand shoulder to shoulder with you against evil," the fourth spirit said, untensing in an indefinable way.

"Well, at least we're not going to have to fight them," Camellia decided. "A pity. Spirits are a speciality of mine."

"If it's spirits you want handled, a phantom blade is just who you need!" Finnean contributed, from Juniper's waist.

Curious, Juniper took the living weapon off her belt and examined him more closely. A murmured cantrip activated her arcane sight, and she turned him over carefully.

Finnean might have been confused about what he was, but he was right. His magic would let him strike at spirits and ghosts as easy as solid enemies, which was… something to keep in mind.

"Hey," an armoured dwarf said from up ahead, pitching his voice low. "Keep the noise down, you don't want to alert them."

Juniper took a moment to examine the dwarf, just in case, and evaluated him swiftly.

He was slightly taller than normal for a dwarf, which made him short and stout compared to a human, and was… quite well armed. His armour was browned, made to avoid standing out and customized for rapid movement where possible, and Juniper could see two axes in crossed harnesses plus daggers and potentially other hidden weapons.

And much of it was picked out by her magical sight.

More than anything, it was the fact of the customized armour that stood out to her, though. This was a man who had put a lot of effort into getting his equipment exactly how he wanted it, indicating both resources and a very specific use case.

She was quite willing to do as he said, if what he said was to be quiet.

"Alert who?" she asked.

"Cultists," the dwarf replied. "If you can stay quiet, come up here and look…"

Juniper could confirm one thing, at least – there were, indeed, cultists using the Tower of Estrod museum as a base of operations.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of them, with several demons in support, and they were discussing a plan for cultists from all over the city to attack the Defender's Heart. It didn't sound like they were ready just yet, but getting a message back to Irabeth was going to be far more important than a fight in the Tower.

If the dwarf, Greybor – who, as he freely admitted, was an assassin – had been willing to plan alongside them, that might have been different.

Might.

But Greybor said he wasn't going to get involved, not unless Juniper and her companions attacked anyway and caused enough disruption to give him a clear run at his target, and all that put together meant that Juniper was unwilling to try her luck.

"We're coming back, though, right?" Woljif hissed, as Juniper slid back down from Greybor's vantage point. "There might be some great valuables down there."

"Perhaps," Juniper replied. "We'll have to see."

"Kenabres burns," said the spirit in the form of the Hand of the Inheritor, repeating his words from earlier to the letter. "The city that should never have fallen…"

Juniper, Lann, Woljif, Seelah and Camellia marched back to the Defender's Heart to give Irabeth a warning, and she listened in grave silence before thanking them.

She didn't say what the countermeasures would be, except that she would want them to all return as quickly as possible once the attack was due to commence, but as they left again Juniper caught sight of a pair of archers from the Order of the Sunrise Sword taking up positions on the inn's roof.

The extra height, and the warning, would probably give them enough sign of an approaching attack to alert Juniper and her companions. Probably.

But they couldn't just wait around until the attack – that would waste far too much time. So Juniper led the others to the market square, not even questioning that fact until it suddenly struck her as they approached the square.

They were all following her, listening to her. Sometimes there were sarcastic comments or suggestions, certainly, but at least twice so far Juniper had been the one to make an important decision and that had been the end of it. And she'd been giving orders in battle, as well.

Juniper wondered if she had a natural talent for leadership, but the sound of raised voices distracted her from that line of thought.

"Bandits," Woljif reported in a hiss, crouching by a wall up ahead. "Clearing out the houses."

"Right," Juniper replied, assessing them – they hadn't seen the group yet. "Lann – when we begin, drop the archers, then we'll make them come to us. Woljif, stab the first one who goes past somewhere vital. Seelah, once we launch the ambush, front and centre, and Camellia's stopping them from ganging up on her."

"Got it, boss," Woljif said, drawing a dagger from his belt and flicking it up to hold by the point, then catching it by the hilt.

"Crossbow," Juniper added, drawing Finnean, and took aim as the Phantom Blade shifted into a light crossbow. "Lann… now."

Not ten minutes later, and after chasing off some crusaders with very strange ideas about what Iomedae would prefer, Juniper contemplated the latest member of their little group.

An elf who called herself Ember, Juniper wasn't really sure if it would be more correct to call her a girl or a woman. The kitsune wasn't especially clear on how long it took an elf to mature normally, but Ember certainly seemed big enough to be a woman – if slight for one of the tall elves… except that she had an odd, childish lilt to her voice, and she seemed to have something off about her.

She was dressed in a ragged tunic, her hair long and straggly, and it was clear that she'd been living on the street even before the demon attack. But… something was raising Juniper's concerns.

"Is something wrong?" Ember asked, brightly, her eyes nearly black with the peculiar large iris of a full elf. "You're looking at me."

"I'm trying to work out what to think about you," Juniper replied, slowly, her gaze flicking down to Ember's hands.

She'd been injured badly, in the past. Burned, Juniper thought… and she could vaguely remember seeing the strange elf at the festival, begging by the side of the square.

And then there was her crow, which she called Soot. Juniper was no stranger to the concept of a familiar, but Soot seemed too alert even for one of the magically touched animals.

"Oh, lots of people do that," Ember replied. "Most of them decide that they know what to think about me, though. They say I'm crazy."

She smiled. "I don't know if I am, but I do know that the good people give me food. So maybe they're right."

"Are you sure this… person… should be travelling with us?" Camellia asked, making the word person sound like it had all kinds of unpleasant connotations. "I'm not sure I trust her to know what's going on."

Juniper wasn't sure either, but for entirely different reasons. There was something odd about Ember, a magic that clung to her burned hands and showed in the flashing of Soot's wings when the crow took off to circle overhead.

"You can use magic, but how exactly?" Juniper asked. "Did you learn it, or is it something that comes to you without needing to learn?"

"Oh, my tricks?" Ember asked. "My grandmother taught me how to do them."

She reached up, and Soot landed on her wrist. "She taught me lots of things."

Juniper still wasn't sure what to make of the odd girl, but there was something about Ember's mention of her grandmother… she was sure she was forgetting something that would make sense of it all.

"Are you going to be able to fight?" she asked, instead. "I know you have healing magic…"

Ember looked briefly sad. "It's a pity that people are fighting. They shouldn't be fighting. But you're my friend, so I'll fight if we have to. Otherwise you'd get hurt."

"I've heard worse reasons," Lann said.

"Really?" Woljif asked. "Like what?"

"Oh, you know," Lann shrugged. "All those times nobles go to war because they felt insulted, or because they both wanted a bit of land…"

It was the work of a few minutes to identify a route across the chasm left by Deskari's scythe and set up a sturdy-enough wooden bridge, reinforced with balks of timber from the destroyed houses, and Seelah led the way up towards the market square itself.

As they got close, though, Juniper heard raised voices.

One of them was the man who Terendelev had called Prelate Hulrun, and the other was a cloaked stranger, and they both sounded unhappy.

"...look around you!" the cloaked man said. "Don't you think there are graver concerns than troubling us?"

"Not at all," Hulrun snapped back. "This whole city is burning because of demonic treachery and infiltration – the Wardstone was attacked, no less! There is no greater issue for me to concern myself with than this!"

"Prelate doesn't sound happy," Seelah said, and Juniper paced forwards to catch up with her. "Things might get violent."

"Perhaps," Juniper replied, thinking, then as they approached the cloaked figure turned and ran – a whisper of magic cloaking him from sight as he moved.

"Stop-" Hulrun demanded, and two knights with him moved forwards, but the Prelate then waved his hand. "No, don't – you won't catch him, and we need to stay here."

"Prelate?" Juniper asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Who-?" Hulrun began, reaching for his sword, then focused on Juniper and let his hand relax. "The kitsune girl from the festival… you survived, then."

"It was a close run thing," Juniper admitted. "I fear Deskari got the better of the encounter."

Hulrun looked suspicious. "What do you mean?"

One of the knights leaned forwards, telling him something in a quiet voice, and Hulrun straightened a little.

He looked tired, to Juniper, but was doing his best to hide it.

"So you're the one who took a shot at Deskari, after Terendelev died," he said. "Well, I can't blame you for failing… who are those people with you?"

Juniper glanced back, and saw Woljif trying to unobtrusively hide behind Lann.

"Paladin Seelah and Camellia were at the festival – they fell down with me," Juniper replied. "Lann is a descendant of the first Crusaders, from the caves below Kenabres, come to help us on the surface. Woljif is helping supply us with weapons and equipment."

"And taking enough himself, I shouldn't wonder," the Prelate grumbled. "I'm watching you, boy."

"Hey, now, Mr. Prelate, sir," Woljif retorted. "I'm fairly sure I'm not a boy any more."

"And what about that one?" Hulrun added, indicating Ember.

"Oh, we've met," Ember replied, in a calm voice. "When my father and I came to the River City… you thought we were bad people. But it's okay, I forgive you. You were scared."

Juniper… wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided not to press the point.

"Who was that?" she asked, instead.

"Ramien," Hulrun snorted. "He came to Kenabres a week ago, claiming to be a Desnan priest, and he and his students had some kind of story about wanting to prevent a problem with the Wardstone. I didn't want them getting access, but they went ahead without my permission! I threw them out… and now I think it was part of the demon's plan."

He folded his arms. "If you can, find him and bring him back here."

"Prelate, I don't think it was part of the demon's plan," Juniper replied, softly but firmly. "We were part of a team that fought our way through the Grey Garrison, where a team of cultists were trying to corrupt the Wardstone under the leadership of the lilitu Minagho. We were driven back, but we killed all the cultists attempting to corrupt the Wardstone."

"I beg your pardon?" Hulrun demanded. "You've just said that they were trying to do something to the Wardstone! This must be part of the same plan!"

"Ramien is still alive," Juniper pointed out. "So he wasn't one of the cultists there. And, as I said, we killed all the cultists corrupting the Wardstone… but we didn't regain control of the Wardstone."

She looked over at the brooding bulk of the Grey Garrison, and the base of the Wardstone visible where it was embedded into the building. "If Ramien and his students were there to corrupt the Wardstone, they'd be in there right now doing it… it's not like we could stop them."

Hulrun looked conflicted, then rubbed his temples.

"You make a good argument," he said, exhaustion colouring his tone. "But do you have any proof? I have failed Terendelev and Kenabres enough already."

"What about my word, Prelate?" Seelah asked. "I was there too, and I'm no expert in magic but I'm sure my word has to count for something. On Iomedae's Sword, I swear that what Juniper's said is true as I know it."

On a whim, Juniper closed her eyes and focused. The light of sunset flickered in her paw for a moment, and when she opened her eyes again Hulrun was whispering a prayer.

His stern expression eased – a little.

"Fine, then," he said. "I'll accept that… for now. But I'm not convinced."

Juniper had the feeling it was very hard to convince Prelate Hulrun of anything.

For all that Iomedae had inherited the church of the dead god Aroden a century before, and turned it more towards the merciful side of justice… perhaps there were institutional factors that still lingered.

Or it could be the events of the last two days.

The sight of the market square itself was… not something Juniper was really ready for.

She'd had some idea of how bad it would be, but seeing it was something else entirely. There were the remnants of the festival day, strewn around and half-trampled but still recognizable… it hadn't rained, so even the cheerful posters were still in place.

With smoke from fires still rising into the air over Kenabres, rain would probably be a mercy.

The rift that split the square in two, starting at the very spot Deskari had been standing when Juniper had hit him with her crossbow bolt, was another strange sight. Somehow even falling through the earth into the underground caves hadn't given Juniper the same sense of the strength Deskari had displayed as… seeing where a single return strike from the Lord of Locusts had sliced a gash through much of the city.

"You okay, Juniper?" Seelah asked.

"I'm fine," Juniper replied, shaking her head. "Just… woolgathering."

"I thought you were a fox, not a sheep," Camellia snorted. "Do let me know if you plan to begin neighing."

Juniper flicked her ears. "Okay, that one wasn't bad."

She frowned, spotting a trail at the far end of the square, and stepped on one of the sturdier tables to check.

"Look, there," she said. "It looks like they dragged Terendelev's body away."

"Terendelev?" Lann said. "Who's that?"

"The Silver Guardian," Ember told him. "She was nice, she tried her best to keep the city safe, but her best wasn't enough."

"Terendelev was a dragon," Seelah clarified, and Lann made an ah sound.

"I wondered," he admitted. "That's a big bloodstain."

"And now I can't work out if I'd rather they left her here or dragged her away," Juniper added, thinking. "Seeing her here would be a real shame, but I doubt they'll treat her body with dignity."

Something caught her eye, over by one side of the square, and she jumped down off the cart. Rolling with the natural grace of any foxkin, she slowed as she got closer – recognizing the area as the part of the square where the archery competition had taken place.

But none of the practice crossbows could possibly have been loaded with that projectile, a bolt as long as her arm and made of a purplish-red material.

"What the hells is that?" Woljif asked her. "I'm guessing you'd know, just saying."

"I'm not sure," Juniper admitted, then cast her cantrip that let her see magic. "It's got powerful magic infused into it, maybe even making it up. I don't recognize the type, but there's something else, as well… a spell that's just worn off, not long ago. Transmutation and illusion."

She touched it, then pulled her paw back in surprise.

It had tingled on contact, sending a cool shiver down every nerve in her body.

After a long moment, she reached out again, and pulled the bolt loose. It went into her bag, an enchanted Bag of Holding made to save weight, and she wondered about what that could mean.

It felt exactly the same – exactly the same – as the bolt she'd fired at Deskari. And nothing else had felt like that… and the other magic was the kind that would be used to disguise that arm-length bolt of almost solid magical power as a simple crossbow bolt.

But why?

"What are we going to do with it?" Lann asked.

"Honestly, maybe we'll shoot it at someone," Juniper replied. "It's strongly magical… if Deskari shows up, maybe we'll shoot it at him, it can't hurt."

"If Deskari shows up we're all buggered, though," Woljif pointed out. "We'd just be running away, right, boss?"

Juniper didn't reply.

"Boss?" Woljif said, sounding uncertain. "I've heard how big Deskari is, stabbing him in the back would need a ladder, right?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Juniper assured him, then spotted something else. In another part of the square, invisible until now but showing up to her magic-sensitive eyes.

Juniper couldn't remember seeing magic that looked like this before.

It was like a field of stars, floating in the air, with visible lines connecting them to form geometric constellations, and the patterns moved in synchronicity as she watched.

At the core of the cloud of stars was a little dagger made of a purple stone or crystal, with the hilt wrapped in a way that seemed at once primitive and achingly familiar.

"I assume you're going to do something?" Camellia asked.

Juniper reached for the dagger, intending to get a closer look, and the stars all flowed into her at once. They rested invisibly on her fur, making her like a field of stars herself for a fraction of a second, then all Juniper could see was the night sky.

And everything.

Aeon, she realized, as if she'd always known. The strange half-creatures half-constructs that enforced the laws of the universe.

She'd touched only a fraction of the power of an Aeon, but it was somehow enough to let her peer back into the past – looking back to the moment of Deskari's strike, which had passed right through the space occupied by an invisible Aeon there to observe Deskari's attack. Aiming to stop Deskari's illegal invasion of Golarion, affront to the cosmic order that it was, but slain by a chance strike.

Turning the same gaze to the future revealed… possibilities, but too many to count, and Juniper was only sharing the sight of an Aeon. She couldn't interpret it, not properly, and all she could tell was that many of them revolved around the crystal dagger and the Wardstone before there was a silent eruption into mathematical chaos that was impossible to count.

Then Juniper looked at herself, and found herself looking at herself, at herself, at herself, at herself… infinite recursion in finite time, until the Aeon's vision faded and time restarted and her paw finished closing around the dagger.

Something about the way the hilt had been wrapped was… achingly familiar. Like she'd held a weapon made exactly this way when she was very young. But Juniper couldn't remember any of the details.

She turned the dagger over, then hung it on her belt. Whatever it was, that was something she was not letting out of her sight.

Juniper and her companions found a group of tieflings around the side of a church to Iomedae, helping one of them out of some rubble, and with Woljif's help managed to convince them to sign on to help Irabeth at the Defender's Heart – and to let on that they knew a secret entrance to the Grey Garrison, which was potentially going to be vital.

The kitsune wasn't sure how long to spend combing the area, instead of heading to check off the other tasks on the list she had from Irabeth and Anevia, but gut instinct told her to keep looking around for a little longer. There was another temple not far from the church to Iomedae, this one a much simpler temple to Desna, and as she led the others towards it Juniper was struck by a sudden question.

Why was it that the gods of good seemed to be so bad at working together? Certainly, they would have to disagree about how to do some things, but right now in Kenabres there were cultists dedicated to both Baphomet and Deskari and the two demon lords seemed to be working together better than the followers of Iomedae and Desna.

For all that Desna, goddess of dreams and luck and freedom, was as clearly and resolutely opposed to demons as Iomedae was.

She was about to voice the question, but before she did something caught her attention – a combination of scent and sound and a slight blurring in the air, and her paw glowed as she got a spell ready.

"Please, I mean you no harm," the invisible man said, then dismissed his spell. He was familiar, mostly shrouded in a cloak but a cloak that Juniper recognized, and she lowered her paw.

"You're Ramien, aren't you?" she asked. "The one who was arguing with Hulrun."

"I am indeed," Ramien confirmed. "The Prelate is very effective at the things he's good at, the problem is the things which he doesn't understand. What he doesn't understand is trickery, and trickery is demonic."

"What actually happened, then?" Juniper asked, curious to hear both sides.

Ramien explained, and Juniper listened carefully.

He and his adepts had been warned of Minagho's plans, by the sounds of it – warned in their dreams, which Ramien said was normal for Desnans, though he wasn't willing to give details as to who had told them – and they'd tried to conduct a ritual to soothe the Wardstones and eliminate the vulnerability.

Of course, they hadn't actually told anyone, so as far as Hulrun was concerned a group of unknown spellcasters had broken in to do something to the Wardstone. In hindsight it was obvious why he'd taken it poorly.

"If you can sort things out with Hulrun, I would be in your debt," Ramien concluded. "Though… no, in truth what really matters is the safety of my students. I would rather that they be safe even at the cost of my own life, though I hope dearly that Desna does not ask that of me."

"Since so far Desna's asked you to do a damn fool thing, I don't know what I'd expect," Seelah said.

Then she grimaced, holding up a hand. "Sorry, that was rude of me, I'll admit it! Just thinking that it wouldn't do you much harm to at least get permission."

"There was no time, lady Paladin," Ramien replied. "We only got this information shortly before Deskari's actual attack – it would have taken days to get permission."

"There might not have been a good choice," Juniper said, looking between them. "That happens, sometimes."

"Yeah, so don't get into those situations in the first place!" Woljif said. "If you've got no good options, you must have made mistakes already, right?"

He smirked. "Then it's time to charm your way out! Works every time."

"Does it?" Lann asked, sounding amused.

"I'm not in a cell right now," Woljif retorted.

Ramien chuckled, then someone came hurrying up the hill towards them.

Juniper turned, watching him approach, and the man almost collapsed as he reached the top.

"I need help," he said. "Please – there's demons, they're trying to break in!"

"Where?" Lann asked, unslinging his bow, then caught himself. "No, wait, we're on the surface, which means not everywhere is inside."

"Count Arendae's house here in the city," the man said. "I'm one of his servants – they're trying to break down one of the doors, there's dozens of people in there!"

"How far?" Juniper asked. "If we can get there in time to help…"

"It's a few streets away," the servant explained, panting, but he seemed to have mostly recovered his breath. "I can show you, I'm just – no good at fighting."

Juniper made a snap decision.

"It's the priority right now," she decided. "Let's go!"

The Count Arendae's house turned out to be richly, plushly and very expensively appointed, done as if someone who had a reasonable sense of style had decided to deliberately overdo it, and when Juniper and her companions entered the main dining hall she didn't find what she was expecting.

Given what the servant had said, she'd expected the door to be barricaded against a demonic attack from the corridors – or, in the worst case, evidence of a massacre.

Instead, what she found was… a party.

A very loud, extravagant party, with lavish food on the table, a band, guests everywhere and half a dozen courtesans dancing around the walls.

They had about enough clothes between them to make a single set of underclothes, if the underclothes were for a gnome.

"Ah!" said the man at the head of the table, dressed in a rakish jacket with golden inlay that matched his hair and eyes… and who Juniper remembered seeing back at the festival. "You must be the latest entertainment!"

He raised a glass. "I don't remember hiring you, but between you, me, and this excellent vintage, that's not at all surprising."

The nearest of his guests laughed, and Juniper exchanged an astonished glance with Seelah.

"So this is how the nobles live, huh?" Woljif asked. "Some of this stuff would fetch a lot of money."

"Ssh," Juniper replied, raising a paw, ears flicking as she heard something under the music drifting through the hall.

It was coming up through the soles of her footpaws… then suddenly it was much louder, a splintering crash followed by the sound of hooves, and the door at the other end of the room broke open.

Several dretch, two abrikandilu and a stooped, goat-headed-and-hooved schir came prowling into the room, and Camellia raised her buckler with her rapier held up in perfect equipoise.

Woljif drew his paired daggers, Lann raised his bow, Seelah drew her sword, and Ember drew magic into her hands as Juniper told Finnean to switch to being a crossbow again.

Most of the guests, however, began laughing.

"Oh, what cute creatures!" one said, clapping.

"...wow," Woljif marvelled. "I think all the effort I put into staying hidden was a waste."

The nearest abrikandilu growled something about beauty, striking the applauding noble hard enough to knock them to the floor – unconscious or dead, Juniper wasn't sure – and then the screaming started.

"Well," said the aasimar who'd been at the head of the table – one of the few, along with a member of the band of all people, who'd actually shown some skill during the melee instead of running around screaming or trying to punch a schir. "That was not the entertainment I was expecting."

He blew on his hands, then adjusted his jacket and turned to Juniper. "Daeran, Count Arendae. I'd say I'm at your service but that would be a lie, and that would be a dreadfully bad habit to get into…"

Daeran's voice trailed off, and he inclined his head. "But who cares about bad habits? At your service. I'm entirely too rich, as I'm sure you can tell… now, what exactly happened there?"

"Do… you not know?" Juniper asked, slightly bemused. "The city was attacked more than a day ago – Deskari himself killed Terendelev during the festival."

Daeran paused, then strode to the window and twitched one of the heavy curtains aside.

The sight of smoke rising in plumes into the evening sky was immediately evident, and he let the curtain fall back with pursed lips.

"My word," he said. "That must have been only a few minutes after I decided the festival was entirely not worth my time… though, now I think about it, I do remember you. Aren't you the one Terendelev healed?"

His gaze flicked down. "I see you're doing well. Though the extra tails are new, I think."

"It's been quite an intense last few days," Juniper admitted.

"I'll say!" Seelah agreed. "This must have been some party if you missed an invasion."

"Never let it be said that Count Arendae throws anything less than the very best parties," Daeran replied. "Though the ambience is a bit spoiled at the moment… I'm surprised that a paladin would know the difference between a good party and a bad one. Don't your celebrations usually involve standing around reading scripture?"

"Hah!" Seelah laughed. "You'll find I'm not the sort of paladin you're thinking of."

"And nobody would mistake anyone in our group for normal," Camellia noted, cleaning her rapier before sliding it back into the sheath. "What do we do now, exactly?"

Juniper considered.

"Anyone who can should head to the Defender's Heart, in the outer city," she said. "It's the base of operations for the resistance."

"Are you sure it would be safe?" the band leader asked, and Juniper turned her attention to the bard – a charming woman, though she was musically talented enough that it wasn't just her looks that would draw the crowds.

"I don't think much of anywhere in this city would be safe," she admitted. "But it's better than most, so it's probably worth it."

"That's good," the bard replied, and Juniper noticed something odd.

She walked closer, and confirmed what she'd seen – a little butterfly worked into the carvings on the harp.

"You're a Desnan, aren't you?" she asked. "Do you know Ramien?"

"Yes – he's our teacher," the bard replied. "I don't know why, but I feel I can trust you."

"Oh, so you're Ramien's student!" Daeran said, delighted. "I'm harbouring a fugitive! This almost makes up for all this nonsense with the demons by itself."

"My name is Aranka," the Desnan told them. "And… well, I'm not sure where my friends have gone, we were all going into hiding separately. But if any of them see this, they'll recognize you."

She took off her shawl, and Juniper took it.

"You know, I think sitting around in the basement of a dreary pub waiting for someone else to rescue me sounds very boring," Daeran said, in a considering tone. "Not to say how dreadful it would be for someone like Hulrun to be smug at me for being proved right. There's nothing for it, I'll have to come with you."

"Huh?" Lann asked. "Does he get to do that?"

He glanced at Juniper. "Juniper, does he get to do that? I thought someone had to at least ask or be asked."

"I think you'll find I'm at least somewhat useful," Daeran told him, clapping him on the shoulder and pushing a burst of positive energy into the 'neather that healed several minor injuries. "I know, shocking, isn't it? I'm not just a pretty face."

"I wonder who we're going to get next?" Ember said, smiling. "Oh, and look, now you've got three tails!"

"I have?" Juniper replied, twisting and flicking her tails up, then counted them off. Sure enough, there they were – one, two, three.

She felt like sitting down quite hard.

Becoming a two-tailed kitsune without even trying for it was rare enough… a third tail in the space of only a couple of days was somewhere between amazing and ridiculous.

"We are supposed to be going somewhere, aren't we?" Daeran asked, sounding bored. "The back streets of Kenabres are a dreadful place at the best of times, and right now the fire's not doing them any favours."

"Oh, I don't know," Juniper replied. "You're having experiences that you'd never have otherwise. Isn't that valuable?"

"I can assure you, I've done all kinds of dreadful things," Daeran snorted. "This is nothing new to me, though I suppose the rampaging cultists might well qualify as brand new."

He dropped back a step. "And a three-tailed fox is new, so you have my curiosity, even if not my attention."

"Will you two quit your yapping?" Seelah asked, glancing back. "I'm trying to concentrate."

Daeran spread his hands. "Of course, my dear. Your concentration will remain unbroken, so long as I remain unbored."

He frowned. "Though you do seem to be the only one who knows where you're going. Dare I hope that there's a point to all this?"

"Of course there's a point," Seelah replied. "Sure, more than a little of this is going off gut feelings and intuition, but who'd argue with that?"

She paused at an intersection, considering, then pointed. "In there."

"Oh, bravo!" Daeran said. "The usual, impeccable skill of any paladin in seeking out their foe! I have to admit, no ordinary guard would have found such a well disguised cultist's hideout."

He flourished his hand. "Why, it looks like nothing so much as a common stable!"

"I'm no expert, but I'd say that's because it's a stable," Juniper replied.

Seelah glanced left and right, then crossed the street, and contemplated the stable door for a long moment.

"I'll handle that!" Woljif said, coming up from behind them to fiddle with the lock. "Let's see… hey, is this even a crime if there's a paladin involved?"

"Nice try," Seelah told him. "You're not getting a blanket rule established that easily, shrimp."

"Worth a try!" Woljif replied, then nodded. "Yep, that's open!"

Seelah pushed the door open with her shield, then turned left to the stalls and went about halfway along.

"There you are," she murmured, taking off one of her gauntlets, and patted the nose of a brown mare. The mare made a comforted, whickering sound, and nosed back into the touch.

"So, uh… what's going on here?" Woljif checked.

"I think this is something that happens with some paladins," Juniper replied. "One of the ways their magic manifests."

"Right in one," Seelah agreed, still touching the mare. "Some paladins have an inner devotion, some have an outer devotion. I wondered which it would be for me, because Iomedae decides, but it looks like it's outer for me."

A faint white glow, visible in the dim light of the stable, flowed from the point of contact over the mare's coat. It lit the whole horse for a long moment, then faded, but Juniper could see that the horse looked… more alert.

"All right, stand back for me and we'll get you sorted out," Seelah said, and her new companion backed up a step so Seelah could open the gate.

"How touching," Daeran declared, hand on his heart. "Won't you introduce us?"

"You know, I might just do that," Seelah replied. "Count Daeran Arendae, I'd like to introduce you to… Acemi."

"I'm sure she's a better conversationalist than half the nobles I'm related to," Daeran said, with a fulsome bow.

Chapter Text

"We should be getting close to the library," Juniper said, checking the map, then glanced up at the Grey Garrison to confirm her judgement on where they were. "Or have I got us turned around?"

"No, no, this is just fine," Camellia replied. "I'm sure it'll be interesting to see the inside of the library for the first time."

"You haven't been?" Daeran asked. "What kept you away?"

The half-elf sniffed. "Family business," she answered. "And there were entirely too many commoners."

"Wait," Woljif called, from up ahead. "Someone in the street."

Juniper jogged up to see what was going on, wondering why Woljif hadn't given more details.

Then she saw what Woljif had seen, and was not enlightened.

A woman was wearing what was clearly a cultist's outfit, but consulting a mirror as she did so, and adjusting what looked a lot like a flaxen wig.

"Minor illusion… check," she said, and set off towards a cluster of other cultists.

"Should we…" Lann began, touching his bow, and Juniper shook her head.

"Not yet," she replied. "I want to know what's going on."

The woman marched up to the Baphomet cultists, gave them a perfunctory greeting, then cleared her throat.

"This is part of a test on the intelligence of cultists," she half-explained. "What is Baphomet's totem animal?"

The cultists exchanged glances, not sure how to react.

"A… cow?" one of them said.

"No, it's got to be a goat!" another replied.

"Incorrect!" the woman told them, tutting. "That wasn't even one of the hard ones."

"Aurochs," Juniper volunteered. "The wild ancestor of domestic cattle, but not a domestic animal itself."

The woman glanced back at her. "Please do not interfere with the testing, girl. Now, what is Baphomet's weapon?"

Juniper knew the answer to that one, as well – a glaive made from red adamantine, called Aizerghaul.

She appeared to be alone in that, except for the questioner. All three of her cultist subjects exchanged confused looks.

"Hmm," she said. "I don't suppose anyone knows?"

"Aizerghaul," Juniper answered.

"Well, it's good to know someone has basic knowledge around here," the woman said. "Though it seems that cultists don't have even the most minimal information about their patron!"

"I don't know whether to laugh or tackle her to the ground," Seelah murmured. "Might be a mercy, if one of them tries shooting her."

"Did you insult us?" one of the cultists asked.

Another elbowed her. "She's saying we don't know anything about Baphomet, and we can't answer the questions! How are we going to face the others now?"

Juniper cocked her head to the side. "Maybe they're just not initiates into the advanced mysteries, yet," she suggested. "Give them an easier one to begin with?"

"I find your suggestion has merit, girl," the woman replied. "Very well, we'll move on to an easy one. How do you spell Baphomet?"

The elbowing cultist frowned.

"B… A… F… A… oh, screw this!" he declared, throwing down his glaive. "I should have stayed a farmer!"

"Hey!" the female cultist said, pointing past Juniper. "That's a paladin! Get her!"

After a brief outbreak of violence, by the time Juniper got back to the woman who'd been asking the questions she was already pinning her black hair back into a bun.

Without the cultist's robes, it was a little easier to distinguish her. She wore baggy trousers and sandals, with several layers on her torso and her right arm, though her left arm was bare except for a magical bracer on her forearm – revealing an odd, perfectly-circular tattoo just below the joint of her shoulder.

She was also wearing an enormous backpack, which presumably had all her possessions in, though by the looks of things most of her possessions were books and scrolls.

"Now, how to report this…" she said. "I suppose it will have to be an entry under cultists, or perhaps under worshippers. Girl! What deity do you worship?"

Strangely enough, Juniper couldn't actually remember ever considering the question before.

"Why do people worship gods?" Ember asked. "They're just people like everyone else."

"That's not how I'd describe Iomedae," Seelah complained, swinging back down off Acemi's back and patting the horse in thanks.

"I know," Ember said, simply. "But it's true anyway. They make mistakes and don't know everything, they're just more powerful. That's all it is."

Juniper had been thinking while Ember and Seelah spoke.

"If it was anyone, it would be Daikitsu," she said. "But… it's a mixture of reasons. She's the Mother of Foxes, and she's also something to aspire to."

"Interesting!" the woman said. "Daikitsu is actually known as the Lady of Foxes, but that's a lot closer than those cultists were able to manage."

She wrote down some notes. "What is Daikitsu's favoured weapon?"

"A flail," Juniper answered, still not sure why she'd said mother but on firmer ground with that one. "It symbolizes a fox's tail, though it's more often used as a rice flail because she prefers to avoid war."

"Well, you seem well informed," the woman told her. "You'll be quite acceptable."

"...for what?" Woljif asked. "Hey, did I miss something?"

"Don't think so," Lann replied. "Or if you did, so did I."

"You will make the perfect assistant, girl," the woman told Juniper. "It's a very important position, because it will help in the creation of the greatest assemblage of knowledge in history – the Encyclopedia Golariannia!"

"The what?" Juniper asked. "And my name is Juniper."

In response, she got a slightly unnerving blank stare, and a confused tilt of the head that reminded her of something but she couldn't quite make the connection.

Several minutes later, Juniper had at least managed to hash a few things out.

The woman – Nenio – was entirely set on having Juniper help her out in her research, which seemed to be into absolutely everything that existed on Golarion so long as it was of academic interest.

Things of academic interest included basic physics, magic, advanced magic, alchemy, cultural and historical context, biology, architecture, and just about everything else under the sun and moon except for whatever Nenio deemed to be irrelevant information.

Like the names of everyone else in the group.

Still, her idea of having Juniper as an apprentice involved Juniper dealing with the unimportant things like where they were going and what they were doing, and Nenio was a fairly capable wizard in her own right along with being a specialist in both making and using scrolls. So… it was probably a net gain, all things considered.

As soon as Juniper pushed open the door to the Blackwing Library, she tensed a little. They'd been sent here to try and find an elderly elf, who'd come to examine the Wardstone and been last reported in the library, but that clearly wasn't all that was going on.

The library itself was in a sorry state – the floor was broken up, parts of the ceiling had fallen in, and a giant rift signalled that one of Deskari's attacks had damaged the library just the same as other parts of the city. But that wasn't what caught Juniper's eye.

There was a pile of kindling stacked up in the middle of the library's open space, books and broken-up bits of bookshelf stacked high with barrels of what smelled like alchemist's fire waiting ready, and men in crusading armour just finishing the process of tying several captives to a stake in the middle.

"What's going on here?" Juniper asked, taking a few steps forwards, and one of the crusaders stepped forwards.

"Captain Chaleb Sazomal," he introduced himself. "These are my men. We're dealing with these cultists – best thing for them."

"That's the best thing for them?" Seelah asked, glancing at Ember.

"Look around you!" Captain Chaleb said. "The city's burning ruins, so many dead, and all because of cultists like these!"

Juniper's gaze flicked up to the cultists, who were not just tied up but gagged, and noticed – one of them looked very old indeed.

And Captain Chaleb's armour was marked with the sigil of the Order of the Sunrise Sword, but the other two crusaders bore the symbol of the Flaming Lance… and he was talking too loudly, and watching her reactions very carefully. Too carefully.

Juniper's paws twitched, as an idea suddenly bubbled up in her mind. A daring idea… an insane idea… a glorious idea!

"Idiots!" she burst out. "Stop! Heed my command, in the name of Baphomet!"

She couldn't have said why she said those exact words. But the moment they left her mouth, she knew it was precisely the right thing to say.

Chaleb and the other two 'Crusaders' jerked as if stung, then looked at each other in terror.

"Explain yourself!" Juniper went on, folding her arms to try and quiet the twitchy feelings she was having.

She was just… absolutely full of energy, not the kind of burning wrath from before but with a manic urge to do something, anything, so long as it was interesting enough.

"Don't you know, mortal?" Woljif added, catching on instantly and glaring at Chaleb. "We're everywhere!"

Daeran, meanwhile, was doing his level best not to burst out laughing.

Chaleb leapt to attention. "Sorry! Couldn't have known! We'll fix it right away, ma'am!"

"Report!" Juniper added, unfolding her arms and swishing her tails instead to try and stem some of the intense mania flowing through her. "Who are you?"

"Chaleb Sazomal!" the cultist said, now looking increasingly worried as he spotted that Juniper had more than the usual amount of tails – and as Woljif began using the magic trick he'd shown her before, making his shadow loom behind him like a living thing. "Former knight of the Order of Everbright Crusaders, deserter! These are my mates, fences for stolen goods – we set an ambush and caught these crusaders, we want to join the ranks of the triumphant army of the Worldwound!"

"Good lads," Lann commented. "Brave fighters. More of your sort in our ranks and our victory would be assured."

Having Lann join in on top of Woljif was just perfection, and Juniper had to fight down a bubble of glee that would have spoiled the moment. Chaleb's gaze lingered raptly on Lann's lizard half and the horn gracing his head, and it seemed like he'd actually forgotten that there wasn't just a paladin standing behind Juniper but one accompanied by her divinely-granted animal companion.

Everything about the situation was just so hilarious! All it had taken to convince this trio of idiots was one good guess, and they were reacting rather than thinking and their whole bluff had collapsed completely.

She could probably tell them to do just about anything right now, so long as she did it quick before they had time to start thinking again…

"Stop wasting good fuel," she said. "If you like burning books, go to the Grey Garrison library! Our enemies might try to sneak in there, so see to it!"

"There's plenty more where that came from, ma'am!" Chaleb said. "I'll do everything you've ordered, maybe get some more barrels of alchemist's fire from the storeroom… as soon as those crusaders arrive, they'll be dead meat!"

"See to it, then," Juniper said, and waited until Chaleb and his two companions had left hefting their barrels of alchemist's fire.

Then waited a little longer, fingers twitching as she pushed the library door closed again.

Then, finally, she couldn't hold in her amusement any more. It burst out in a gale of laughter, one that sent tingles racing down her spine – outlined her nerves like the branches of a tree – filled her up and emptied her out until she felt light headed, then the mania slowly drained away.

Seelah was looking a little concerned.

"You okay there, Juniper?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Juniper replied, shaking her head a little, and clenched her paws experimentally. This time they didn't tremble, and she nodded.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "I just – it seemed like the right thing to do, it was instinct. And then it was just so funny."

"It certainly saved those poor unfortunates from being set on fire," Camellia said, lightly. "Imagine if we'd arrived a few minutes later – we'd have had no choice but to watch!"

Juniper glanced at Ember, but the elven girl didn't seem at all worried by the conversation.

Nenio, meanwhile, was rummaging through the books on the floor and making muttered comments about correcting them.

Now that the danger was past, Juniper hurried up to the four bound and gagged crusaders, and cut them free with Finnean in the form of a dagger. It was the work of only a minute or so to get them all off the stake, untied and ungagged, and as soon as one of the knights was free he saluted.

"Klaem," he said. "Of the Knights of the Flaming Lance – the real ones, that is."

He sighed. "Thank you for your help. That wretch tricked us, and his friends ambushed us when our guard was down. We thought we were done for… I'd never have expected that to work."

"It seemed like the right thing to do," Juniper explained – not that that was a sufficient explanation, even to herself. "If you're willing to help, the resistance in the city is concentrated at the Defender's Heart."

"I'll take my men right there," Klaem declared.

With that dealt with, Juniper turned her attention to the last one who'd been on the pyre.

He was… old.

Very old.

Juniper knew the description she'd been given was 'an elderly elf', but she'd never seen or heard of an elf even remotely as old as this one. He had a long white beard, every appearance of great age in a way you just didn't get on even an elf three thousand years old, and his eyes were white and blind.

"Hello, there," the elf said, turning to face in her direction. "You're my saviour, I believe."

"That's how it seems," Juniper agreed. "I was sent here to look for an old elf who could help understand the Wardstone?"

"Then you were sent for me," the elf replied. "Doubtless you would like to call me something. I do not remember my original name, but others know me as the Storyteller and it is as good a name as any."

"Fascinating!" Nenio said, popping up over Juniper's shoulder. "It's good to meet another intellectual. Doubtless you would agree that forgetting inconsequential and irrelevant information makes more space for what is truly important?"

The Storyteller looked like he was contemplating his answer for a moment.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't remember whether what I've forgotten is consequential or not – and I was here in Kenabres to try and discover what it is that I forgot."

"Oh, I see," Nenio declared. "So your amnesia isn't deliberate, and is thus not related to my superior methods."

She blinked a few times. "What were we talking about?"

Since the old elf was their main objective, and he was blind, Juniper suggested that they should guide him back to the Defender's Heart and get some rest.

Ember and Daeran both sounded interested in that idea, though while Ember was interested in sleeping in a real bed Daeran sounded more like he was going to see how much he could complain about the accommodation, but before they'd even left the library there was one more surprise in store.

When they'd entered the building, Juniper had been otherwise preoccupied, so she'd only taken a cursory look at the parts of the building that weren't occupied by Chaleb and the pyre. The bookshelves were obvious enough, and so was the massive split in the building she'd noticed before, but there was also a curious statue of a griffin that was both life sized and extremely lifelike – down to the details of every single feather.

"I wonder what sculptor designed this?" Daeran asked, out loud. "I'd like to engage them in an entirely anatomically correct rendering of-"

Whatever Daeran wanted, it would have to go unstated (though Juniper could definitely take a guess). The statue shook slightly, then abruptly a layer of fine stone dust exploded off as the stone griffin came to life.

It let out a loud cry, like a hawk or eagle but magnified several times over, then took off and jumped over the crevasse splitting the library in half. Wings flared, catching it as it landed, then it took off again and vanished into the night.

Juniper lowered her paw, snuffing out the spell that had been sizzling on it, and exhaled.

"Well," she said. "That was a surprise."

The inscription on the plinth said the statue had been there for about a hundred years.

It was definitely a busy week in Kenabres.

"So, what's the story of those, anyway?" Lann asked, as they approached the Market Square on their way back to the Defender's Heart.

"The story of what?" Juniper replied. "What do you mean?"

"Your bracers," Lann explained. "You've worn them since we met, I was curious. They don't look like the ones Nenio and Woljif wear."

Juniper made an ah noise.

"Nenio and Woljif cast arcane magic, and that's often… less able to handle interference from armour," she said. "That's why neither of them is wearing any. But that's a danger in battles, so arcane adepts commonly wear bracers that provide a magical substitute for armour."

"I know the feeling, actually," Lann admitted. "A lot of what I do is focusing Ki, and that just doesn't work if I'm wearing anything more than a shirt."

"Is that why you've been going around like that?" Juniper asked, glancing at him. "I didn't want to say anything."

Lann snorted. "Yeah, it's not because of my looks, I know… but I didn't expect to have that in common with either of them. It's not something I had in common with – with Wenduag, you know?"

He hopped up on a cart for a moment, scanning the street ahead, then gestured them forwards. "But that's not what I actually asked, you know… I was asking about your bracers. They look different."

Juniper kept moving, but she raised her forearm to actually look at one of the bracers.

It was funny, really, now that Lann brought it up… she couldn't remember a time without them, and yet she couldn't really put words to what they did.

Suddenly curious, she murmured her cantrip to see magic, and teased out the details of the spells.

Lann's eye was good – they didn't carry a conventional armouring enchantment. Instead they had a fantastically complex but subtle bit of woven magic that made the wearer just that little bit luckier…

...no, that wasn't it, not quite. They made her luckier.

The layered enchantments meshed with some part of her own magical signature in a way that was so deep that Juniper couldn't really see the join. At one end it was clearly the bracers, at the other end it was just her, but between the two it was such a slow gradation that she couldn't see any kind of boundary at all.

She was probably the only one who could wear them.

And, engraved on the sides of each bracer, there were three words.

One side had the word Juniper. The other, I Promise.

"What is your story?" she asked them, softly, then looked up as Lann whistled softly.

"Trouble," he hissed. "Look."

In the gathering gloom, Juniper's acute eyes could just about see a pair of cultists with scythes. Deskarites, standing guard outside a building.

There was a crash from inside, then someone laughing.

"Sounds like they're looting," she guessed. "Can we slip past?"

"That depends, can Seelah put that horse in her pocket?" Lann asked dryly. "We'll have to fight, I think."

"Right," Juniper agreed. "Overwatch, Lann – drop them if they see us. I'll let the others know…"

When they all finally reached the Defender's Heart, they were bone-tired, and Juniper admitted that she'd pushed herself – pushed everyone – too hard, in a stressful situation.

She stayed up just long enough to report to Anevia how they'd done, then dropped into bed and slept for a solid eight hours.

Fortunately enough, when she did wake up again – well after dawn – she was refreshed, with no lingering exhaustion from the previous day's sustained effort.

Part of her was already thinking about whether their next excursion into the city should leave some people behind, or if maybe Seelah and a couple of the others could wait in the area of the market square while the more covert members of the group headed to other parts of the city. But that got interrupted by a cough from her right as she left the bedroom.

"Excuse me," the Storyteller said. "If you have a moment, there's some things we should discuss."

"Of course," Juniper agreed.

They'd been sent to find the old elf for a reason, after all. She was curious to hear what it was.

Within a few minutes, after sitting down in one of a pair of overstuffed armchairs, Juniper was already impressed.

The reason why he was called the Storyteller was that he had a strange – unique – talent. A kind of magical ability linked to certain important objects, which let him touch them and glean insights about their nature and history.

He'd been in Kenabres for his own purposes, but he'd also gone to investigate the Wardstone, and his strange power had let him discern a corruption and weakness already lurking within the gleaming obelisk.

"Then… what Minagho was doing," Juniper said, frowning. "We already assumed that she had a way to do something serious to it, and she said she was trying to turn it to her side. Is that possible?"

"It is," the Storyteller confirmed. "Though… it is not something that is certain, I think."

"That just makes our task more urgent," Juniper decided. "Now that we know Minagho can do something, we need to stop her before she can achieve it. The Wardstones… they form a chain, don't they? And a chain is linked. Each of the Wardstones links to the others, so there's even the possibility she could corrupt them all."

The Storyteller inclined his head. "That is my fear," he said. "Though I do not know how that problem can be solved."

Juniper frowned, thinking.

"We need a permanent solution," she decided. "The Queen's armies are coming, but even if we make it to the Wardstone again we can't just defend it indefinitely against Minagho. Perhaps a strike team could get in if the main demon garrison was distracted, but…"

She shook her head. "I'll think about it, but I'm not sure of all the details just yet."

Another nod, then the elf frowned.

"If you do go into the Grey Garrison…" he began. "I'm not sure if you will have the time, but my research has found that there may be a page of ancient elven script somewhere in the city. It wasn't in the library, but it could be in the Grey Garrison or in the Tower of Estrod. All I ask is that you keep your eyes peeled for it."

He smiled slightly. "I, unfortunately, cannot."

"I understand," Juniper said, then reached for her bag. "Though, if you've got a moment, there are some things I have that might be able to tell a story."

That brought a broader smile. "It would be my delight," the Storyteller told her. "I both tell and collect stories… it is my view that the world is made up of stories, as much as it is made up of material things. The people in a city can change, dying and being born, moving in and moving away… the stones are replaced, the buildings rebuilt, even the location may change over time. But the story is the constant thread."

Juniper had been rummaging in her bag while she listened, and brought out several things that she thought might have stories attached to them.

The giant crossbow bolt from the market square produced no response, which was a shame, but the moment the Storyteller touched Terendelev's shed scale he gasped slightly.

When he spoke, it was like he was Terendelev, or speaking thoughts and impressions that were from her point of view. But he spoke of hatred, of pain and corruption, of an outright and bitter contempt that was a shock to associate with the slain silver dragon.

Juniper felt a faint tingle through her as he spoke, like a moment's twitch of muscles she didn't have.

Then the fugue left the Storyteller as the sensation vanished, and he shook his head.

"I cannot gather any more information," he admitted. "Not from this, though… something else of Terendelev's would give me more insight, I think."

"I don't know what happened to her body," Juniper replied, shuffling through the other things she'd found. "What about this?"

The purple stone dagger was next, but this time a sudden rush of insight and imagery filled Juniper as well. Savage rage, wings and leg and arms, an overpowering feeling of hatred and contempt towards an insectile, demonic mother, and a killing blow.

"My word," the Storyteller said, and Juniper was sitting in the armchair again.

Her blood raced, then she shook her head and the oddly artificial passion faded.

"My stories are not normally so… intense," he admitted. "There was rage and-"

"I felt it as well," Juniper replied. "The killing blow…"

"You did?" the Storyteller asked, amazed. "That's not something my gift has ever caused to happen before. Fascinating… and troubling."

Juniper touched the wound in her chest. "What do you think it was?"

"I am not sure," the Storyteller replied. "But there was something else, as well… I saw this blade being used-"

"-against the Wardstone?" Juniper guessed, remembering the moment of Aeon's sight. "No, I didn't share that side of your vision, but I got the information a different way."

"Remarkable," the Storyteller decided. "It is a rare pleasure to be involved with such a story, Juniper. My gift has not given me a sight of the future before, but… perhaps this is something new to us both."

The rest of the items Juniper brought out weren't quite so evocative.

Finnean found the process ticklish as the Storyteller gave some of the last thoughts he'd had as a human, but it didn't break him out of his delusion that made him unable to recognize that he was now a living, transforming enchanted object.

Radiance gave the Storyteller a view from the perspective of the sword being used to fight evil at the siege of Drezen, and the old elf told Juniper that it felt like Radiance was already pleased to have someone worthy bearing it again.

After that, nothing else Juniper suggested worked, until on a whim she unclasped her bracers and held them out.

"And these," she said. "I don't know where they're from, but… perhaps they have a story."

The Storyteller took the two bracers, one in each hand, and closed his milky eyes.

"Is this the time?" he asked, his voice strained. "After so much research, so much heartache, will this experiment finally bear fruit?"

He gripped the bracers more tightly. "It is the best option available, according to all available information… but an experiment is always a risk. That is why it is an experiment."

A long, silent pause, and Juniper wondered if the vision was over, but the Storyteller continued. "It may succeed," he said. "It may fail. But if it fails, I will try again… I will never give up."

Juniper found herself breathing the final words along with the Storyteller.

"I promise."

It told her almost nothing, but… perhaps it would help ask the right questions.

"Did you know that Woljif has black market contacts?" Daeran asked, as soon as Juniper had finished talking with the Storyteller.

"Of course," Juniper replied. "That's where half the equipment in the Defender's Heart has come from."

"I thought so," Daeran replied, leaning back in the best armchair in the tavern. "When we got back here I saw him hurry off, and followed him to see what he was doing."

He smirked. "I saw him getting a shipment, along with some gold, in return for several very familiar ornate candlesticks and other such precious things… I think one of them was the one with my name engraved on it. I do wonder if there's anything small, portable and valuable left in my Kenabres residence."

Juniper shook her head, rubbing a paw against her temples, then paused.

She could already tell it was hard to read the aasimar noble, but he didn't sound especially angry.

"What do you think about it?" she asked, instead of her first reaction.

She could have defended Woljif, said it was necessary, promised to rein the tiefling in… but she had a feeling that there was something else going on.

"Well, none of it was in fashion anyway," Daeran said. "And to be honest I'd have to try quite hard to spend my fortune, but I persuaded him to give me a cut of the profits."

He made a dismissive gesture. "No Arendae would stoop so low as to rob themselves themselves, after all."

What with one thing and another, Juniper spent a lot longer in the Defender's Heart that morning than she'd been expecting.

After talking to Daeran, she was called over by Horgus Gwerm, who was willing to pay quite handsomely for an escort to his mansion and help with clearing out the bandits that must inevitably have taken over the place.

He told her to bring Camellia, specifically, though Juniper wasn't sure why yet.

Then Anevia asked her to look at some suspicious locations in the city, possible cultist sites that she hadn't had the chance to look into yet, and after that was over she had to break up a near-argument between the local Crusaders and a rather aloof tactician who was arguing that the Mendevian Crusades were nothing like as sophisticated as the wars of the distant past.

Fortunaely Juniper was able to successfully calm the situation down by pointing out that the sources on the wars of the distant past were so tenuous that really they couldn't form any firm conclusions, while the Mendevian Crusades were ongoing and so you could find dozens of veterans in the tavern alone – making them much better fodder for analysis.

One thing led to another after that, and Juniper had a conversation with one of the dwarven crusaders from the Grey Garrison fighting earlier in the week – Staunton Vhane.

Once the commander of the fortress-city of Drezen to the north, he'd lost the city after making a series of errors, and been sentenced to serve in the Condemned – a penal unit, and one where Staunton had served for decades without either parole or pardon.

"That's…" Juniper began.

"Just what I deserve?" Staunton asked, glancing up at her from the table. "Better than I deserve? A danger to others? I've heard it all."

"Well, I was going to say pointless," Juniper replied. "Or perhaps… illogical."

Staunton gave her a look. "Why's that?"

"I've seen you fight," Juniper pointed out. "Your hatred for the demons is obvious, but talking to you now… it's also obvious that serving in the Condemned wears heavily on you."

"You think so?" Staunton asked, sounding more tired than anything.

"I'll freely admit, I'm not an expert," Juniper said, shaking her head. "I'm not a ruler, or a commander. But doing something without a prospect of an end… it's got to be wearying."

She rubbed her muzzle. "I'm not sure I can think of a better choice, but I feel like there should be one. One that's fairer to you."

"You're alone in that," the dwarf snorted. "But I'm worth too much on the front lines to moulder in prison and too tainted to do much of anything else."

"Would you prefer prison?" Juniper asked, honestly curious.

Staunton fixed her gaze for a long moment, then shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "I want that bitch to pay. But at the end of it all… I don't think my account will be balanced. I don't think that's possible."

Something tried to flicker behind Juniper's eyes, to reduce that statement to numbers, but then it faded away when she tried to force it.

"From what I've seen of you fight, Staunton, it's possible," she told him, instead. "At least, that's what I think."

Staunton shrugged, and that seemed to end the conversation.

Staunton's brother Joran, out in the tavern courtyard, was able to give at least a little more insight into the man.

Staunton had, yes, erred – once – and honestly believed he was doing right. He'd been misled, yes – once – by a demon who had disguised herself as a beautiful mortal woman, luring him into something which they'd both called love, though Joran had considered her to be a poor choice for him.

He'd never expected her to actually be a demon, though, or to persuade Staunton to lead much of the garrison of the fortress-city of Drezen outside its walls… and take with them the magical banner that protected the city, crippling it and leading to its loss, but for reasons that had made sense at the time.

Staunton had been convinced by a person he trusted that he should be going out and fighting demons, instead of defending a fortress. It was an easy enough mistake to make.

And since then, over and over, for years or even decades, he'd been confronted with his mistake. Mocked for it. Had it rubbed in his face… that he could never escape his situation.

Joran wondered if, maybe, Staunton would have killed himself – had he not been unwilling to go against the edicts of the dwarven god Torag, who flatly forbade the taking of one's own life. Instead he had been dying in a different way, by inches and in his soul.

Once that sad topic was over, however, the stout blacksmith was at least pleased to see Radiance again – since, it transpired, he'd made it.

He promised to make Juniper a new scabbard for it, no charge, and Juniper readily took him up on the offer. But then it was back out into the streets of Kenabres again, heading for the market square.

Juniper had only been planning to pass through, on the way to the Gwerm mansion, but before even reaching the square itself one of the crusaders waved her down.

"Where did you get that shawl?" he asked.

Juniper had half-forgotten it, but back when she'd got it at Daeran's house she'd wrapped it around her neck for a little extra warmth and so she wouldn't lose track of it. Now she took it off, and examined the crusader carefully.

Now she was close enough, that helmet looked more like a costume prop than an actual piece of equipment…

"From Aranka," she answered. "You're one of the adepts, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's me," the 'crusader' confirmed – up close it was fairly clear he was young and quite out of his depth. "My name's Thall, I'm a mage."

"So that's where you were hiding," a familiar voice said, and Juniper tensed as she looked up.

Prelate Hulrun was striding along the road, along with two of his knights.

"So, do you still think this man is innocent?" he asked Juniper. "He's been impersonating a soldier of the Kenabres crown – which is an offence that brings a prison sentence outside an active combat zone. Inside an active combat zone then any punishment may be levied, up to and including execution."

Thall looked terrified, and Juniper took a moment to marshal her thoughts.

"What do you think this man is truly guilty of, Prelate?" she asked. "I believe you accused him and the others of attempting to subvert the Wardstone?"

"Yes, and I stand by that," Hulrun confirmed. "Only the guilty hide their crimes."

"Tautologically, yes," Nenio said brightly. "It would be impossible for an innocent to hide crimes because an innocent has no crimes to hide. Incidentally, did you know that-"

There was a muffled sound, like Nenio had just found out the important information of what it felt like to have your foot trodden on by a 'neather archer, and Juniper pointed at the Grey Garrison.

"The Wardstone is still in there," she said. "It's still controlled by demons. I don't doubt that the lilitu Minagho would like to complete her plan before Mendev's armies arrive, so if this man was part of any plot to corrupt the Wardstonehe'd be in there right now."

Hulrun frowned, then looked up at the Grey Garrison himself. The base of the Wardstone was visible, sticking out of the building, and his lips moved before he turned back to Juniper and Thall.

"We cannot take the chance," he said.

"Heaven knows mercy as well as righteous fury," Juniper replied, touching the sunset's light in her heart again. This time she was watching, and the Light of Heaven formed in her paw for a moment – almost solid, before it faded away. "Lariel's blade was taken up to protect, as well as to punish."

"There's still the matter of his hiding," Hulrun said, though he looked thoughtful now.

"Most of the inhabitants of this city are hiding from demons," Juniper pointed out. "Knight Tirabade has rallied much of what she could find at the Defender's Heart, which is the centre of resistance-"

"Tirabade?" Hulrun repeated. "She's… hrm!"

He folded his arms. "If that young slip of a girl's rallied her little Eagle Watch, I'd better go and make sure she's not ruining everything. The Defender's Heart, you said?"

Juniper nodded, then watched as Hulrun and his knights marched back down the road Juniper had taken.

Then she relaxed.

"Phew," she said. "That could have gone a lot worse."

"That was amazing!" Thall said. "I – look, there's something I want to show you at the Temple of Desna. Do you have the time?"

It was past noon, but the Gwerm mansion wasn't far… and was probably going to be a better place to sleep than out in the street, if need be.

"Yes," Juniper decided. "Let's go, then."

Aranka was already there when they arrived, as was Ramien, and the last of the Desnan adepts – Ilkes – appeared a moment later.

In the literal sense.

"How long have you been there?" Seelah asked, as Ilkes dispelled his Invisibility spell.

"A while," Ilkes replied, adjusting his elaborate robes and blinking tired eyes. "I didn't want to move around the city much, or a demon might see through my disguise… and I thought there was no way Hulrun and his inquisitors would be looking for me here."

"Well, you weren't wrong," Juniper conceded. "I'm surprised he didn't check the Temple of Desna, but he didn't."

"The Lady of Dreams kept us safe," Ramien said.

Daeran snorted. "Yes, I'd say she did. By not spreading her fulsome powers of inspiration, perhaps, so Prelate Hulrun didn't think of the most obvious hiding place."

"If it's stupid, and it works, it isn't stupid," Juniper said, then rethought. "All right. If it's stupid, and it works, then it works."

"We are here for a reason, I assume?" Camellia asked, bored. "There is an appointment we need to keep with the Gwerm Mansion."

"Oh – yes," Thall agreed. "Aranka, Ilkes – I think we should show Juniper our song."

"A song?" Camellia drawled. "I knew we were helping people without actually sorting out compensation first, but I didn't expect to be literally working for a song."

Juniper's first reaction was… similar, since even a bard's song would last a minute or less, but she stifled it easily enough.

They were Desnans, and Desna was the goddess of dreams and inspiration. There might be something more to this.

"You lead, Aranka," Ilkes suggested, and the bard hummed a few bars before beginning to sing.

There were no words, just music, but as Thall and then Ilkes joined in the woven notes rose into the air.

And they touched something.

Juniper felt a kind of thrill run through her, and though she was sure she'd never heard this before she also knew – just as truly, just as deeply – how it went.

She inhaled, halfway in a gasp, then unbidden she began to sing as well.

Her voice wove into the others as if they'd always planned it, and it filled the air of the church to bursting. But it felt like that wasn't all, like there was too much there to be held in place, too much to be bound, and Juniper closed her eyes as the sheer joy of the song engulfed her.

When she opened her eyes again, she was somewhere else. A riot of untouched wilderness, with a mountain range reaching for the sky to her left with clouds rippling off the snow-capped peaks and painting everything downwind of them, while to her right there was a wild and untamed forest that rippled with the cries of animals and the buzzing of insects.

Juniper should have been afraid, but she wasn't. Because beneath her paws was a patch of lush grass and springy green moss, cut by a winding brook of crystal-clear water rippling over stones just below the surface, and in front of her was a tree that bore four different kinds of fruit, and that offered welcome shade.

She'd stopped singing, but the song from the church hummed in the air around her, permeating everything, and she knew that nothing could ever keep her here if she didn't want to be here.

Crouching down, she ran her paw through the water of the brook, feeling the sharp and cool bite on her fur and the skin beneath, then looked up to see a spectacular thunderstorm crackling and fizzing in the distance. It was far enough to not be a danger, but close enough for spectacle, and that helped give her a clue.

"This is Elysium, isn't it?" she asked.

"It is!" someone replied, and a figure sprang down from the tree – a blue-skinned and butterfly-winged Azata, one of the fey celestials native to the plane of freedom and beauty. "What brings you here?"

"I'm… not sure," Juniper replied. "I think this is a vision. I might be here, or I might not be."

"Well, you must want to be here," the Azata replied. "Elysium couldn't keep you here if you didn't want to be."

She fluttered closer. "You do want to be here, don't you?"

"I do," Juniper admitted, looking around.

She ached to run wild and free over the grass, through the forest, climb the mountains just to see how hard it was… but she had things to do on Golarion.

People who depended on her.

"I can't stay," she added. "But… right now, I wish I could stay forever."

Then Elysium dissolved around her, and Juniper was back in the church.

The song hummed around her for a moment more, then dissipated, and Juniper sighed in regret.

"What happened?" Aranka asked.

"Did you see it?" Juniper replied. "Elysium, I mean…"

"You saw Elysium?" Thall said, sounding very impressed. "That's a true blessing – Desna must favour you!"

Clearing the Gwerm Mansion was mostly just a matter of taking out a band of cultists who were in the middle of looting the place. There were quite a lot of them, including several demons of three different types, but Juniper and her companions managed to move through the ground floor and then the upper floor without letting anyone from each group escape – letting them fight and kill the cultists in bite-sized chunks, rather than being overwhelmed.

Juniper had the feeling she was going to do that a lot.

As they reached Horgus's study, though, she waved the others to silence and sniffed.

There was a bit of a tang of acid in the air… a babau demon. Possibly more than one.

Babaus were demonic assassins and murderers, and typically they were talented both at being invisible themselves and at seeing through the illusions others used to become invisible. Wielders of spears, they were emaciated, like a human skeleton covered with red leather.

"Nenio," Juniper said, softly, and handed her a scroll she'd picked up in the Defender's Heart. "Here."

"Thank you, girl," Nenio replied, unrolling the scroll, and began reading it silently.

"...really?" Camellia asked, after a few seconds. "Really?"

"Nenio," Juniper said, with a sigh. "You should cast the spell on the scroll. It's a spell to let us see invisible things."

Nenio blinked at her, tilting her head, then looked down at the scroll again.

"You are correct," she said, then finally got around to actually casting the spell. The scroll shrivelled, expended in a moment, and magic settled on them all.

Juniper peered through the crack in the door, and nodded in satisfaction – she could see three babau demons in the study, plus about as many other cultists.

"Woljif, Camellia, you two hold them at the door," she said, readying Finnean. The living weapon was still in crossbow form from the last skirmish, and she glanced back to check on the others.

Lann was reliable and unwavering in his role as archer, and Daeran hadn't had many wounds to heal today. Nenio had a heavy crossbow in her hands, bracing it with difficulty as it was almost too heavy for her, but she had a good enough aim that Juniper wasn't really worried about her either.

Ember, though…

"Ember, you've still got some magic today?" Juniper checked. "I'm worried about your hands if you need to use a weapon."

"I'm not too tired yet," Ember said. "But you don't need to worry, I can do my other tricks all day. Grandmother showed me the knack to it."

"That's good," Juniper decided. "All right, then…"

She let a spell build up on her palm, then pushed the door open and released it in the same moment.

Lann's first arrow whistled past inches from her side, hitting one of the cultists in the shoulder, and a Babau demon slumped to the floor in an enchanted sleep.

"Leave that one for last," Juniper reminded them.

Another one of the demons came through the door at a run, spear stabbing out to try and hurt her, and Woljif stabbed it in the side.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" the tiefling asked, cockily, then ducked with a yelp as a glaive nearly cut his horns off.

"Go for their hearts!" Camellia called, rapier waving, then lashed out in a perfectly executed stop-thrust as a cultist tried to kill her.

He wasn't able to follow through, mostly because of the hole going right through his body just under his breastbone.

With the mansion cleared, Juniper signalled for Lord Gwerm to come up.

She'd been expecting a reward, as arranged, and maybe some answers for why he'd asked specifically that Camellia come with them.

The answer, as it turned out, was… more complicated than Juniper had expected.

Horgus opened up a secret door, revealing a chamber with some of his most valuable possessions, and stopped before a pair of paintings.

"It's good that they're still here," he said. "I want to be sure they're destroyed."

He didn't take them down, though, standing back as if inviting Juniper to witness what he wanted to remove.

"Family secrets revealed," Camellia said, sounding amused – and more engaged than she normally was outside combat. "How exciting!"

Juniper glanced at her, then at the paintings.

One of them showed a younger Horgus, and an elf – and, just about recognizable, a much younger Camellia.

The label on the painting told the whole story. It was a painting of the master of the house, a servant… and their daughter.

The other painting, though, was the much greater scandal. A young noble boy, labelled as Horgus Gwerm, and so different from the man who'd hired them that it was functionally impossible for them to be the same man.

As their client explained, the real Horgus and his whole family had died to a demon attack decades ago. The only survivor had been a young peasant boy… who had introduced himself to the rescuers as Horgus Gwerm, and nobody had ever found out the truth.

"So, there it is," said Camellia's father. "The truth… everything I have done, I did to preserve the Gwerm name."

"So it would seem," Daeran replied, amused. "And it's entirely a coincidence that you've ended up very rich from it all, I suppose."

"Resent me if you wish, Count Arendae," the human replied.

Juniper was thinking, and after a long moment she shook her head.

"Nobody's ever found you out?" she asked.

"Never," the lord said.

That had to mean that no members of the original Gwerm family had survived. And that meant that if the truth came out, the estate would revert to the crown… while the 'new' Horgus hadn't obviously made any mistakes.

"It seems to be an internal family matter," she decided. "Do you need help with the paintings, Lord Gwerm?"

Horgus untensed.

"Thank you," he said, quietly. "The Gwerm family is in your debt. And… take care of Camellia, please."

He shook his head. "I never was able to give her what she needed."

Chapter Text

With other tasks to perform in the area, the Gwerm mansion made a natural base as Juniper and her companions struck out at a few of the places Anevia had given them to investigate.

They also hit the Tirabade House, finding a letter that Irabeth had written to Anevia back when she hadn’t expected to meet her wife again. Juniper read only far enough to confirm that before putting it in her bag, but she was already thinking of giving it to Anevia.

By then night was falling, though, and they bedded down in one of the huge guest rooms.

Despite her fatigue, though, Juniper didn’t find that sleep came easily. She tossed and turned, drowsing and falling asleep for a short time before being startled awake again by nightmares, and eventually slipped out of the room to get some fresh air.

A few minutes of walking around the library helped, though Juniper still wasn’t looking forward to trying to get back to sleep.

“I see you’re up,” Daeran said, quietly. “Interested in a moonlit tryst?”

“It sounds like you’re skipping several steps, there,” Juniper replied. “For one, I don’t even know if there’s moonlight at the moment.”

“Ah, alas,” Daeran sighed. “Though I can’t say I blame you. I’ve tried it in the past, and it turns out that it’s not actually very romantic… at least, not if you can’t see what you’re doing because the clouds rolled in.”

He pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. “But I must say, there’s an amazing supply of chains, whips and collars in that storeroom down there. I’d say it was enough for any prison – I do wonder what use Lord Gwerm… or his, ah, relative… could possibly want with them all.”

Juniper did her very best not to let her ears go pink, and hoped that an Aasimar’s night vision wasn’t good enough to spot it.

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” she said, and hunted for a change of subject. “Do you have any idea why it’s so hard to get to sleep?”

“Oh, as it happens – yes,” Daeran replied, all business now. “It’s one of the unfortunate side-effects of being so close to the Worldwound.”

“Ah,” Juniper said, making the connection now she’d been pointed in the right direction. “So the corruption from the abyssal bleed over has an effect on the mortal mind, potentially making it harder to concentrate and sleep. Because it’s a little like we’re in a world that isn’t meant for us – the Defender’s Heart must be warded against it, and normally the whole city would be.”

She tilted her head. “Though… I suppose it would go both ways, actually, and I’d expect demons to have trouble operating properly on Golarion for long periods of time. Less so in the Worldwound, mind.”

“Oh, what a delightful prospect,” Daeran said. “Thank you, Juniper, I shall return to sleep tonight with the happy thought of an insomniac Balor complaining about having set fire to all his pillows.”

Juniper stifled a snort.

After dealing with a famous wine cellar – Daeran insisted, and clearing out the undead there was a good thing anyway – and advising some adventurous ‘neather teenagers to wait by the Grey Garrison entrance, Juniper and the others were heading through the market square when a crusader came hurrying up to them.

“Juniper Goldeneyes?” he asked, glancing up at her. “I want to make sure – news from Commander Tirabade.”

“That’s me,” Juniper confirmed, already thinking. “Is the Defender’s Heart under attack?”

“Not yet, but – she thinks it’s soon,” the messenger replied. “There were cultist forces moving around near the tavern.”

“Then we should hurry back,” Juniper decided. “Lead on.”

That got her a nod, and the armoured messenger got to moving.

“Lann, Seelah,” Juniper added. “You’re the quickest – make sure you’re up front. We’ll want to go right through anyone between us and the tavern. Then when we get to the tavern itself, you’ll be helping us punch through.”

Seelah laughed. “Got to say, it’s strange being told I move quick! But that’s how it is now, I guess.”

She patted Acemi on the neck. “Let’s hurry, girl.”

Juniper’s worst fears turned out not to be realized, and the tavern wasn’t – yet – surrounded when they got back. There were cultist and demon forces gathering, but between them Lann and Woljif managed to find a way through the outer perimeter, then some of the Eagle Watch defenders opened a gate and the whole party rushed through at once.

Sunrise Sword archers on the roof shot down the few cultists who tried to take advantage, then the gate was pushed closed again and Juniper sighed in relief.

“Great!” Woljif said. “That’s the hard part, now all we’ve got to do is, uh, survive the cultist attack?”

He scratched the back of his head with the pommel of a dagger. “Hey, chief? You don’t think I could maybe go back in the cells? That way they’d just think I was a cultist sympathizer.”

“Bit late for that,” Juniper pointed out. “I’m sure they’ve seen you with me… you could probably sell being forced to work with us, if you found a particularly forgiving cultist.”

“Forgiving cultists, right,” Woljif said. “That’s likely.”

Despite jeers and shouts, the attack didn’t come for hours.

Juniper ate, napped for an hour or so, then focused on her magic. She had some ideas that would probably work, especially in a situation like this, but working out what she wanted the magic to look like ahead of time would be a much better choice than just relying on pure instinct in the middle of a battle.

Irabeth told her a little about the battle plan and what they’d found out of the cultist plan. On the Eagle Watch side of things it was to have an outer perimeter keeping the enemy from getting into the yard, archers on the roofs, then an inner layer of defenders holding a shield wall to keep the refugees and civilians safe – and the cultists, aside from a general plan to kill them all, were also going to be using bombers with alchemist’s fire to try and burn the tavern down.

Juniper’s place in that was… much more wide ranging than what anyone else would be doing, and actually with more leeway than she’d expected. She and the eclectic group of companions she’d gathered over the last few days were entirely non- standard, much harder to fit into a military battle plan, and also more able to take care of themselves. And Irabeth didn’t have any real sense of what they were capable of.

“Not to mention, I don’t think Count Arendae would listen to me, I don’t think that wizard is going to listen to anyone except you, and Iomedae alone knows what would happen if I tried giving orders to the tiefling,” Irabeth admitted. “You’ve done good work so far, Juniper… and I don’t think I need to tell you how high the stakes are.”

“It’d be a bit redundant, yes,” Juniper agreed. “We stop them or we all die.”

Irabeth smiled, grimly. “That’s normal, Juniper,” she said. “The stakes are high because we stop them or Mendev falls – we simply don’t have any other way to neutralize the threat that Minagho offers to the Wardstone.”

J uniper exhaled, looking out the window at the dimming sky. “No pressure, then.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself.

Sunset’s light in her heart. A burning fury in her blood.

Deskari, flinching back from a crossbow bolt.

When she opened her eyes again, she felt ready .

“Hey, uh… chief?” Woljif said, a little nervously, listening to the angry sounds on the other side of the walls. “There’s a lot of them out there by the sounds of it… and I’m pretty sure they all want to get in here. So what’s the plan? I, uh, I’m assuming there is a plan, anyway.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lann told him, shrugging. “Just stab someone who looks ugly… wait, no, strike that.”

The ‘neather archer toyed with the string to his longbow. “I don’t want to get stabbed. So, just stab someone who looks ugly and is trying to get in to stab us, the rest will sort itself out.”

“But there’s loads of them!” Woljif protested. “Don’t you think I’d be better off handling something else?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe I should be back in the tavern making sure nobody breaks in through the windows. That’s important, right?”

“I think Hulrun might be in there,” Juniper replied, as the gate went thud. “You might be mistaken for an infiltrator. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan all sorted out.”

Camellia swallowed, fingering the hilt of her rapier. “I do hope they don’t succeed in killing us all,” she said. “It would be dreadfully inconvenient.”

“Ladders!” a Sunrise Sword archer reported, from the roof of the stables. “They’re bringing up ladders!”

“Lann,” Juniper said. “Do you think you can shoot down anyone trying to come over the walls?”

“As long as there’s not too many of them, sure,” Lann replied. “But if there’s too many of them, no chance.”

He shrugged. “You know, that’s how… numbers work, anyway.”

“It’ll do,” Juniper decided.

There was another thud.

“The gate’s about to give way!” one of the rooftop Sunrise Sword archers called. “Get ready!”

Juniper pointed. “Nenio, Daeran, you two go with Lann and help him cover the walls. Keep the main courtyard clear. Camellia, Woljif, you two are helping me with the main gate. Seelah, Ember, wherever seems to need help.”

“You mean we’re dealing with the crowd of angry cultists breaking the gate down?” Woljif asked, as Lann hurried over to take up a good firing stance – then dropped the first Deskarite over the wall. “Chief, I really think this isn’t-”

Arcane energy licked around Juniper’s paw, and she pointed sternly towards the gate just as it fell over. A flash of magic splashed out, dousing the whole of the gate, and the first half-dozen cultists through slipped over with cries of shock as their feet went right out from under them.

And, somewhat to their surprise, the two defending crusaders at the gate didn’t, despite the splash of greasy liquid covering the area they were standing as well.

“Whoa!” Woljif said, as the Sunrise Sword archers on high vantage points began peppering the mass of stalled cultists with arrows. “How did you do that?”

“Any sorceress knows,” Juniper replied, drawing Finnean from her waist. “It’s not how many spells you know, it’s how you use them! Now, let’s get to work!”

There were a lot of cultist attackers, trying to rush the gate to overwhelm them with numbers, and trying to scale the stable walls to outflank them, and Juniper did her level best to balance her attention between one thing and another.

Half the time, she was wielding Finnean to cut down cultists as they tried to cross the area of her Grease spell, or helping distract one as Camellia or Woljif darted in with one of their own blades to deliver the killing blow. But she was trying to see what was going on in the rest of the battle as well.

Ember had used a jet of flaming air once, stopping a Vrock that had tried flying down into the courtyard, then mostly stuck to cursing enemies into a sudden sleep… generally sticking to doing it just as they reached the top of the ladders, sending them toppling backwards, or dropping a demon or cultist into slumber in the middle of their trying to cut down a defending crusader, buying the defender some respite.

Nenio, for her part, was using her big crossbow to deliver surprisingly precise attacks. And Daeran was healing up one defender after another, pushing positive energy into them to counteract their wounds even as the wounds stacked up.

Lann was a machine, drawing-aiming-firing a new arrow every few seconds, or taking the extra time to aim to make sure he was hitting his target somewhere their armour didn’t cover. He had two spare quivers slung on his shoulders, one of them full of expensive cold-iron-tipped ammunition for use on demons, and it looked to Juniper like the ‘neather archer was responsible himself for at least a third of why the tavern was holding.

And Seelah was dashing back and forth on horseback, having traded out her sword and shield for a long spear, using it to strike up at cultists she couldn’t have reached with a sword.

“They really want to make friends with us,” Daeran said, stopping next to them for a moment to heal Camellia’s shield arm. “I know I’m pretty, but this is ridiculous.”

“This is what happens when you forget to specify that guests have to respond before attending,” Camellia replied. “Dreadful manners.”

Juniper glanced up at the sound of laughter, and saw the cultist from the Tower of Estrod. He’d managed to reach the blacksmith roof, and was gloating over the imminent triumph of Bahomet and Deskari’s forces.

Then one of his bodyguards fell over, stabbed in the kidneys by a suddenly-visible Greybor, and the dwarf assassin killed the other bodyguard before killing his target with a powerful axe blow.

Juniper was about to ask Greybor to help out further, but he drank a potion from his belt and shimmered back into invisibility.

Then she heard a crash from the other end of the yard, and turned to see what was going on.

A big, beefy minotaur was breaking the other gate down, splintering it into ruins as she watched, and the fighting elsewhere had drawn away all the crusaders on the outer perimeter. Three alchemists followed as she watched, and the minotaur snorted before his gaze locked onto her.

Juniper felt the integrity of her Grease spell – it would last a while longer – and ran out into the open space in the middle of the courtyard.

The minotaur intercepted her, bellowing as he brought an axe down, and Juniper ducked in closer to her opponent than he was expecting – flicking out with Finnean’s shortsword form, hitting the axe with enough force to stop him from sweeping it in to hit her.

Roaring in annoyance, the minotaur kicked out at her, and air whooshed out of Juniper’s lungs as the hoof-blow knocked her back and sent her rolling across the cobblestones. Lann fired an arrow, hitting the minotaur in the side, and Juniper got back to her paws just in time to avoid an axe-blow that split the cobblestone it hit.

“Focus on the alchemists!” she told Lann. “Finnean – spear!”

The shortsword blurred into a spear, and she adjusted her grip before jabbing at the minotaur’s eyes. He flinched back, then growled, and this time raised both axes at once.

Juniper switched Finnean back to a shortsword and backpedalled, dodging both attacks, then used the living weapon to parry and deflect a crosswise sweep. Even the impact of that drove her backwards and spun her around, but she gasped out a spell as she landed and her outline blurred into near-invisibility.

The minotaur stopped, baffled, then Acemi charged and Seelah hit the minotaur from behind. Lowing, the monstrous humanoid whirled, batting the staff out of Seelah’s hand, then two more arrows hit it from both Lann and one of the Sunrise Sword archers.

Crouching, Juniper leapt. She snatched the purple stone dagger from her waist and drove it into the minotaur’s back, holding on as her illusion faded and the minotaur tried to throw her off, then tensed and hauled herself higher using both the dagger and Finnean as anchor points.

Ember launched a bolt of flame at the minotaur, then Juniper had a good position, and she drew Finnean out for long enough to stab the brute in the spine.

It gasped, arching its back – then collapsed backwards with a moan.

Juniper only just got out of the way in time.

Juniper’s memory of the actual end of the battle was a bit hazy – something about the after-effects of climbing a minotaur and stabbing it to death, despite being theoretically a sorceress – but Irabeth gave her the summary afterwards.

They’d taken minimal actual casualties, the cultists had only got into the courtyard with that final minotaur-led rush before breaking and running once they saw what Juniper had done, and even the defenders on the outer buildings were likely to recover thanks to Daeran and Ember’s quick medical help. The cultists, meanwhile, had taken serious casualties and it was likely that they’d take days at least before being able to muster another attack.

With all that said, though, there were some unanswered questions. Something very strange had happened in the basement of the Defender’s Heart, involving some refugees from elsewhere in Kenabres and a burst of intense cold, and Juniper followed Irabeth down to investigate for some minutes before shaking her head.

“I’ve got no idea, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “There’s… something about weakness in reality, but I can’t tell that apart easily from the general influence of the Worldwound.”

Irabeth shrugged. “It was worth a try,” she said. “So… thank you, Juniper. And I suppose I’ll have to thank the Count Arendae as well.”

“You’ll have a lot more than him to thank,” Anevia called, from the stairs.

“Yes, but he’s the one I’m regretting,” Irabeth grumbled. “Juniper – here. We found this, and you’re as likely as anyone to have a use for it.”

It was a sort of crystalline rod, which had ice magic woven around it in a way Juniper couldn’t immediately decipher but found quite fascinating.

“Maybe we’ll find out what happened to them,” Irabeth added. “It’s a shame – they’d fought their way across town to bring warning, and this hardly seems like a fitting end.”

“It might not be an end,” Juniper replied, taking the steps out of the basement. “If someone had tried to describe me a few days ago, they’d have thought I met my end.”

“That’s a fine way to think of it!” Anevia complimented her. “See, that positive attitude of yours, it’s always good to see.”

As Juniper entered the main room of the inn, there was a crash sound from above.

She stopped, looking up, and took a wary step back – then the ceiling gave way in a shower of splinters, and a griffin fell through to land with a ground-shaking thud on the wood.

Shaking itself out and shedding splinters in all directions, the griffin looked around, then relaxed – and, in a blur of transformative magic, turned into a man. A human.

A tall human, as well, and wearing clothes that were at once out-of-date and very familiar. But Juniper only had a moment to try and work out how to react, before the man took two quick steps towards her.

“Are you in charge here?” he asked, loudly. “Or is it that armoured one over there? And where the hells am I?”

Juniper just looked back, matching his stare, and behind him she heard Irabeth muttering something.

“Just let her handle it,” Anevia advised.

The griffin-man gave an approving snort after a moment. “All right,” he said. “You I can respect… now, as I was saying. Where am I? Tavern, obviously, but apart from that.”

“Kenabres,” Juniper replied.

“Kenabres?” the man repeated, shaking his head. “How’s that possible? It’s a fishing village. It’s not big enough for a tavern like this, and I know I saw a city outside.”

“You were in the Blackwing Library, weren’t you?” Juniper asked, making a guess but a good one. “There was a stone griffin, then it came to life… I think you looked the same, when you came through the roof.”

“Library…” the man said, considering. “You’d have been there as well, then? Think I recognize you from somewhere.”

He stroked his chin. “It’s strange… the memories are there, but they’re all fragmented. And I don’t know how I got here… but what I do want to know is where the bloody hell am I?”

“I already told you,” Juniper said. “But… you’re Sarkorian, right?”

“Of course I am!” the man agreed. “Ulbrig Olesk, chief of the clan. If we’re anywhere near Sarkoris you’ll have heard of it.”

“The Olesks?” Finnean asked. “So you’re that chief of theirs who went missing.”

“Who said that?” Ulbrig asked, then stared as Juniper brought out Finnean. “No, no, I’ll be having none of that. That’s Oglin nonsense, right there.”

“We’re fighting demons, not fey,” Finnean retorted. “I may be a pathfinder but I’ve not forgotten my roots! Point is, you’ve been missing for a long time, the world won’t be like how you left it.”

Ulbrig folded his arms. “I won’t be lectured by a damn sword. Look, I saw that this city’s under attack from Oglins and their doings, so I’ll work with you to help out. I doubt your enemies will be expecting the wrath of a griffin!”

“That would be a help,” Juniper agreed, then frowned. “Though – I have to ask. If you’re from Old Sarkoris-”

“Just Sarkoris,” Ulbrig interrupted.

“-then do you have problems working with arcane spellcasters?” Juniper pressed. “I myself am a sorceror.”

Ulbrig frowned, looking torn.

“I won’t say it’s enough by itself to say no,” he answered. “But it’s a problem, right enough. Can’t deny it, I’d be more comfortable if you were something else…”

Juniper waited, and Ulbrig sighed.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, mind,” he said. “But there’s no way you’re from Sarkoris, so maybe you’re not so bad.”

Now that the Defender’s Heart was safe once more, and the attack on the Grey Garrison nearly ready, Juniper took her team out for one last strike before the move to reach the Wardstone.

She had unfinished business in the Tower of Estrod.

Fortunately, they didn’t face any trouble on the way to the museum, and Juniper and Woljif crawled up the same collapsed ramp Greybor had been waiting on.

“There they are,” Woljif whispered, indicating one of the cultists gathered in the round space below them. “That one with the mace has to be the one in charge. And, chief, that mark on his forehead looks ugly to me.”

Juniper examined the cultist for a long moment, doing her best to parse the magic.

“It’s… a curse,” she said. “It’s causing him pain, I think.”

“A curse?” Ulbrig repeated, from not far behind her, and Juniper turned to see that he’d scaled the rubble too.

The big Sarkorian shivered, then crossed his fingers, and spat over his shoulder. “Begone, Nixie, one two three! Your foul ways won’t work on me!”

“You know, that won’t work on demon curses,” Seelah said. “We’re fighting demons, not fae. And I don’t think it’d even work on fae.”

“Shows what you know,” Ulbrig replied. “I’ve been doing this all my life, and I’m still curse free. See?”

“Will you quiet down?” Woljif hissed.

“Who’s there?” the cultist leader asked.

“We’re here to hear how you’re doing!” Juniper replied, standing up. “And I’m not impressed right now.”

“Nice try,” the cultist replied. “But I recognize you – I heard about you from the attack on that stupid inn in the northeast quarter.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a double agent?” Woljif said, quickly. “No wonder you got cursed.”

“Then why is there a paladin behind you?” the cultist asked.

Seelah looked embarrassed. “Well…”

That manic energy from the Blackwing Library was nowhere that Juniper could feel it, which might have been why her bluff just wasn’t working this time, and Juniper tutted before casting a Grease spell right into the mass of cultists and demons in the middle of the antechamber.

Several of them fell over with shouts of rage or pain, and Juniper pointed.

“Ulbrig – that pillar!” she said, pointing at one about a third of the way around the room. “Push it over and roll it down onto them! Everyone else, keep the standing ones from reaching him!”

“Fine by me,” Lann agreed.

Ulbrig looked torn for a moment, then broke into a run. He vaulted up from one of the collapsed sections of the room, aiming for the cracked pillar, and Juniper glanced left and right before launching a bolt of force at one of the Dretches.

It yelped, distracted from producing a cloud of stinking gas, then Ember used one of her own magic tricks and forced the little demon to pass out.

A moment later, Ulbrig shoved on the pillar, and it creeeaked before cracking and rolling down. About half the cultists got out of the way in time, but the other half were flattened by several tons of rolling marble.

Juniper heard a sound to her right, and saw a Baphomet cultist was hauling himself up to their level and getting a glaive ready to strike. Before he actually did, though, Camellia slipped past and stabbed the cultist in the heart – sending him toppling backwards with a crash of armour.

Then Daeran cast a spell that consumed most of the remaining demons and cultists alike with fear. They began running back and forth in all directions, not sure which way to go to avoid the attackers, and Seelah charged in on Acemi’s back to lay about her with her sword.

“You know, boss, now I think about it…” Woljif mused. “If we’d been all sneaky about it, we could have pushed down that pillar over there as well, and hit them from two sides.”

“That’s true,” Juniper agreed. “The difficult thing is preparing that ahead of time… I can hide myself, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to push that pillar over.”

“Good point,” Woljif agreed. “Worth a try, though, right?”

Going into the lower sections of the Tower of Estrod, Juniper and her companions ran into a flustered half-elf who simply assumed that they were cultists working for the now-dead Faxon.

Bemused, Juniper asked him what was going on, and he explained how they’d decieved the museum custodian and been looting the place on orders from someone called Xanthir Vang. The name didn’t mean anything to Juniper, but the half-elf belatedly realized that that meant she wasn’t a cultist and then tried to destroy all the letters from Vang.

By eating them.

Not really sure how to react, Juniper watched in silent amazement – until the hapless half-elf began to choke, whereupon she yanked the letters back out and the cultist collapsed to hands and knees.

“I don’t care if it’s important, I am not touching those,” Camellia said, firmly.

Then the cultist scampered up the stairs, mumbling something, and Juniper held out her paw to stop Lann from following.

“That was the start of a dimension door spell,” she explained. “He’s going to be gone by now.”

She examined the chewed-up letters, already running through her cleaning cantrip in her mind. “Well… by the looks of these letters, whoever this Xanthir Vang is, he’s a skilled potioneer… and someone who thinks he’s the only competent cultist in his whole organization.”

“Can you blame him?” Woljif asked. “If that guy’s a spellcaster there’s way better ways to destroy incriminating documents than eating them. I’ve got three ways I can think of!”

He counted on his fingers. “Fire spell… alchemist’s fire… just don’t have them in the first place! Have these people never heard of destroying things that might get them in trouble?”

“Maybe they’re not sure they can remember the contents of the letter without a constant reminder,” Daeran suggested.

Juniper finished looking through the letters, and cast her cleaning cantrip. Then she looked between her companions.

“He said the custodian was tricked, right?” she checked. “Which means he’s probably still alive… the question is, where is he?”

“No, the question is, is there anything here they didn’t take that could be useful?” Woljif asked. “You guys look over there, I’ll check this storeroom.”

The central chamber of the basement held several plinths, which each had a label explaining what should have been there – the wand of the martyr Zacharias, a mage from decades before, had been shown side by side with a lost claw from Terendelev and a vessel full of blessed oil.

Juniper ran her paw along the place where the claw had been, feeling the faintest shiver of something trying to get her attention, but it passed before she’d even worked out what it could be.

“Yes!” Woljif called. “Result!”

“What’s that?” Juniper replied.

“Oh – uh – nothing!” Woljif called back, not-particularly-convincingly. “But, uh, I just remembered I had a mithril chainshirt in my… bag.”

That was going to be hard to decide, Juniper knew. The great merit of mithril was that it was much lighter than other metals for how strong it was, and relatedly that armour made out of it was much less restrictive and much easier to cast arcane magic in.

And it had to be admitted, a lot of Juniper’s companions were not especially physically strong. Nenio had trouble lifting her crossbow… but having her wear it would probably be a waste, since she couldn’t move easily in it with her crossbow, and she’d be staying near the back of a fight.

Perhaps Camellia? Or Woljif himself, for that matter, since he was both a spellcaster and a dagger-fighter.

She’d have to think about it.

Then one of the doors opened, and an elderly man looked out.

“Did any of you see where that charming young man went?” he asked.

“You mean the cultist?” Juniper asked, making a mental note to chase up the chainshirt later.

“Cultist?” the old man asked. “Oh, there might be cultists coming here…”

He looked puzzled. “What are you doing here? Do any of you know where the exhibits went? My old master’s wand should be on that plinth there.”

“Is he all right?” Lann said, quietly.

“The young man who was here before was a cultist, looting the museum,” Juniper explained.

That made the man – the custodian, she was sure – frown, worried, and fiddle with a wand by his side.

“Cultists?” he said. “I’ll be sure to stop them! I’ve still got battle magic to use, you know!”

As Juniper watched, though, the worried expression faded.

“What were you asking?” the custodian said.

“Pah,” Ulbrig snorted. “It’s obvious what’s happened. This mage has traded his mind to the fae for spells, and that’s left him befuddled and useless.”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Ember replied. “He’s seen terrible things, and his mind runs away from them, so he forgets. It’s like me.”

She touched her hands together. “For him it’s the war he was in, and for me, it’s… I don’t remember what. But that’s what it is.”

“Of course you’d defend him, you’re a witch too,” Ulbrig grumbled.

Juniper closed her eyes for a moment, fighting down her instinctive reactions.

The idea of a mind that struggled this much to concentrate… of losing so much of what made her her… it was something that made her afraid, and she shied away from thinking about it.

“Is there anything left?” she asked, then held up her paw. “No, you won’t remember… listen, there’s a battle going on in the city, and we’ll need anything useful that’s left. Then we’ll take you to the Defender’s Heart, that’s a safe place.”

The custodian mumbled something to himself, about how his master had wanted his wand to be passed to a worthy crusader, and Juniper winced.

If she was right, that master was Zacharias… and the chances of a worthy crusader finding his wand would be pretty minimal now that it had been stolen.

The last hours before the Grey Garrison attack were full of an odd, singing tension in a way that was hard to properly describe.

Juniper would be taking her companions, some thieflings, and the Flaming Lance mages through the secret tunnel into the Garrison, while Irabeth, Staunton and the Eagle Watch mounted a frontal assault to distract the demonic forces in the building. Then everything was ultimately dedicated to getting Juniper and her purple stone dagger up to the top floor, to strike at the same spot on the Wardstone that Minagho’s cultists had been working on.

The loss of the entire attacking force would be worth it. That was the logic they were using. And Juniper hoped it wouldn’t come to that… the demons and cultists had to be in disarray for all kinds of reasons, and if everything went well they’d be focused on Irabeth’s frontal assault.

It should work. But it might be her last day, and Juniper was torn between trying to philosophically accept that and distract herself from it.

A drink with Seelah and her friends, including the halfling she’d tried the festival mead with in the last moments before everything had gone to the abyss. A long discussion with the Storyteller, about some of the stories he’d encountered in the Stolen Lands he’d been travelling before coming to Kenabres.

Reading some of the books she’d scavenged from the library or the Gwerm mansion.

Lying on her bed, trying to get to sleep.

Then the light of dawn began to shine into the room, and Juniper checked her equipment.

It was time.

The hardest bit about getting into the Grey Garrison was squeezing Acemi through the smuggling tunnel.

A normal horse simply wouldn’t have been possible, but Acemi’s connection with Seelah meant that she wasn’t a normal horse any more, and though it took Ulbrig, Seeah, Lann and one of Juniper’s Grease spells they managed to get her through the narrowest section an into the Grey Garrison basement.

“It’s a pity none of us know a spell to shrink you, huh, girl?” Seelah asked, patting Acemi on the neck. “Well, that’s all there is to it… everyone ready?”

“I think I broke a nail,” Camellia complained.

“Not comfortable about this bit,” Ulbrig grumbled, as the five Flaming Lance crusaders took their positions for a ritual.

Juniper made sure everyone in her group was inside the circle of Flaming Lance mages, then took a deep breath.

Klaem had told her about this, but she still hadn’t been sure it would work.

Then the five of them began casting the same spell, all at once, and it kept going. Most spells took seconds to fire off, and you could sometimes trim even more time off that, but the Flaming Lance ritual spread out for twice as long as any spell Juniper could remember – and kept going, for twenty seconds.

Thirty.

The magic wove together, forming a kind of self-perpetuating matrix that was absorbing all the magic the five mages were putting into it… then Klaem made a sharp gesture, and the matrix finished forming.

And energy flowed over Juniper, into and through her, charging her up with fluid grace as a Haste spell effect spread over the entire group.

“It worked!” Klaem said, relieved. “I… think?”

“I think so too,” Juniper replied, doing a mental calculation based on the magic structure she’d seen. “This should last… about three and a half hours. It’s amazing.”

Klaem winced. “The problem is, we can’t do it again , but… it should give you the edge you need.”

“Fascinating!” Nenio declared.

“Then let’s get going, people,” Juniper said. “We know a way to the top floor, but… unfortunately, that gave way behind us. And this place will be crawling with cultists."

Chapter Text

The first few skirmishes went almost entirely their own way, with only a few wounds for Daeran to heal, then they reached the middle floor of the Garrison and saw Irabeth’s attack go in a floor below.

It was delivered with bravery and fury, the Eagle Watch and Sunrise Sword volunteers pushing deep into the Grey Garrison’s main atrium, then it broke up into a series of knots of cultists and crusaders fighting back and forth and Juniper tore her eyes away

“Let’s go,” she said, keeping to the wall side of the balcony – away from the open space where the main fighting was taking place.

“Amen, sister,” Seelah concurred. “They’re taking the brunt of the fighting, we shouldn’t waste that.”

“Oh, I would hate that,” Daeran said. “For crusaders to fight demons without it being any good at all… we might have spent a century at war and not gained any ground at all.”

Then he saw the state of the floor between them and the stairs to the upper floor, and winced. “My word. That’s going to be expensive to fix.”

“We’re going to have to take a detour,” Juniper agreed, trying the nearby doors – to no avail. “I think we’ll need to go back down to the ground floor and find another set of stairs up…”

T he Grey Garrison had probably made sense before, but with the collapsed sections and jammed doors it ended up more of a maze than anything.

Woljif, Lann and Juniper crept around, identifying patrolling cultists or demons, then either called in the rest of the group to hit them with overwhelming force or went around to try and find another route. Sometimes there wasn’t another option, though, and sometimes whatever was going on was simply something that Juniper couldn’t face leaving.

They linked up with the teenaged ‘neathers, who helped the strike team clear out some Dretches, then Juniper told them firmly that they needed to keep the area safe – to make sure that she and her companions had a way to evacuate, if everything went wrong.

It was also a convenient excuse to keep kids out of the fighting, one way or another.

Lann didn’t say anything, but Juniper recognized the look he had… he knew what she was doing, and he seemed to approve.

Then, still on the lower floor, Woljif tested one of the doors, then opened it.

It turned out that the room on the other side had a circle of a dozen cultists, led by an alchemist.

“Uh oh,” Woljif said, under his breath. “Have you finished yet?”

“As a matter of fact, we need someone to test our work on,” the alchemist replied. “You’ll do.”

“Nenio!” Juniper called, physically shoving the wizard in front of the door. “Now!”

“Hm?” Nenio asked, then brightened. “Oh! Yes, I’d be delighted to do a collaboration! Now, if we’re going to do this double blind we need a control group and a baseline. Any volunteers?”

That question seemed to catch the alchemist completely off guard. “A control group?” he asked. “This is a poison, not a mind control serum.”

Nenio sniffed. “How do you expect to be able to tell if your poison is an improvement without measuring how it performs relative to a placebo?”

The cultists muttered to one another, asking what a placebo was, and Juniper rubbed her temples with a paw.

“I meant the scroll,” she said.

“I suppose you could… oh, you mean this scroll,” Nenio realized, taking it from her belt, and cast the spell written on it. A fireball flashed into the room, detonating with a roar, and Ulbrig and Camellia ran in on the heels of the explosion.

Back up on the middle floor after taking a hidden staircase, Juniper glanced back at Seelah and the others some way down the corridor.

How far back to have them was all a compromise between being able to help out in a fight, and not alerting cultists who they could leave unalerted.

“You know, chief, it’s not helping much when we don’t know how this place is laid out,” Woljif admitted. “I’d love to have someone with us who knew which room was what.”

“That’s true,” Juniper admitted, quietly, and frowned. “But if I’ve got this right, then this building should connect to the central atrium… maybe the door’s jammed from this side too, but it’d be good to check on how the fight’s going on in there.”

“You’re the boss,” one of the other thieflings decided. “Okay, here goes.”

He turned the handle, slightly, until it was about a quarter turn around.

“Not locked,” he reported. “And… now.”

He pushed, and Juniper saw bookshelves as the door opened. Bookshelves, and barrels – and a familiar cultist.

Her tails all stood on end at once, and she pulled Woljif and the Thieflings back.

“What’s up?” Woljif asked, surprise making him louder than he should have been, and inside the room Chaleb looked up – then to his left, as a door next to him opened a moment later.

A group of armoured cultists entered the library, and the leader of them looked around in confusion. “What’s all this?” she demanded.

“Stop!” Chaleb said, waving his arms. “You can’t come in, I was told to rig this-”

Then the alchemist’s fire detonated.

Most of the explosion was contained in the library itself, leaving Juniper’s fur only a little singed, but all the cultists in the room – Chaleb included – were wiped out in a single blast.

Juniper felt an insane urge to giggle welling up, making her paws tingle, and a slender man who looked like an elf strode out from behind one of the burning shelves.

“A marvellous joke!” he applauded. “Keep it up and I might invite you to join our club!”

Then he vanished.

Juniper took a quick look out at how the fighting was going on the ground floor of the atrium, and it looked like the distraction was still working – but, before she ducked back into the library, she saw signs that it wasn’t quite working as intended .

Irabeth and most of the Eagle Watch had formed a shield wall, with Sunrise Sword archers sweeping the floor in front of them, but Staunton had ended up isolated and blocked from Irabeth’s view on the far side of a big statue of Iomedae. And, as she watched, Juniper saw Minagho teleport in, then grab hold of Staunton despite his protests and vanish off with him again.

It was a terrible thing to think, but Juniper had to hope that Minagho would be distracted for another few minutes at least.

The way to get to the upper floors was blocked off by a locked door, one that neither Woljif nor their thiefling assistants could get through, and that led to a hurried ransacking of every room the strike team had already cleared, along with checking the pockets of dead cultists.

That turned up all sorts of things, from a glittering silver dagger to page written in an ancient dialect of elvish, but no key. Once she was sure of that, Juniper pointed them to the buildings that had to exist and that they hadn’t been in just yet.

Irabeth and her soldiers were fighting and dying to buy them time, driving them to move as fast as possible, but even then one particular door gave them pause. It swung open, revealing a small room turned upside down by cultists and with a single window… and a woman in a long, elegant dress looking out of it, facing away from the door.

“So many plans, gone up in smoke in this city,” the woman said, in a voice that Juniper recognized. “But my plans are still awaiting…”

The woman vanished like smoke, and Juniper paused, reaching for her chest.

Her wound was pulsing with her heartbeat. Not reopened, but aching… and she felt dizzy, like the ground was moving under her paws.

Where did she know that voice from?

“Heaven!” Seelah gasped, from behind her. “That was Areelu Vorlesh, in the flesh! The architecht of the worldwound herself.”

“Let me see!” Nenio demanded. “Miss Vorlesh, I have so many questions for – oh, you’ve gone.”

She sighed. “Oh well.”

“I’ve got questions for her, too,” one of the Flaming Lance wizards murmured.

“Hey,” Lann said, tapping Juniper on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Just… confused,” Juniper replied. “I’m not sure why, but seeing her so close was… unsettling.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Lann agreed. “Think you can keep going?”

Juniper clamped down on her first, defensive response.

“I… think I’m fine,” she decided. “Let’s check for that key.”

They didn’t have any luck in that room, and with time and options running out Juniper led the whole team to the far western side of the floor.

It was about the only place unaccounted for on the floor that wasn’t just the atrium itself, and Juniper really hoped this would work out.

“Sounds on the far side,” Woljif reported. “Sounds like there’s cultists in there, boss.”

“Right,” Juniper agreed. “We’ll have to go in hard and fast.”

“On it!” Ulbrig said. “They’ll have to deal with the holy griffin!”

He pressed a palm to his chest, and flashed with transformative magic as he turned into the same form he’d taken as a statue – and when he’d fallen through the roof of the Defender’s Heart.

Rearing up and flapping his wings once for stability, he slammed his forelegs into the doors, and they opened like giant flyswatters with an earthshaking bang sound.

Juniper hadn’t exactly known he was about to do that, but nor had anyone else . She reacted quickly enough, moving around to get a good look, and assessed the enemies in the room quickly enough.

Demons – schir, abrikandilu and babau. Cambions, half-demons born in the abyss. Cultists, including a high-ranking cultist, standing up from the head of a dining table and readying a wicked-looking scythe.

About an even fight, she thought.

Then there was a shout, and the flash of a powerful spell. Three of Prelate Hulrun’s top inquisitors emerged into the room in a burst of magic, the Dimension Door that brought them giving Juniper just a hint of how they’d got here – Prelate Hulrun himself having done it, if she was any judge – and the squad leader shouted a prayer to Iomedae.

“Crossbow,” she told Finnean. “Lann, Ember – the lead cultist! Everyone else, charge!”

The fighting in that desecrated room was harsher than anything else so far, and the scythe-wielding lead cultist had ducked behind the table before Lann managed to hit her with an arrow anywhere vital. She’d then summoned a swarm of stinging, biting insects, distracting the strike team and inquisitors while her allies lashed out, and the combination had led the fight to hang in the balance for several long moments.

Ulbrig had saved them, in the end. An enchanted swarm-bane amulet shining around his neck, he’d slapped the insect swarms away with mighty blows and wing-buffets before snatching the cultist leader out from behind the table, enduring a vicious blow from her scythe to keep her held grimly in the line of fire – and Lann and Ember between them had taken full advantage, arrows and fire spells combining to finish her off.

It had left everyone needing to recover, though, and Daeran and Seelah spent more than a minute burning through almost all the healing magic they had left while Woljif went through the contents of the room.

“Found it!” he said, holding up a key. “Knew someone had to have it.”

“At least that’s good news,” Ulbrig grumbled, back in human form. “This place makes my feathers itch… the gods here are all wrong.”

“Hey!” Seelah protested, then frowned. “Though… now I think about it, that’s right! You must have been frozen since not long after Iomedae ascended… wow, she’s been so much a part of my life, it’s strange to think of her like that.”

“The Crusade’s been so much of Mendev for so long, I’m not sure there’s anything else left of the country,” Daeran said. “It’s almost enough to make one envious of Sarkoris. At least Sarkoris has a recognizable core.”

Juniper didn’t say anything, but she did think about that.

A century of war… it was hard to wrap your head around it.

And Queen Galfrey had ruled Mendev for all that time…

She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts.

“Everyone ready?” she asked, and got a series of nods. “We’ve got our route up to the top floor now, we should hurry.”

Reaching down, she touched the purple stone knife. “One way or another, it ends here.”

As soon as they were through the locked door, and past the collapsed section of floor, Juniper suddenly halted and tried not to curse.

Staunton was there, on one knee and wounded, and Minagho was opposite him. The demoness had chosen a terrible place to take her prey, and there was no way they were getting through this without being seen.

“Staunton, darling,” Minagho said, sounding hurt. “After all we’ve been through, and you don’t believe me?”

“Get away from me, witch,” Staunton replied hoarsely.

“Aww, such a temper!” Minagho gasped. “You’re so devoted to that queen of yours… despite everything she’s done to you! I could almost be jealous.”

“He’s so hurt,” Ember murmured. “He’s been hurting for such a long time…”

“And what are you doing here?” Minagho said, turning to them.

Staunton forced himself upright, and swung his axe at the demoness. The blade bit deep, forcing a cry of pain from her, and he ran past Minagho and upstairs.

“Ow!” Minagho protested. “Don’t be so petty, darling!”

Then she vanished, teleporting again, and Juniper only had to think for a moment.

“If we’re ever getting a chance, it’s now,” she said. “Come on!”

There was only one obstacle in their way on the top floor, a heavily armed minotaur, and as soon as she saw him Juniper touched one of her tails to Woljif.

The thiefling vanished, turning transparent for a moment, then Seelah and the minotaur crashed into one another as she charged Acemi down the corridor. The impact knocked Seelah off her horse, the paladin hitting the ground with a crash of plate armour, then the minotaur lowed in pain and collapsed as Woljif took out his ankles.

“Thanks, chief,” he said, reappearing, then reversed one of his daggers and made sure the minotaur was dead. “Hey, Seelah, you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Seelah admitted, getting up with a wince, and supported herself with a hand over Acemi’s shoulder. “We can’t stop now.”

They couldn’t, and it was only moments later that Juniper stood in front of the Wardstone.

She inhaled, then exhaled, and clutched the stone knife.

It trembled slightly, and she looked more closely. Now she was looking this closely, with the stone knife tingling in her paw, there was something… different.

She looked deeper , and saw… ranks of warriors, in white and red. White filled with determination, red touched by despair and indignation.

Both bearing great pain…

Juniper looked deeper, for understanding, and her sight changed again. Numbers and facts became self-evident, and the truth of the Wardstone revealed itself at last.

The warriors were… angels. Ranks of angels, formed into the shape of the Wardstone as they had been for decades. The red warriors were the corruption in the heart of the Wardstone, those angels who had been so exhausted and disillusioned by the endless struggle to hold back the corruption of the Worldwound that they had begun wanting to escape – just to end their torment.

But an Aeon’s eyes revealed all truths, and the truth as an Aeon saw it was that these wardstones were as much a corruption of the true order of things as the Worldwound itself.

Juniper was at a moment of leverage. She could use her stone knife to strike, and destroy the Wardstone, freeing all the angels within to go to heaven or whatever other plane most fitted them now.

She could use her stone knife to strike, and destroy the corruption.

She could use her stone knife to strike, and destroy the Wardstone with all the angels inside.

She could turn away from using the knife, and offer a promise of rest to the red angels, sending them into a dreamless sleep of rest to wait for the unbinding of the Wardstone and their relief.

She could turn away from using the knife, and unleash the rage that curled in her blood, and then she did not know what would happen.

Times and ways and history pressed on her, from all directions and all dimensions, in a frozen moment when all that mattered was her decision.

Her paw moved-

This exchange has been terminated and logged in my memory.

Never. Not likely. Maybe. Possibly. Probably. Definitely!

Your words ring hollow.

-Juniper found herself sprawled on the stone floor, with a mist of blue and gold in the air, and the blue sky overhead.

The Wardstone was missing, and so was the roof.

“Now that was a sight to see!” Seelah said, but Juniper barely heard her over the rushing in her ears.

The pain in her chest, where her wound dripped blood into her fur.

The overwhelming sensation of… potential. And power . Power that was like golden dust coiling around her in waves, power that filled her up, power that made her blood race and her heart sing, filled her lungs until she felt ready to burst into song, ran a tingling sensation down her nerves, coiled around her back like it was trying to touch limbs she didn’t have.

Then it exploded out of her, all at once, lifting her into the air and setting her gently on her paws. It flowed outwards to all her companions, gilding them in dust like sunlight given form, and ran down one of her tails in a tracery like lacework which shed dust with every twitch.

“It’s so bright…” Ember whispered.

Then, suddenly, Minagho was there.

She hadn’t teleported in. She hadn’t materialized, or run through a door. She had just… been hidden, until that very moment. And she looked as surprised as they were.

“How did you get here?” she asked. “What have you done to the Wardstone?”

“Did you miss it?” Daeran inquired. “I would have thought the explosion was quite hard to miss, even for someone lacking in eyes such as yourself.”

Minagho clapped her hands, and demons appeared all around them. Not the weaker demons they’d fought on the lower floors, either – vrocks and succubi, a marilith and a nabasu.

“And you’re wounded!” the lilitu added. “This will be easy!”

She was wrong. The wound didn’t hurt at all, any more. All there was was power, singing like fire.

J uniper reached for her waist, drawing Finnean, and a fierce smile formed on her muzzle.

“Charge!” she shouted, and suited action to words. Her first blow tore a Vrock in half, then she shouted a spell with her free paw held out and a spike of lightning shattered two succubi in a single spell that she couldn’t have possibly cast a minute ago.

Lann was attacking, as well, and Ember, and Ulbrig, and all her companions. Lann’s arrows struck like thunderbolts, Camellia’s rapier punched right through armour as easily as flesh… Woljif dodged smartly underneath the marilith’s tail and stabbed it in the base of the neck with a single fluid motion, while a whispered sleep spell from Nenio sent the nabasu demon slumping into unconsciousness and Daeran brained it with a mace.

“What… what is this?” Minagho demanded, stepping back, all her bravado gone as Juniper and her companions tore her elite squad apart. One of Lann’s arrows hit her in the shoulder, biting home with a crunch, and she barely managed to stop the next attack with a powerful spell that would normally have sufficed for a catapult shell. “Where is your power coming from?”

Juniper didn’t know.

It was hard for her to remember who she was. Where she was. Part of her was fracturing, like ice under pressure. But she knew Minagho was her enemy, and she knew Minagho was losing.

“Minagho!” Staunton called, from the nearby doors. “To me!”

Minagho backed away, hiding behind the dwarf, and it took Juniper a long moment to focus.

“Why?” she asked, breathing heavily, and she saw that she was holding Finnean in her left paw and Radiance in her right.

When had that happened?

“Demons can’t love!” Juniper added, trying to focus through the chaos in her mind and soul.

“You think I don’t know that?” Staunton demanded. “I’d rather fake affection than all this – not once! Not once has my god responded to my prayers! Well, I’m sick of it!”

“Did she promise you Drezen?” Juniper pressed. “You have to know that’s not worth it!”

“What do you know of worth?” Staunton spat back, then turned slightly. “Minagho – get us out of here!”

Demon and dwarf vanished, and Juniper sank to her knees in the ravaged Grey Garrison.

Her head felt like it was about to burst open.

They’d won.

But she didn’t have the first clue how .

After the Grey Garrison battle, the next several hours passed in a blur.

There was a massive party, held in the Defender’s Heart, with Irabeth awkwardly unsure how to take the chaotic celebration that sprawled out across the entire tavern and most of the courtyard as well.

The Queen of Mendev was a surprise presence at the feast, delighting in tweaking Irabeth while also congratulating her, and Juniper nodded her respect to Queen Galfrey according to her social position with respect to the monarch – a social inferior, certainly, but not a subject, and someone being honoured for a great achievement.

(how did she know such arcane rules of conduct?)

The intense burst of wild-running power from the Grey Garrison had faded, but only been banked – not extinguished – and conversations with Ember and Woljif and Seelah revealed that every one of her companions had been touched by it as well, making them stronger or quicker in some indefinable way.

“They’re calling it a blessing from Iomedae,” Seelah added, and Juniper didn’t know what to say.

(she had too many things to say)

“Is your tail going to keep doing that?” Lann said, pointing to the patterns of golden dust woven into the fur. “I know you were doing a good job sneaking earlier, but that’s going to give you away at night, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Juniper had to admit.

(she didn’t know anything about this)

(she knew too many things about this)

Ulbrig cornered her and said he didn’t like what had happened, and he especially didn’t like that her power had somehow flowed into him, then relented slightly and admitted that it had somehow given him one of the things he’d wanted – the power to take on his griffin form indefinitely, rather than for a few minutes at a time.

“So… thanks,” he said. “For that, at least.”

“However it worked, I’m glad of that,” Juniper said.

(everyone was talking about her power)

(golden dust seethed around her paw sometimes, but she didn’t know how to use it)

Nenio offered to experiment to find out how her power worked. Daeran suggested a new line of Grey Garrison toys where the roof exploded off. Camellia told her that she’d need to replace her entire wardrobe.

The crusaders were starting to call her Juniper Goldentail.

She was-

She didn’t know who she was any more.

(had she ever known?)

Chapter Text

Two sleepless nights later, Queen Galfrey asked Juniper to come to a clearing outside Kenabres, and Juniper found an army camp there.

That was one more surprise on top of everything else, and it was compounded when the Queen of Mendev announced to the gathered soldiers that that day was the first day of the Fifth Mendevian Crusade against the Worldwound.

And Juniper was to be the commander. Not someone who was actually qualified to do it, nor someone who had experience.

When that thought crossed Juniper’s mind it was immediately followed by the insistent thought that the Queen had picked someone who fit all those criteria, which just made it harder to concentrate on what that even meant, and Juniper tamped down ruthlessly on that thought for now.

She was introduced to Sosiel Vanic, a cleric who would be joining her band of companions, and to Nurah Dendiwar, a bard, jill-of-all-trades and a researcher and historian who would be offering advice on the complexities of the Worldwound.

“It’s… a pleasure to meet you,” Juniper tried, and Nurah smiled at her.

“The pleasure’s all mine!” the halfling said. “Oh, it’s going to be fascinating to watch the army’s progress – I might even be able to get a book out of it!”

Then Queen Galfrey smiled.

“Ah, here he is,” she said. “Dear cousin, so glad you could join us.”

“I had a little time to spare,” Daeran replied. “Juniper, it’s been a delight, but I’m afraid I’ll be leaving for my estate in the capital. I’ve got all sorts of plans to enjoy myself – why, I might even be able to see if it’s really possible to float a boat in wine!”

“I’m afraid it’s your plans that we need to discuss, cousin Arendae,” Galfrey said, smiling. “I’m appointing you as my official liaison to the Fifth Crusade.”

Daeran made an amazing face.

“What an… honour,” he said, and Juniper did her best not to break out into giggles.

It was hard, but… not impossible.

Not quite.

Then Juniper suggested – in private – that perhaps Queen Galfrey should accompany the crusade, incognito, and the Queen didn’t make a decision on the matter right that moment but sounded intrigued by the possibility.

Juniper met Wilcer Garms, the quartermaster, and made her acquaintance again with Vissaliy Rathimus the cleric assigned as the crusade’s chief priest and a fellow Defender’s Heart survivor, then saw the Storyteller in the middle of the camp.

That warranted more attention, even though Juniper felt like she was about to fall over, and the ancient elf turned at the sound of her paws.

“Juniper?” he asked, with a smile. “Yes, I thought I recognized you. Did you have any luck?”

“I did, yes,” Juniper agreed, and rummaged in her bag.

Her paw touched a wrapped hilt, which seemed… odd… then she went past it and brought out a damaged holy symbol, along with the page of elven writing.

She’d wondered what story the Storyteller had been hunting, when he’d come to Kenabres, and – as it turned out – that story was his own. He was an ancient elven mage, about ten thousand years old, and the page she’d found him was a page of his own personal notebook.

With a connection that deep and personal, he’d been able to relive his own reactions to the disaster of Earthfall that destroyed the ancient empires of Thassilon and Azlant, and which most Elves had fled to another world entirely.

The story was still incomplete, clearly, and Juniper felt curious as to what more pages would have to tell.

(she felt resentful that he had a single story to tell)

After that, the holy symbol was an anticlimax. The Storyteller was able to restore it, making it into a holy symbol of Iomedae that made all nearby weapons more effective against demons and fae alike, and Juniper thanked the Storyteller before wishing him luck with his future endeavours.

Then, as the sun went down, she simply couldn’t take it any more.

“Hey, Commander?” Seelah asked, softly. “Wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She ducked into the Commander’s tent, passing the two guards on the door, and the sounds of the moonlit encampment outside were muffled by the enchantments on the fabric. “Knock knock… sorry if you’re doing something that means you don’t want to be disturbed. I’m not one to judge, you know.”

Nothing.

“Commander?” Seelah repeated, speaking more normally now. “Juniper? Is everything okay?”

There was another layer of sound-muffling enchantment on the bedroom divider, but it wouldn’t have blocked that, and Seelah touched the hilt of her sword for a moment before approaching the entrance to Juniper’s bed chamber.

“Not to butt in on you, Juniper, but it doesn’t seem like you’re in a good way,” she said. “Tell me to make tracks if you want, say the word, and I’m gone – but I’m worried.”

Another few steps, and Seelah saw a bundle of fabric on the bed. It was all snarled up and mixed up together, there were a few torn sections as well, but what really caught her attention was the bundle of blankets resting in the middle of the mattress.

And the muzzle sticking out of it, streaked with the salt from dried tears.

“Juniper?” Seelah said, surprised, then knelt down to put her sword and shield on the floor. Her gauntlets went next, and she moved to kneel by the bed itself. “Did you just make yourself into a fox? A… full fox, I mean? I didn’t know kitsune could do that.”

“Normally we don’t,” Juniper answered. “We… can, but we don’t normally, and…”

She sighed, crawling a little way out of the blanket nest she’d made. “I think it all finally came crashing down on me.”

“I’d ask what all, but I think I can guess,” Seelah admitted. “We all went from a hole in the ground to something big pretty quick sharp, right?”

Juniper nodded, then swallowed.

“It’s just… there’s something else,” she said. “Something I didn’t mention, not… before.”

“There is?” Seelah asked. “Do you mind telling me, or do you want to keep mum about it?”

Juniper examined Seelah with her golden eyes, then nodded slowly.

“It happened at that battle, in the Grey Garrison,” she said. “It was… there was that rush of power. And, it felt like far, far more than when my magical powers develop.”

“I’ve seen that, yeah,” Seelah agreed, glancing at Juniper’s hindquarters.

Even in this quadrupedal form, the three tails marking her as a Nine-Tailed Heir were still there… but one of them was surrounded by glowing traceries of dust, the same colour and lustre as the dust from the Grey Garrison.

“But you said, far more?” the Paladin added.

“Far more,” Juniper agreed. “It’s… Seelah, I don’t know what to think or how to think about it. But when there was that explosion of light, suddenly I remembered… things. Things I hadn’t done… people I hadn’t been.”

Her voice threatened to crack, but Juniper Goldeneyes was a tough vixen. “I remember… being an archer from Kyonin, an Aldori swordlord, a street-rat Tiefling who became a monk… and dozens of others, I don’t know what to think or how to…”

A long breath in through a shaking muzzle, then an exhalation.

“And now I’m the commander of an army,” Juniper went on.

“Hey, now,” Seelah said. “You know being a good commander is just a bonus, right?”

She chuckled. “Take it from me, so long as morale is good and the supply systems are working, an army half runs itself unless you get yourself into a real terrible mess.”

“That’s just it, Seelah,” Juniper said, flicking one of her tails. “I remember being trained in running an army. As a degree at the University of Lepidstadt, as an up-and-coming lieutenant in the Stolen Lands, as a soldier for the Mendevian crown… three lives, and none of them were as a kitsune called Juniper Goldeneyes.”

She flicked the tail with the golden power running down it. “I don’t know who I am half the time, Seelah.”

Seelah reached down, hesitated long enough for Juniper to object if necessary, then gathered the kitsune into her arms.

“Now, I’m not going to tell you that I know what you’re going through, ‘cause I don’t,” she said. “And I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t be worried, because that would be lying to both of us. It is worrying, Juniper. But…”

She paused, then nodded. “Juniper, you’re blessed. I don’t know why. And I won’t say it hasn’t come with a curse! But you’re the strongest person I know… and I think this is something you can endure, because you’re meant to.”

“I wish it was someone else’s job,” Juniper mumbled.

“Now, you’re not telling me you think they’d do a better job, are you?” Seelah teased.

“No,” Juniper admitted.

“Then let’s see if this doesn’t all feel better in the morning,” the Paladin said. “And I hope you don’t mind your reputation depending on how everyone thinks of a happy Paladin, because I’m staying by your bed tonight and making sure you get some sleep.”

Sleep did help, a little, but then Seelah had her own problems to deal with. A trip to an old campsite for one of her friends had turned into the discovery that her halfling friend Curl was somehow working with the demons – and had escaped, leaving them with questions and not answers.

Juniper wanted to try and think about it, to work out a solution. She really did. But there simply wasn’t time.

As soon as they got back from the old campsite, she went to the planning tent and got to work actually organizing the army. There were the survivors of the attack on Kenabres, tough but more of a grab-bag than anything, and the army that Queen Galfrey had brought from the Mendevian capital… and members of several minor knightly orders, attracted by the announcement of a new Crusade.

It was not a coherent army, and they didn’t have long – the unexpected victory at Kenabres had sent the demons reeling, off-balance after their attempt to invade Mendev had been countered so effectively, but that wasn’t going to last.

Sitting at the map table, looking between the maps of Old Sarkoris and three generations of Mendevian military maps, Juniper could easily have sunk herself into data and ended up overwhelmed. But she had training at this. She had hard-won skill.

None of it was real, whispers from a dozen unlived lives all contributing, but it all hung together.

Juniper hoped it all hung together.

(Juniper hoped she wasn’t going to fly apart.)

The first question to answer was – what was her army going to be doing? Strategy defined operations, operations defined tactics, and tactics defined whether her army could win any battles at all. But it all flowed from goals, and there was only one realistic goal on the board.

Drezen.

The crusader city had fallen decades ago, to a combination of treachery and a powerful conventional attack, but intelligence reports suggested that the city’s fortifications had not been repaired. And a siege assault was…

...something to think about later. It had to be.

But if the Fifth Crusade was going to mean anything, it had to take Drezen. And, fortunately, that simplified the situation considerably.

It was like working out the solution to a puzzle, step by step. To take Drezen, they had to reach Drezen, and the most practical route for an army was along the West Sellen river as a source of potable water. The terrain on the eastern bank of the river became problematic and full of dozens of small rivers, each an obstacle in its own right and delaying movement by days, so the best route would have to cross the West Sellen at Vilareth’s Ford.

It didn’t have the kind of operational room Juniper would have liked, but the River Kingdoms – while wet and often forested – had wide expanses of flat land to allow an army to operate. The Dagger River campaign had seen her slogging through endless mud, and the value of surprise had mattered, but-

Shaking her head, Juniper tried to focus.

That wasn’t real , that hadn’t happened, she hadn’t fought in the Dagger River campaign. She was Juniper Goldeneyes…

(but who was that)

Exhaling hard, Juniper ran her tails through her paws one at a time. One, two, three.

The gesture helped to ground her, a little, and she went back to the map.

There was… yes, there were two parallel roads there, that would help improve matters. And if she could get Ulbrig to do a scouting flight, maybe he’d be able to tell her which road the demon armies were actually on.

And what they were made up of, at least if he was willing to admit to seeing any demons. Hopefully she wouldn’t be told in all seriousness that Vilareth’s Ford was defended by nixies…

It was far more demanding, and with far greater risk to it, than her exams at Lepidstadt, but within two days Juniper had not only mapped out a rough plan for the campaign and got her army moving – she’d also found enough time to drill in basic tactics.

(no, those exams weren’t real either)

More specialized troops could provide variety, but with the force Juniper actually had the best she felt she could do now was a combined arms formation. The infantry took up shield-wall formation, clerics and other healers scattered through their ranks to reduce the impact of enemy attacks, then Juniper’s archers fired over the shield wall to provoke an enemy charge.

Then her cavalry would sweep out and around, destroying the enemy between their hammer and the anvil of the shield wall.

It was… basic, and there were ways to deal with it, but it was a starting point. Operations defined tactics, but tactics defined drill , and Juniper was out on the field for hours drilling the infantry into forming shield-wall formation as quickly as possible, archers deploying behind them, and the cavalry on scouting, screening and charging in for battle.

Such a simple approach couldn’t solve everything. If it was so simple, then Mendev would have conquered the Worldwound decades ago, or Old Sarkoris would still be there – wild, and untamed, and beautiful.

Juniper shook the image of a wooden hut among green trees out of her mind.

(she didn’t even know what version of her that one was from)

Two days after they started marching, the army’s outriders caught up with a force of cultists and deserters on the road north.

Scouting reports made it immediately clear that they had to be the same group who had fled Kenabres ahead of the Queen’s army, and Juniper sent ahead for the outriders to hover around menacingly – not to attack, unless there was an excellent opportunity, but simply to keep the enemy from being able to escape.

Her forces marched faster, most of the army breaking away from their wagons to move down the road at a brisk pace, and around the middle of the afternoon her crusader army was coming up behind the cultists.

Juniper watched from a nearby hill, far enough to see but close enough to intervene, and hoped she’d made the right choices.

As it turned out, none of the cultists had the benefit of the experience she was bringing to bear. A lot of them were veterans of battle, whether that meant soldiers or thugs, but they had no command structure and they weren’t really ready for anything more complicated than a street brawl.

Juniper’s army deployed into ranks, dressed their lines, and advanced to within bow shot – then stopped, letting the archers deluge their opponents with arrows that goaded them into a charge.

Watching, the kitsune commander was quite sure that many of the cultists had seen the danger. They’d been dealing with harassing attacks from Juniper’s outrider cavalry for hours already. But they had no command structure, no way of reacting properly, when a single signal brought the cavalry crashing in as a single mighty charge that shattered the cultists into disorganized groups.

All the books said that for an army’s first battle to be a victory was excellent for morale, and they also said that a speech would help weld the army into a single unit. So Juniper went down, and gave a speech, and hundreds of Mendevian soldiers cheered her as their good luck charm.

(what books?)

“Commander,” Queen Galfrey said, that evening. “If you will take my advice?”

Juniper wasn’t sure why she’d invited the Queen to join the army. The idea had come from nowhere… or perhaps from the heart, because it had occurred to her and instantly seemed right before she’d even thought about it.

But now Queen Galfrey was Knight Kitrane, from a minor and obscure knightly order, fighting incognito as part of the army’s cavalry.

It was something Juniper herself had done, as a young Swordlord.

(she wasn’t one)

“Of course, Knight Kitrane,” Juniper replied, dismissing her confusion on the subject as best she could. “It’s good for me to have a friend who’s not part of my personal retinue who can give me advice.”

Galfrey-as-Kitrane smiled slightly. “Very good,” she said, quietly. “It’s important to have your cover story… but that’s not actually what I wanted to talk about.”

She took a drink from one of the mugs on the table. “The battle today showed that your army can win battles. I’ve heard from my sources that you have a campaign plan.”

Juniper did her best not to chuckle at that, because the source was almost certainly Anevia – who’d spent hours turning scouting reports into information over the last few days.

“But you are overloading yourself,” Kitrane went on. “You have capable subordinate commanders… or at least, they should be capable given how much they’re being paid. Use them, and take your retinue to go and do things that require a smaller strike force. Or things that let you relax, so long as the time isn’t wasted.”

Juniper thought about that.

In her expert medical opinion, Kitrane was… probably right.

(did she have one?)

“Commander,” Kitrane added. “More than anything else, what you represent is – hope. That is what is important. And Mendev has had little enough of that in recent decades.”

“You’re Andoran, correct?” Juniper asked, bright and early the next morning as she and her companions walked along the road.

Sosiel nodded.

“Yes, I am,” he agreed. “It’s… a long way from Mendev, and it’s been blessed with peace in a way that Mendev simply has not.”

The human cleric adjusted his grip on his glaive, using it as a walking stick. “Do you know much about Andoran?”

“The principles of Common Rule are held there as an article of faith, as much as a political view,” Juniper answered. “It’s built on tolerance for all benevolent religions, trade, and a transparent government where decisions are made by representatives of the people.”

She smiled slightly. “In the Carpenden Plains, it’s hard sometimes to remember that your country has big cities at all, and the land rolls away with fields of corn and orchards stretching to the horizon.”

“You sound like you’ve been there,” Sosiel said. “I didn’t know you were that well travelled.”

Juniper blinked a few times, then tried to focus on who she was .

(she hadn’t grown up there)

“I could say the same about you,” she replied. “And I recognize the symbol on your armour – you’re a worshipper of Shelyn. Both things make it a little surprising to see you here.”

“It’s true,” Sosiel admitted, tapping the symbol on his armour. “Shelyn is a goddess of peace, art and beauty… but she’s always recognized that peace is something that needs defending.”

He was silent for a long moment, looking ahead down the road.

“That’s part of what brings me here,” he said. “It’s my brother, Trever… he decided that he had to do just that. That… someone else could do it, but he could do it, and he felt it was important to protect others.”

Juniper nodded, then frowned.

“If your brother brought you here…” she began. “I take it you don’t know where he is?”

“I don’t,” Sosiel confirmed. “And you’re right, I don’t think I’d have come here without that.”

Another pause.

“Firstly, because of his example,” Sosiel explained. “And secondly, I want to find him. To make sure he’s okay.”

Juniper inhaled the scents of the morning.

“There’s worse reasons to go to war,” she said. “I think you have one of the better reasons… you’re fighting for what the world will be like once the fight is over. Or to make sure it doesn’t spread.”

“Yes,” Sosiel confirmed. “Yes, that’s exactly it. And… at the same time, I want to make sure that I don’t forget myself.”

He tapped the enamelled symbol on his armour again. “Shelyn teaches that we should master an art, and that’s part of it as well. But where we’re going… that’s part of it, too.”

Juniper looked ahead, though they were still a long way from their destination.

A cemetery outside Kenabres itself, where Sosiel had been invited to give a dedication at the graveyard. Some of the inhabitants of the area had died in the fighting, and the cleric had been nearby… and with the army finally on a firmer footing, he’d been the first to suggest something to do when Juniper had brought it up.

It should have been exactly the kind of thing to let Juniper calm down. Several hours of walking, a simple ceremony, and time to talk without responsibilities.

So why was her golden-dusted tail itching?

The ceremony at the Martyr Zacharias cemetery was simple, and heartfelt.

Sosiel said the rites, in the Shelynite way, and though it wasn’t Juniper’s faith she nodded her head slightly.

In respect, if nothing else.

Then it was abruptly spoiled when the ground began to shift, then dozens of the dead in the graveyard rose up out of the ground.

Congregants scattered, running back towards town, and some of the restless dead followed. Others began crowding in around Juniper and her companions, raising rusted shields and pockmarked weapons, and she backed away a step.

“Who did this?” Sosiel asked, softly, then his voice hardened. “Who could be so cruel?”

“I dunno, not me,” Woljif said quickly. “You can tell ‘cause they’re not just handing over their jewellery.”

Daeran smiled slightly. “So, do tell me, my dear Camellia… what do the spirits say about this?”

“Oh – it’s an indignation,” Camellia replied. “A violation of the peaceful rest these poor souls demand.”

Juniper looked around, making sure she had a good idea of where everyone was, then touched Finnean’s hilt.

“Earth Breaker,” she requested, and Finnean reformed into a giant hammer.

She adjusted her grip on his hilt slightly, then jumped into the air and let the weight of the hammerhead augment her strike. The blow hit one of the bow-armed skeletons and flattened it, then Finnean reshaped into a shortspear and she made a gesture with her free paw.

A fireball exploded, knocking several of the other dead aside, then Sosiel shouted a prayer and drove the butt of his glaive into the earth. A wave of positive energy washed out, disrupting the undead and sending several of them slumping back to the ground as their false-life faded away.

“Hey, quick question?” Woljif said. “I don’t think these guys have kidneys to stab, is it okay if I hang back?”

Daeran copied Sosiel, though without the prayer, and a moment later Seelah waded in with her sword and shield held high.

Juniper swung Finnean around in a sweeping motion, tripping two zombies and slicing another up with his tip, and within seconds it was over.

“Now that was a sight to see,” Daeran told her. “Do you think you could do that during one of my parties? I daresay it would be quite the head-turner.”

“I don’t… actually know,” Juniper admitted, as Finnean collapsed back to a shortsword. “Though I don’t think it would be good for the clothes of anyone standing nearby.”

“That would be precisely the point,” Daeran informed her, with a chuckle.

Ulbrig grumbled something about Oglins, but Juniper wasn’t close enough to hear it.

“Those were undead,” Camellia told him. “Don’t tell me you think they’re fey as well, you superannuated tatterdemalion?”

It was probably a good thing that Ulbrig didn’t appear to understand those last two words.

“Hey, what does it matter?” Woljif said. “What matters is, how sure are we that they’re going to stay down? They already died once.”

“There’s normally rituals that stop this kind of thing happening,” Sosiel answered, but he was crouching down by one of the graves with a hand pressed to the stone. “And… they’ve been removed. Recently.”

“Then maybe it was one of the townsfolk right here?” Woljif suggested. “You know, pulling the old can’t-be-me trick, nobody expects a victim to be the one who did it. Old trick.”

Sosiel considered.

“Yes,” he said. “I think you’re right. Some of the townsfolk… their grief must have been faked. One of them did this.”

Woljif was right.

The necromancer behind the whole thing had holed up in the town’s church, holding others in the town hostage, but Juniper and her companions infiltrated the church through the construction site next to it and managed to rescue everyone.

Then Sosiel began beating the necromancer with his fists, angry beyond words, and for a moment Juniper could taste hot blood in her own muzzle. The rage she’d felt in Kenabres returning, thrumming in her veins, and she wanted nothing more than to join in.

“Sosiel!” Seelah called, sharply. “He’s not worth it!”

“He’s not worth anything,” Sosiel replied, fists trembling, and Juniper clamped a leash on her own rage.

She needed to think, right now.

“He’s surrendered,” she said, after a long moment, when she felt she could speak without her voice trembling.

If she remembered this right…

“What is anathema to Shelyn?” she asked.

Sosiel let out an explosive sigh.

“You must not destroy art,” he said. “Or allow it to be destroyed, except to save a life or in pursuit of greater art… and you must always accept surrender.”

“You see, this is why I don’t worship anyone,” Daeran grumbled. “They all have these rules. If you’re doing something just because a god says it, what does that say about you?”

Woljif scratched one of his horns.

“You’re a lord, right?” he asked Daeran.

“So?” Daeran replied. “I don’t expect anyone else to see me as a role model – I’ve been working all my life to be the worst example possible. Though I would be flattered, I suppose…”

“I accept your surrender,” Juniper told the necromancer, as Sosiel stepped away. “You will have a fair trial.”

And there was only one way that trial could go, given the proof of what he’d done.

Later that afternoon, with the bodies reburied and the necromancer carted off for punishment, Sosiel spent the extra time to resanctify the whole graveyard.

While he was doing that, meanwhile, Juniper went to check on something. Off in the corner of the graveyard, following what was halfway instinct and halfway the source of that itch in her golden tail.

Behind one of the crypts, there was an odd glowing patch of light in the air. Juniper could see it, right there, but when she switched to seeing magic… there was nothing there at all.

Curious, she reached out, and as her paw got closer the patch shimmered.

And so did her paw.

It blurred, like there were dozens of misty versions of her paw on top of one another at once… slender elven fingers, a stocky dwarf’s hand, an oread’s mineral-touched palm… then there was a sharp crack, and the distortion vanished.

And a ring fell into Juniper’s paw.

It had a remarkably strong defensive enchantment, and the magical weave was absolutely flawless.

And the itch in her tail was gone… though, when she checked, Juniper found she had four tails now. One dusted with gold, and three perfectly normal.

“Some sort of explanation would be nice,” she told the air, but without really expecting a reply.

When Juniper got back to the camp, an inquisitor called Hawkblade called her away for a conversation.

He said that he wanted to investigate something at Heaven’s Edge relating to Daeran.

Despite the lack of clarification, Juniper knew straight away that Heaven’s Edge was the Arendae family seat – closed up in the decades since most of the Arendae family had been killed, with Daeran himself the sole survivor.

Juniper found herself powerfully curious about what Hawkblade could possibly find there, but told him that it wasn’t going to be possible to investigate – not just yet.

It would probably have to wait until Drezen was taken… at which point, she was sure that Daeran could be persuaded to host a grand party there in celebration.

And to show off.

Hawkblade said that was acceptable, then Juniper got dragged into a discussion about logistics and operations that ended with preparations for a night march beginning three hours before dawn the following day. It would be a long journey to Vilareth’s Ford, but it would also be the best prospect to catch the enemy off guard… and it meant that Juniper herself, and her companions, would be sweeping the road for enemy scouting parties.

Even if some of the enemy got away, they hopefully wouldn’t connect her personal presence to an entire army marching at speed barely two miles away. It would cause grumbles, but nobody knew about the march except for Juniper, her immediate subordinates, and Anevia Tirabade. Even their own scouts out ahead of the army didn’t know.

Once that meeting was over, though, Juniper slumped in her chair, and turned the ring over and over in her paws.

There were… elements of a puzzle, here, but there simply weren’t enough to assemble.

Was it a blessing from Iomedae? The Queen had been quick enough to declare her powers were a blessing from Iomedae, but Juniper wasn’t so sure… the Light of Heaven, perhaps, but the gold-dust energy that ran from her tail didn’t feel quite the same.

It felt like the moment when a spell was about to complete, but you hadn’t quite made a decision about what the spell was going to be. It felt like the tension in a bowstring, like an animal that hadn’t yet been trained but was willing to learn.

It felt like numbers and logic, like a song’s rhythm, like sunlight in her heart and fire in her blood and energy fizzing inside her.

Like everything.

Was that what a blessing was like?

Juniper didn’t know. And it was hard to know who to ask.

“It’s a good thing you can all see where we’re going,” Seelah said, as Acemi’s hooves clacked on the road. “It’s starting to get light now, but for the last few hours I’ve been mostly hoping Acemi knows where to go.”

Juniper began to nod, then paused and looked back at her companions.

Sosiel wasn’t with them today, accompanying the main force since he would slow them down a little too much, but the others… she’d barely considered the issue of seeing in poor light, but now she thought about it most of her companions could do that just as well as she could.

Ember and Camellia, as elf and half-elf respectively, had the sharp eyes of their kind. Daeran seemed just as untroubled by darkness as he was by Lann blowing his nose on the curtains, and Lann of course was a ‘neather and had lived for years in underground caves lit only by dim light at best.

Ulbrig was actually flying overhead in his griffin form, still grudgingly grateful for how Juniper’s power had let him take on the form for hours on end instead of a few minutes, and the griffin’s eyes were keen enough to let the light serve him well.

Tieflings could see just fine in the dark, which answered for Woljif, but as for Nenio…

“Are you having any trouble?” she asked, dropping back slightly to talk to the wizard.

“Hm?” Nenio asked, looking blankly at Juniper. “Yes, what?”

“Are you having trouble,” Juniper repeated. “Seeing, I mean.”

“Oh!” Nenio replied, in an understanding tone. “No. Why?”

“Because it’s… dark,” Juniper said, feeling like maybe she was being the stupid one for some reason.

“It doesn’t seem very dark to me,” Nenio replied. “Therefore, the darkness is irrelevant, and we should move on to more important matters. Tell me, girl, what would you do if you were a tree?”

It was Juniper’s turn to look blank.

“Does that matter?” she asked.

“It’s a psychological matter,” Nenio answered, matter-of-factly. “I will be recording your answers. Say you are a tree, and a pair of squirrels are mating in one of your hollows. What would you do?”

“...I wouldn’t do anything?” Juniper replied, baffled. “I’d be a tree.”

“Ah!” Nenio said, knowledgeably. “Passivity and a willingness to accept your circumstances! Fascinating. Are you sure you’re a kitsune?”

For a moment, Juniper wasn’t, but she shook it off and flourished all four tails.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Empirical evidence,” Nenio decided. “I think that this experiment in psychological profiling has clearly not worked.”

Juniper couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about in the first place, and judging by the look Nenio gave her a few seconds later she wasn’t the only one.

Juniper and her companions ran into a group of scouts a little way down the road, just as dawn was breaking, who invited them to sit and share breakfast.

Something didn’t seem quite right about them, though, and Juniper looked around at the position. There was a ledge to the left of the road… a hollow ahead of them… it wasn’t a very defensible position for a camp, and they didn’t seem to be wearing quite the right uniforms or have quite the right equipment.

On a hunch, Juniper cast a spell to break through nearby illusions of invisibility, and power flared in her eyes as she did. For a moment, she saw everything as numbers and equations, and the spell shattered more than a dozen illusions of all kinds. It revealed snipers, assassins… and the true identities of the three ‘scouts’.

All dark elves – drow.

“Iomedae!” Seelah gasped, as everyone drew weapons. “How did I not see it?”

“There’s been magic to hide from your sight for a long time, paladin,” one of the drow taunted, readying his bow. “Anemora sent us to deal with your whole group.

Then Ulbrig crashed down on him like a meteor, shouting something about pixies, and Juniper pointed.

“Lann, the snipers!” she called. “Seelah, over there – Woljif, help her!”

Woljif grabbed onto Seelah’s stirrup, managing to drag himself along for three steps, then let go and sank one of his daggers into a drow’s belly. Lann opened fire, and Ember whispered something that gripped one of their ambushers with intense, paralyzing terror.

An arrow whistled towards Juniper, scattering off the deflection field from her ring with a sprang sound, then she blocked the second with a swift flick of Finnean.

The Phantom Blade had apparently taken dueling-sword form without her needing to tell him, but there wasn’t time to wonder about that or how she knew the third form of the Aldori sword school.

That was a problem for later.

The enemy was camped out at Vilareth’s Ford, ready to contest the crossing and stop her army’s advance. As the only crossing of the West Sellen for miles, a strongly held enemy position at the ford had the potential to delay Juniper’s forces for days – possibly even force them to retreat entirely.

Juniper’s forced-march to the ford, however, had brought them hours of time that the cultist leaders had expected to be on their side – and her personal move forwards, eliminating or scaring off the scouts, had given them a further advantage. As far as Juniper could tell from her vantage point, the first sign the cultists had that Juniper’s army was within miles of the Ford was when they marched out from behind one of the riverside bluffs and deployed into an attack formation.

Deploying on the march, without stopping to organize, it was ragged – but it was enough, and the enemy was still scrambling to respond when a contingent of Crusader cavalry galloped across the river and delivered several Flaming Lance mages.

Who promptly summoned fire elementals.

The resultant chaos took the minds of the cultist leaders completely off Juniper’s army, and they crossed the river in a dense column with the archers in the middle and the infantry on the flanks. Arrows began to fly at them while they were still in the river, but the clerics throughout the force caught almost every injury as it was suffered, and within minutes Juniper’s whole main body was over the West Sellen with barely any casualties. Then they mounted a single attack as the last of the elementals dissipated, destroying any semblance of cohesion in the cultist forces and sending them routing to the north – and subject to hours of cavalry pursuit before the sunset.

In military terms, it was a triumph.

Juniper would have to leave a garrison at Vilareth’s Ford herself, to keep the supply line to Kenabres clear, but that was by far preferable to a struggle over capturing the ford.

Then, while the wooden stockade to act as the garrison’s headquarters was still under construction, a wounded man came into the army’s encampment.

“Who’s this?” Juniper asked, glancing up from the man to Anevia.

“He wouldn’t say,” Anevia replied. “Asked to be taken to the commander of the crusade.”

Juniper nodded. “Sosiel, can you-”

“Of course,” the cleric agreed, and used a healing spell on the man.

That got him a curt nod, and Juniper already had to wonder. What was going on here?

She inhaled, then put her paws on either side of the desk and tried something she’d never considered before.

Aldori swordlord, she thought to herself, and felt dizzy as something snapped into focus.

Suddenly she was dealing with a strong feeling of two lives lived, of being two people at once, and she had to hold back a sudden urge to shift her shape.

“Report,” she ordered, crisply.

“Hellknight Yaker,” the man replied, saluting her. “Order of the Godclaw. I was separated from my unit and wounded – we’ve come under attack, and I came to fetch reinforcements.”

“Hellknights!” Seelah said, sounding distressed. “I didn’t know there were any of those around here.”

Juniper wasn’t nearly so surprised.

The name wasn’t an entirely accurate one, because it implied that all Hellknights worked for the powers of hell. In fact, the order was concerned primarily with discipline and order… their version of discipline and order, which didn’t necessarily align with the countries in which they were operating. And many Hellknights venerated Iomedae, along with the dwarven god of honour Torag, every bit as much as they honoured Asmodeus the ruler of hell.

It couldn’t be disputed that most Hellknights did seek to emulate hell, though… and they had as many reasons to oppose the Abyssal armies of the Worldwound as the wild Azata of Elysium did.

“Is this a request for assistance, then?” Juniper asked. “Official or otherwise?”

“Not official, commander,” Yaker stated. “We are operating from a base a few miles to the south, but enemy attacks have reduced our numbers. If you can assist, it would be… useful.”

Juniper glanced down at the map, thinking.

“Where?” she asked, sliding aside a folder of notes, and Yaker indicated the spot.

It was several miles out of their way… but there was a pathway that led there, not practical for armies with their wagons but easily passable for a small group.

And the main body would have to stay at the Ford until the fortifications were finished…

Decision crystallized.

“I’m not inclined to leave anyone hanging out to dry in the Worldwound,” she said. “But I won’t divert the army. Instead, we’ll send the fastest moving reinforcements possible – myself and my companions.”

“You’re sure?” Seelah checked.

“I’m sure, Seelah,” Juniper agreed. “Can you and Sosiel let the others know? We’ll leave in fifteen minutes. Hellknight Yaker, I’ll need you along for the precise positions.”

That got her a salute from Yaker, and he – along with Seelah and Sosiel – left the tent.

Once they’d left, Juniper slumped back in her chair and began running her tails through her paws – one after another.

“You holding together okay?” Anevia checked. “That was impressive how you handled him, though it was a scary sight as a Desnan.”

“I’ll be fine,” Juniper replied, glancing up, then looked back down at her paws.

Kitsune paws. Kitsune tails, one dusted with golden potential. Kitsune muzzle, always in the corner of her vision.

She was Juniper Goldeneyes, Juniper Golden tail , not Caitrin Aldori of the Aldori Swordlords. That childhood, those memories, that life wasn’t real.

It had seemed very real, and Juniper wasn’t sure she liked that.

But she couldn’t discard a tool like that.

This time, Sosiel took off his armour for Juniper to store in her bag, and that let the Andoran cleric keep up with the rest of them without trouble.

Their route wound south, through stands of trees and thick rock outcrops, and as they moved Juniper looked around.

It was… an odd, unpleasant sight.

They were only on the borders of the Worldwound’s influence, still, nothing like the heart of the abyss-scorched desert that much of Sarkoris had become. But seeing trees that were wilted and blighted, or rock outcrops that seemed as much toxic as anything… it was something Juniper had trouble dealing with, because she kept comparing how it looked to the land of her childhood.

She couldn’t even identify which childhood.

“You doing all right, warchief?” Ulbrig asked.

“It’s strange to hear you call me that,” Juniper replied, bracing herself on a trailside rock to haul herself up an incline.

Ulbrig snorted. “Point. But, well… you’ve done all right by me so far. And you’re not like most mages, relying on their evil magic instead of skill at arms.”

That was true enough, Juniper supposed.

“And you’re in charge, too,” Ulbrig added. “Can’t have more than one warchief in a band, someone’s got to be in charge, and it’s not like anyone else would listen to me. So it’s got to be you. But I asked you a question, warchief.”

Juniper was silent for a long time.

“I don’t like seeing Sarkoris like this,” she replied. “It’s like seeing a sick man, you can tell something’s wrong at a glance. And if you look with magic, it’s… worse. It’s like the Abyss is feeding on Golarion.”

Ulbrig shivered.

“I wouldn’t want to see that in detail,” he said. “It’s awful to see how bad it’s got so quickly.”

“So quickly?” Juniper repeated. “Ulbrig, it’s been a hundred years. We keep telling you.”

“Nonsense,” Ulbrig snorted, waving his hand. “When we get to my village of Currantglen, you’ll see.”

He glanced at her. “In fact, I’ll want you along to show you you’re wrong.”

Yaker led them to an outcrop, over the Hellknight redoubt itself, and pointed out the base. Juniper peered over the edge, spotting a route down and seeing that there was an argument going on between the Hellknights and some Sunrise Sword crusaders, then Lann pointed up.

“Look out!” he said.

Juniper followed his pointing finger, and saw a flight of winged shapes circling around to come down at them. Some dropped into the hollow with the Hellknights, others swooped down on the group, and the first one swiped at Nenio.

The wizard fell onto her back, wounded, then Lann hit her attacker with two arrows fired at once. They bit deep, but not as deep as they would on a normal creature or even demon, and Juniper recognized what they were.

Gargoyles. Like halfway between animate, winged statues and cruel, winged monsters.

A bubble of magic formed around Juniper’s left paw as she snatched Finnean from her belt with her right, and she cast a spell of Haste – imbuing all her companions at once with a burst of preternatural speed.

Ulbrig transformed and pounced on a gargoyle in the same moment, knocking another away with a powerful wing slap, and Sosiel crouched down to heal Nenio from her injuries. A moment later, Camellia used her little buckler shield to snag the claws of one gargoyle, then yanked her left arm to the side to clear the way for her rapier to attack the monster’s throat.

“Crossbow!” Juniper called, and Finnean shifted in her grip. She shot a gargoyle in the throat, then ducked down and tagged Woljif with one of her tails without looking.

The blurred, near-invisible thiefling slipped around behind two of the gargoyles, ducking between their legs, then reappeared as he grabbed one by the wing and electrocuted it with a spell.

The gargoyles were going down quickly, but she couldn’t see what was going on down below any more. Hopefully they hadn’t come all this way and arrived just moments too late!

More gargoyles attacked on the way down the cliff, and by the time Juniper and her companions reached the ground level there wasn’t anyone left moving.

Men and women in the black armour of the Hellknights, and others in Sunrise Sword heavy melee armour or light archer chainmail, were mixed with plenty of dead gargoyles… but Juniper quickly noticed several important details.

Firstly, the arguing Hellknights and Sunrise Sword crusaders were mostly not represented among the dead – and there was a cave nearby, which would be a sensible place to take refuge from attackers from the skies.

Secondly, many of the essential supplies were missing.

And thirdly… at least five of the armoured casualties were lying on stretchers. Their fatal wounds didn’t look like anything a gargoyle could do, either.

“This way,” Juniper said, nodding towards the cave, and kept silent about her other observations.

Getting angry wouldn’t help here. And she knew Seelah and Sosiel well enough by now to be sure that they’d be angry.

Instead, what mattered here was to deal with the Hellknights, and to deal with them properly.

There wouldn’t be any point appealing based on emotion. In fact, it would only hurt her case. But there were other alternatives.

When Juniper entered the cave, at the head of her party, Hellknights and Sunrise Sword crusaders alike turned to her.

By the looks of things, a lot of the Hellknight contingent weren’t actually full Hellknights. They were aspirants, instead – Armigers, the term was – and wearing lighter armour rather than the traditional spiked black fullplate of a Hellknight.

“Ah,” one of the Hellknights said. “A kitsune with multiple tails… you would be the Commander of the Fifth Crusade, I assume.”

It wasn’t a question. And the speaker was… a gnome, but the most atypical gnome Juniper had ever seen or heard of.

A typical gnome was full of fun and had plenty of stories, always seeking new experiences, because gnomish ageing and the ‘Bleaching’ that foretold their last years were both averted by doing new things. A gnome could live for decades longer than another depending on how eventful their lives were and how much fun they had.

This gnome was almost expressionless, had snow-white hair on his head, and was wearing a complete set of black spiked plate armour.

“I am,” Juniper concurred. “Are you in command of the Hellknights?”

“Of this joint unit,” the gnome corrected. “Paralictor Regill Derenge.”

“Joint unit?” one of the Sunrise Sword crusaders demanded. “What kind of joke is that? What about this has been joint?”

“Hey, Juniper?” Lann called. “More gargoyles coming!”

Finnean was still a crossbow, and Juniper turned to take aim – then looked up, seeing that there were gargoyles coming through a higher entrance to the cave as well.

“Ember!” she called, pointing.

She was going to ask Daeran to help as well, but she didn’t need to. The aasimar had already noticed the incoming gargoyles, and one of them suddenly went limp before crashing into the ground next to a Sunrise Sword crusader. Another fell asleep in mid-air, bouncing twice off the walls, then Acemi rode into the middle of the crusaders and Seelah got to work keeping the attackers off the archers.

Regill was no slouch, either. He held a gnomish hooked hammer in both hands, twirling it to strike blows from both ends at once, and one of the gargoyles got halfway through a spell before being forced to interrupt it as Regill bounced hammer blows off his chest, knees and face in a single continuous motion.

The battle over, Regill ordered Yaker to give his report, then said that Yaker would have to be punished for deserting his post.

“That’s not right, is it?” Ember asked. “He went to get help and you’re punishing him for it?”

“He could not have known that there would be assistance,” Regill answered, in clipped tones. “Therefore, his actions were based on guesswork, and an army must be disciplined.”

“Yes, an army must be disciplined,” Juniper echoed, and she felt a glitter in her eyes. “Speaking of which, Paralictor Derenge. Are you part of the Fifth Crusade or not?”

Regill looked up at her. “That remains to be seen, Commander Goldeneyes.”

“If you are not part of the Fifth Crusade, Paralictor, then you have killed men and women under my command without authorization,” Juniper replied, softly but firmly. “And that is an act of war, if you are a soldier of a foreign army, or a death penalty crime, if you are a civilian. If, however, you are part of the Fifth Crusade, then I will expect you to abide by my commands and standing orders in future – and one of those is that fellow soldiers should not be killed without better reason than you had.”

Regill examined her without reply, for several long seconds.

“An interesting offer of recruitment, Commander,” he said, just as softly. “Might I ask the reasoning behind it?”

“Taking injured soldiers under cover is not an onerous task,” Juniper said. “This cave is a safe refuge; you knew attack was possible. I am willing to accept that you merely erred by not recognizing an imminent attack, which is not a crime, but the error was yours and I will assume in future that you intended to cover up such an error. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Commander, I believe we are,” Regill replied, then saluted. “Paralictor Derenge, reporting for duty, Commander. Where do you want my force?”

“Your Hellknights are to be attached to the cavalry of my army,” Juniper answered. “We need more heavy cavalry, or we will before the campaign is over. The Sunrise Sword contingent will return to their parent order; I suspect their efficiency would be significantly impaired by continuing to work with you. Morale considerations may not matter to Hellknights, but the army is not made up of Hellknights.”

“More’s the pity,” Regill said. “But I accept your reasoning, Commander.”

He nodded, more to himself than anything. “Interesting.”

Juniper had the distinct feeling that she’d just faced a test.

Whether or not she’d passed it… that was another matter.

Chapter Text

"So… why did you add that Hellknight to your personal companions?" Nurah Dendiwhar asked, once they were back with the main army.

The halfling scribe had restrained herself until now, but apparently the pressure to document what Juniper was up to had become irresistible – at about the point when a contingent of Hellknights had marched into the camp.

"Plenty of reasons," Juniper replied. "He's personally capable, he's got skills that other members of my group don't… he asked, that's always important."

Around them, the camp bustled with preparations to continue the march north, and Juniper considered what she could say.

"I wanted to keep an eye on him," she added, eventually. "I haven't dealt with Hellknights before, and having Regill along on a mission or two should give me a good idea of what I'll be dealing with."

"So it's for information!" Nurah said, interested. "Girl, you should have come to me, I know all kinds of things about that sort!"

She jumped from her stool, and rummaged around among the papers in her tent. "Let's see… ah… here we go!"

Juniper watched as a book thumped down in front of her.

"I wrote this!" Nurah explained. "It's my first-hand account of the life and death of Lord Azilar Trezbot. Have you read it?"

Juniper had to think, but shook her head.

"I haven't," she admitted.

"Oh, well, that's not a problem," Nurah admitted. "But you should, some time. It should give you a great perspective on what it's like in Isger – that's where I grew up."

She looked down, her habitual cheer deserting her. "Though… I should say, it's not a great thing to grow up there as a halfling. There's plenty of us there, but… not many of us who aren't slaves."

Juniper winced.

"But Lord Trezbot, he bought me, and then he educated me!" Nurah went on, enthusiasm returning. "He didn't want just any slave, he wanted a historian and a chronicler, and he brought me to the Worldwound to document the actions of his personal squad of crusaders. And even when they were overwhelmed, he fought to the last moment to get me out."

She waved a hand, dismissively. "Some say that he was just trying to save the story of his exploits, not, well, me, but I don't believe that kind of slander!"

After considering that, Juniper nodded.

"The slavery does make it harder to accept Hellknight help," she admitted. "I don't think there are any in the army now, so there's that much, but… as I already mentioned, I'm going to keep an eye on Regill and what he's up to."

"I'm sure your keen eyes will spot the first hint of wrongdoing!" Nurah said, gleefully. "Now, what's next for the Commander of the Fifth Crusade?"

"There's a normal day's marching coming up," Juniper answered. "But Nenio's been pestering me about a detour to some old ruins… she triangulated the direction that masked figures were facing, all over Mendev, and that's where they were all pointing. And as her assistant-"

Nurah giggled.

"-as her assistant," Juniper went on, dryly. "I'm told that it's my duty to handle it."

"I'm sure she'll give you credit when she writes about it," the halfling replied. "This discovery made by Nenio! And also… girl, who helped a bit."

"That sounds about right," Juniper agreed. "Thanks for the advice, Nurah."

"That's what I'm here for!" Nurah told her brightly.

"I wanted to check," Juniper said, as they walked uphill. "Your home village should be about here, right?"

She unrolled one of her maps, and held it out for Ulbrig.

"Hmm…" the shifter replied. "River's in about the right place, but that huge bloody fort on the edge of the map isn't. Whoever drew this must have got it wrong."

"That's Drezen," Juniper told him. "It's been there for – never mind."

She rolled the map up again. "Point is, where we are isn't that far from your village, so… do you know anything about it?"

"Hmm," Ulbrig replied, looking around them. "Well, we're west of the West Sellen… south of that canyon… can't think of anything, warchief. But nobody knows everything about Sarkoris. We've got no king, no wizards… as few cities as we can get away with, and that's not many."

Juniper had known that already, but it had been worth asking the closest thing to a local.

Then they reached the crest of the hill, and Juniper stopped in surprise.

Before them was a circular depression, ringed by cliffs, with a half-ruined path winding in a complete circle down to what looked like ground level.

"That's one big hole," Woljif said, appreciatively. "Hey, boss, do you think this got built up or dug down?"

"Dug down, probably," Juniper answered. "Or maybe it was here already, but I can't see how. But it'd be easier to dig a hole than build a hill."

"Fascinating!" Nenio announced, leaning out over the cliff edge. "Look, there's some statues down there – and I can see one of the masked figures!"

She adjusted her backpack. "Girl, we should hurry! I've been wanting to work out what those masked figures were talking about for years."

"What were they talking about?" Sosiel asked.

"Nonsense, I shouldn't wonder," Regill grumbled.

"I documented their statements," Nenio told them, reaching around to pull out some notes and running her finger down a list. "Observed statements include… 'I am the answer, but what is the question?' and 'The absence of an answer is itself an answer'."

She put the notes away again. "There is no further information from what they say, and this is infuriating! At the very least it should be possible to encode information according to which of those statements they make."

"Hey, I've got an answer for them," Woljif noted. "The question is, who are you? That's why they're an answer."

"Intriguing," Nenio said. "But likely fallacious. This is a mystery that won't be solved by simple jokes."

"Hey!" Woljif protested. "You're just mad because you didn't think of it!"

There were some undead ghouls on the way down to the floor of the circular valley, then a gargoyle patrol flew down and attacked them, but neither group caused Juniper and her companions much trouble.

Then, as they reached the base, Juniper crouched down to examine a ghoul corpse.

It wasn't one of the ones they'd killed. It had already been there… and, as she turned it over, something was odd.

"What's wrong?" Finnean asked, from where he was hanging on her belt.

"Look," Juniper replied, holding him up. "What's missing?"

"Uh, their life?" Finnean tried. "Their unlife?"

"I think I see it," Sosiel said. "What killed this ghoul?"

Ulbrig looked puzzled. "Does it matter? How could you tell with something like that, anyway?"

"Even positive energy destroys undead by doing something to them," Juniper replied. "But there's no wounds, no damage… it's as if this ghoul just lay down and died of its own accord."

"Fascinating!" Nenio said, making them all jump. "But, at most, of secondary importance. Look!"

Juniper looked up, and saw half-a-dozen of the masked figures all walking around on a circle of paved stone slabs – surrounded by four giant statues, each of another masked and robed figure.

"I am the answer, but what is the question?" one of the masked figures asked, an elf woman in a frayed robe. "The absence of an answer is an answer too."

Then all the guisers vanished at once, leaving the circle completely clear.

"Hey! Wait!" Nenio called. "Where are you going? Spontaneous dematerialization is unscientific!"

Nenio hurried into the circle to have a look, and Juniper followed her – crouching down once she was in the circle, and examining something on the floor.

There was… sand.

Desert sand, by the looks of it.

Bringing it up closer to her eye, then rolling it around on the pads of her paws, Juniper nodded slightly to herself.

"This is desert sand," she announced. "It's too smooth to be beach sand, especially river beach. How did it get here?"

Nenio was too engrossed in the statue.

"Reveal your secrets!" she demanded, touching it.

Then, suddenly, Juniper felt like she was floating.

Everything else faded away. The statues, the valley, Nenio, her companions… gravity… it was as if there was nothing but the presence of the universe.

She was a lone grain of sand floating in the emptiness of the unknown, tiny and insignificant, surrounded by infinity.

Then infinity noticed her.

Who are you?

The question wasn't vocalized. It just was.

And Juniper didn't know how to respond.

Who was she? She'd been wondering since Kenabres… and she couldn't remember ever actually knowing.

Two dozen histories pressed in on her, all at once, and she felt like choking under the weight. She was human, elf, gnome, oread, orc… born in Cheliax, Absalom, the River Kingdoms, Andoran, Tian Xia… trained as a bard, an arcanist, a magus, an inquisitor, a cleric…

"Let me go!" she shouted, wrenching herself away from the fog of selves.

There was no reply. The emptiness had no urgency to it. It could wait for an answer.

She didn't answer.

The emptiness had no urgency to it.

It could wait for an answer.

"Who are you?" she tried.

The emptiness did not engage.

It could wait for an answer.

"Juniper," she said, after a minute – or a thousand years. "I am Juniper Goldentail."

The name faded into the emptiness, and the question remained.

What was a name?

Just a set of sounds.

But who decided on that set of sounds?

Who decided that that was who she was?

A name was a label.

No label could be a true reflection of who she was.

What was she without that label?

What was left, if infinity asked who she was?

Behold the truth. Open yourself to knowledge. Reveal yourself.

She was…

"I am Nenio! Ne-ni-o! You hear me?"

The voice wasn't hers, but hearing it brought perspective and identity back in a rush. Gravity returned, and Juniper felt herself falling.

Outflung paws caught her just before she hit the ground, and there was a thump next to her.

"What the-?" Woljif asked. "What just happened?"

"Did I just see that?" Lann added.

"Ow," Juniper mumbled, then brought up one footpaw and shifted to a kneeling position.

Then she caught sight of something dark and orange, and looked to her left.

And stared.

Because next to her was a russet-orange furred kitsune, with a white muzzle and black ears, curled up on the floor and wearing exactly the same clothes as her wizardly companion.

"Nenio?" she asked. "Is that you?"

"Of course," the kitsune replied, picking herself up, and even the tattooed O on her left shoulder matched how she'd been before. "Really, girl, I expected you to have better observational skills than that."

"You're… a kitsune," Juniper pointed out.

Nenio cocked her head on her side, in a way that was familiar but suddenly made a lot more sense, then looked at her paws, felt her muzzle, examined her tail and touched her ears. "Your observation is correct," she said. "I am indeed a kitsune. If my hypothesis is correct – a near one hundred percent probability – this has always been the case."

"And you just… forgot that?" Juniper said. "You never wondered about lacking a tail? About why you could see at night? You never had the urge to shift your shape?"

"Evidently not," Nenio said, then shrugged. "That information was clearly irrelevant, which is why I decided to forget it. There is much more useful information that I wished to remember instead, such as how many questions it takes before an inquisitor starts to chase you, or how many minutes it takes to outrun them."

Her ears flicked. "By the way, did you know that the most efficient way to disarm a corridor's worth of magical traps is with the help of a scientist who has been told that the formula for an elixir of the ancient races lies hidden at the end of said booby-trapped corridor?"

"Well," Daeran said. "There go my last doubts. It truly is her."

Nenio swept her paw around at the statues. "Of greater concern is which plane we were temporarily transported to! And by what entity. It displayed no aggressive tendencies, so there is a high probability it can be reasoned with, and it was clearly extremely wise."

Lann raised his hand.

"Can we just assume I'm saying something smart here?" he asked. "Because I have no idea what to say."

"I suppose…" Nenio said, then brightened. "I suppose this isn't a trap at all! It must be a closed portal leading to some hidden place, inhabited by an entity that solved me like a riddle – in an instant, just by looking at me. I…"

Her tail lashed. "I would like to meet this entity. Can you imagine what secrets it could unravel? Girl, we must find out how to do this!"

"I wouldn't wish to meet such a person," Camellia said. "It would be a blatant invasion of my privacy."

"But how to get there?" Nenio asked, ignoring Camellia. "If there is a door, there must be a way to open it… if there is a lock, there must be a key."

"Must there?" Ulbrig said. "This all seems like some kind of Oglin trick to me."

"Preposterous!" Nenio said, already examining the statues. "Hmm, they have inscriptions… they appear to be riddles! How thrilling!"

She sighed. "But we don't have any way to solve them right now. Girl, we will have to come back here in future. Don't worry, I will remember. This is important information."

"Unlike, say, your species," Juniper said.

"Of course," Nenio confirmed, apparently either not noticing the sarcasm or deciding that it was irrelevant.

"...though," Juniper added, as a thought struck her. "This does mean Woljif was right."

Nenio gave her a blank look. "About what?"

Returning to the army, Juniper found that camp had been established not far from the entrance to a gorge.

Anevia met her as she returned. "Damn, am I glad to see you, Commander! We've got big trouble."

"Trouble?" Juniper repeated, as Anevia turned to walk in the same direction. "What kind of trouble? I'm guessing it's to do with the path up ahead…"

"Leper's Smile," Anevia told her. "Charming name, I know. It's a bottleneck on the way north, and some of our scouts reported back that there was something seriously wrong in the area."

She winced. "Other scouts didn't report back at all."

Juniper joined in the wince.

They were nearly at the command tent, and she ducked under the entrance before glancing down at the map.

"Details?" she asked.

"One of the scouts brought this back," Irabeth told her, putting an arrow down on a stone slab resting on the table.

Pinned on the end of the arrow was a horrible-looking creature, an insect of some kind with several pairs of tattered wings, wicked-looking claws, and a toothy mouth that drooled out acid.

It was making the stone slab hiss.

"Oh!" Nenio said, reaching for the arrow, then Anevia blocked her path. "Hey!"

"That's Nenio, Anevia," Juniper reassured her. "If she knows something, it could be important."

"Really?" Anevia said, frowning. "Huh. I did wonder, but I guess that's a foxkin for you."

She stopped blocking Nenio, and the kitsune picked up the arrow to examine the creature.

"This is a vescavor!" she announced, after examining it. "It's a kind of insect native to the Abyss. They form large swarms that eat everything in sight."

"Then we need to know how to stop them," Juniper stressed. "Do you know?"

"Oh…" Nenio replied, tilting her head. "Well, I suppose the hive is controlled by the queen, so destroying the queen would help disrupt them."

Nurah gasped. "You can't send the army into there!" she said, emphatically. "They'd be eaten alive, it'd be horrible!"

"That wasn't what I was planning," Juniper replied. "This is one of those situations where a small strike team is the only way to deal with the vescavor queen… but that's not going to be sufficient. We need a distraction or that canyon's going to be so full of vescavors we don't make it near them."

She considered. "It needs to be more tempting than the few of us, so there's only one option. It will have to be at least part of the army."

"Of course," Regill confirmed, with a nod. "I will lead the distraction effort, you have no need to worry about any hint of wavering."

"Hey, if we're volunteering, what about me?" Lann asked. "I know dealing with horrible creatures and getting their attention."

Sosiel stepped forwards as well.

"The force we send as a distraction will need to last as long as possible," he said. "They will need a healer."

Juniper closed her eyes, trying to think through the situation.

Had she missed anything? Was there anything else that needed to be said?

Sosiel was the only one really telling the truth, there, she thought… Regill wanted to prove his Hellknights were tougher than the rest of the army, and Lann was thinking in terms of a heroic sacrifice.

"I agree with your argument, Sosiel," she said. "Regill, you as well. Take armoured troops only, on foot, and all the healers we have."

She looked between the two of them. "Sosiel, you are in command. Regill – I want that distraction, but not at the cost of troops if it can possibly be avoided. If the enemy can't stop us here, then losing too much of our army could still hurt us down the road. Is that understood?"

"I hear your orders, commander," Regill confirmed. "And I will follow them."

"Good," Juniper replied. "We need to hurry. Move out as soon as your detachment is picked."

The waiting was the worst part.

They were not far outside what Nenio and Nurah guessed was the point where the vescavors would take notice of them, the halfling insisting on an extra twenty percent distance over what Nenio calculated as a safety buffer, but they'd be able to hear it in a moment when the swarm took the bait.

"Times like this, I wish we had a whole chest full of those amulets of yours," Juniper told Ulbrig, after checking all her equipment.

Daeran was armed with a flaming short sword, Seelah with a flaming mace from the Tower of Estrod. Woljif and Nenio had scrolls for fireball spells and vials of alchemist's fire to drive off any insects that made it through… Juniper herself would be relying mostly on magic… but Ulbrig's amulet was designed specifically to let him fight entire swarms of insects all at once, and it meant that more than anyone else he would be the main player in the coming battle.

"They're rare, but you could get a few here or there," Ulbrig replied, shrugging. "Exactly what you need to fight the Locust God."

Deskari, he meant. Juniper knew that much.

"You sure this is real, then?" Ulbrig added, searching her face. "Not some Oglin trick?"

"We're not fighting-" Juniper began, then sighed and rubbed her temples.

Tried again.

"If this is some kind of trick, then we'll find out easily enough," she replied. "Lann's got a whole quiver full of cold iron arrows and he's going to be aiming for the biggest ones he sees. One way or another, that will answer that question."

"If you say so, warchief," Ulbrig replied, then there was a hideous buzzing from up ahead as the vescavors reacted.

Juniper peeked out from behind cover, and saw thousands of insects – tens of thousands – rising out of the gorge all at once, then a pulse of positive magic that flashed over the cliffside.

"Sosiel's starting," she said, paw resting on Finnean's hilt, and waited for five seconds.

Ten.

The swam of insects coming out of the gorge subsided, and she swept her other paw forwards. "Go!"

Juniper had been wrong.

The waiting wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was racing through the canyon, hearing the army fighting overhead, selling their lives dearly but selling them all the same – while the terrible, all-consuming buzzing sound of the vescavor swarm pulsed maddeningly in the air.

Some of the insectoids were huge, and Nenio identified them instantly as royal guards – there specifically to defend the queen. Those at least were big enough to make good targets for conventional weapons, and Lann shot the first one they saw with a three-arrow volley that made it flinch back with a wail.

But most of them were tiny, buzzing in their thousands, and Juniper didn't know if they'd have made it without Ulbrig. In griffin form again, he batted entire swarms aside with his talons, and the magic of his clasp let him bite into them in a way that transmitted the bite to dozens he hadn't even touched. His wings helped too, letting him raise gusts of wind that blew the swarms apart and destroyed their cohesion.

"Nenio!" Juniper called, then coughed. Ember used a Fireball spell, detonating it with a low roar that blasted away dozens of the insects, and a wing blast from one of Ulbrig's wings cleared away the remnants in that area. "Nenio – which way?"

Nenio pointed down the canyon. "We came from that direction," she said, precisely. "So I would assume that the other way is forwards."

"Thanks!" Juniper replied, and meant it sincerely – in this kind of mess it would be too easy to get turned around.

Fire curled around her paw, and she used a fire spell to help blast their path clear. But the swarm was starting to pay attention to them now, drawn away from the fighting overhead.

The fire was working, but there wasn't really enough of it. It could keep them clear, but they were having to move slowly – Ulbrig was having to move slowly – as they couldn't just charge to the queen.

Something made Juniper's train of thought skip to the side, and she reached a paw up to her forehead.

The buzzing was getting to her, and she was feeling dizzy. She kept thinking about how much better it would be if she could clear the way with more fire.

She kept thinking about fire. About-

About when she discovered she could call on the power of the elements, as a young Tian-Shu living in Bachuan

(but that wasn't real)

(but she didn't care)

Fire swirled around her, elemental energy from the outermost Elemental Plane of the inner sphere, then erupted outwards in an explosion which drove the vescavor swarms away or burned them to a crisp.

She felt light headed, and she'd dropped Finnean on some kind of instinct, but she crouched down long enough to pick him up before running forwards.

If this was going to make her fall over, then it had to wait… and she wasn't going to question how it was working until she'd been able to use it.

Five minutes later, the Vescavor Queen was dead, and the hum of the swarm was dispersing. The swarm itself was dispersing, and the Commander had her paws on her knees as she tried to focus on who she was.

Juniper.

That was right. She was – Juniper Goldentail, a kitsune, with four tails…

"You all right, boss?" Woljif checked. "That was some really impressive magic you were throwing around there!"

"Reminded me of what they say kineticists can do," Seelah added. "However you did it, I'm grateful for it, sister – without that we might not have made it out of there."

"She's right, you know," Anevia said, coming up behind them – along with Nurah, Sosiel, and Regill. "I saw the explosion of fire from where I was, and that's no small thing."

"Thanks," Juniper replied, shaking off a stutter in her perception as the identity tried to come back. "Whatever works, right?"

"Maybe," Anevia replied. "Though, speaking of that… look."

Juniper followed her gaze, and saw what Anevia had to mean.

There was a summoning circle inscribed not far from where they'd found and attacked the swarm's queen.

Now feeling a bit better, Juniper walked over to take a look, but Nurah beat her to it.

"Hmm…" the halfling said. "Summoning, and… binding! I see, so there's something in here to keep the queen here. Otherwise it might have left and gone somewhere else."

"So it was definitely targeted," Juniper frowned. "Someone must have known where we were going."

"I agree," Regill nodded. "Presumably one of the Mendevian soldiers."

Seelah spoke up to defend the integrity of the Mendevians, then Daeran shrugged.

"Personally, I don't see why anyone in the army would do that," he said, casually. "Though I suppose that if they were bored of marching up and down and around in circles then something very likely to kill them might be a sweet release."

"Though something was odd, there," Anevia added. "It seems like they went after you sooner than they should have done, Commander – the whole point of the distraction was to prevent that happening."

Juniper sniffed, then winced. There was a cloying sort of smell, and she turned to reach into her clothes – hunting down exactly where the smell was coming from.

It wasn't one she recognized, but she'd been smelling it all the time they'd been in the canyon… only, what she was smelling now was much more potent, and she made a face as she finally extracted a rag from where it was cinched inside the outer layers of her garments.

It was just where her weapon belt had been, which would hold it in place.

Nenio leaned in to sniff it herself.

"Wow!" she said. "That is an intensely bad smell! I wonder if it would act as an effective repellent."

She frowned, one paw going up to touch the base of her muzzle. "Though… some insects use pheromones to communicate. Perhaps that is relevant?"

"I think it is," Juniper concurred, sharing a glance with Anevia. "This was meant to make sure the vescavors attacked me."

She turned that idea over, as Anevia took the rag for evidence.

"It's a clever idea," she added. "It didn't work, but it came close to stopping the crusade in its tracks. Still, I'm surprised."

"You are?" Nurah asked.

She grinned. "You shouldn't be! I bet whoever did this is really mad his plan didn't work!"

Juniper didn't say anything, as Anevia set fire to the vescavor queen.

But she did wonder about what Nurah had said.

It took hours for the army to get through the gorge. Flaming Lance mages were able to help the wagons through, rather than seeing the steep slope at the far end of the gorge stop them completely, but even after Juniper had got some much-needed sleep the tail of the army was still working its way through Leper's Smile.

An hour with the maps and with her subordinates confirmed that the army had its march instructions laid out, to move north and east following the West Sellen river before turning left and heading due west. There were more details involved, about the positions of enemy armies and what forces to split off if necessary, but by the end of the hour Juniper was fairly sure that the only impediments to their movement over the next few days would originate from Leper's Smile itself.

Not far from the summoning ritual site, a crevasse led down deeper into the earth, and while a guard had been posted the guards couldn't be left there indefinitely… which meant it was up to Juniper to make sure the crevasse was safe.

Which led her, and several of her companions, down into the caves.

"So, I've been paying attention as well as I can," Lann said. "And that's not very well, but… war between overlanders is different to war below Kenabres. How do you even manage all this?"

"It's a complicated topic," Juniper replied. "Some people spend their whole lives working on it."

She raised a glowing paw, illuminating the caves, then pointed. "This way first… and a lot of it is about organization. About moving a lot of people, in a coordinated way, so they're in the places you need them at the right times. Then the rest is… about exploiting opportunities. Chance rules in war, so you need to be able to adjust for it – both positive and negative."

"I would disagree about some of that," Regill noted, calmly. "Chance is present, but it can be overcome. Hellknight principles involve working to avoid as much risk as possible."

The gnome adjusted his grip on his hammer, then leaned around a corner. "Vescavors, commander."

"We knew there might be some," Juniper said. "All right, let's get to work."

Clearing out the insectile threat in the caves was one thing, but when they got back to the other branch of the cave Juniper found herself facing something completely different.

A pair of undead wights, recent undead, that loomed out of the darkness at her. One got shot by Lann, the physical impact of a pair of arrows driving it staggering back a step, then Woljif threw one of his daggers so it sank into the wight's chest up to the hilt.

Even as that one fell over, though, Juniper was dealing with the other one. Finnean turned into a quarterstaff at her command, and she blocked the sword the wight had been carrying before twisting her grip and holding her opponent at just more than sword distance.

Ember hurried forwards and cast a healing spell, a flow of positive energy which disrupted the magic animating the wight, and it fell to the ground with a thump.

"Concerning," Regill said.

Juniper crouched down, spotting something behind a rock, and unfolded a letter.

"Well, that answers that question," she said, scanning through it. "This is a letter asking for help… from the thieves who cleared out the Tower of Estrod."

"It is?" Woljif asked. "Hey, do you think we can get a cut of whatever they took?"

"The Tower's a museum, but they did see value in whatever they took," Juniper said. "But they were besieged by undead, and they protected themselves with a barrier of sacred oil… and there's no mention of the vescavors. If they're lucky, they haven't run out of oil, but otherwise we'll be dealing with a lot of undead."

"So noted," Regill declared. "Commander, should we fetch your other companions?"

Juniper considered that.

Sosiel, Seelah and Daeran were all on the surface, helping the survivors from the distraction mission… they were the three members of her party who were best equipped to deal with undead, but not the only members.

"No," she decided. "The amount of healing they will have done today means we'd need to wait hours. If there's any survivors, those hours could matter."

"I see some more, up ahead," Lann reported. "And I think they see us."

Finnean was still in quarterstaff form, and Juniper shifted him to her left paw for a moment as she cast a spell into the darkness. It formed a glittering cloud of dust and light that spread over several of the wights, illuminating the whole cavern, and Lann promptly opened fire.

"You bring us to such wonderful places," Camellia said, rapier up and ready as the wights approached, then lunged the moment one came into range. "An underground beach by a lake with smelly water… who could ask for more?"

Juniper stepped forwards as well as a wight got closer, using Finnean to block a sweeping attack with a curved elven blade, then reversed him and drove the butt of the staff into the chest of her attacker.

"Kill them!" the wight demanded, staggering back. "Make them suffer like us!"

Another wight aimed directly for Juniper, and she ducked under the sword swipe. Lann got involved a moment later, shooting the attacking wight with a pair of arrows that whistled just over Juniper's head, then Ulbrig picked up the collapsing wight and threw him with raw strength at the one with the elven blade.

Juniper, however, had spotted something that was a much bigger problem. One of the wights Lann had shot, one that she was sure had been neutralized, was twitching and rising back to its feet.

"They're not staying down!" she warned. "Finnean – flail!"

Finnean changed form, and Juniper slammed the spiked flail-head down on the wight as it tried to rise.

"Look out!" Ember warned.

Juniper looked up, spotting that a wight was about to attack her, and scrambled backwards through the shallow lakeside water. Some of it clung to her fur, but better that than being hit by a sword, and she cast her magic-sight cantrip as she got upright again.

Whatever had created these undead… it was still going. And that meant-

There!

Juniper cast a Haste spell, affecting not just herself but all her present companions, then broke into a sprint. Past the wights, past a fallen and empty vessel of sacred water… she sprang up onto one of the carts that the thieves had managed to squeeze into this cave, and her gaze flicked between the two objects glowing with magical power.

One of them was a claw, the other a kind of tough iron-shod wand that could be used as both arcane focus and weapon. The wand was more powerfully magical, so she picked it up-

There was something inside the wand.

Something… not living, but animate. Powerful. Something that frayed at the boundaries between life and death.

The sensation flashed through Juniper's system in a moment, passing through most of her with barely any reaction, but it lingered on her bones.

She felt suddenly aware of her own skeleton. How she was made of hundreds of interlocking parts, parts which defined the rest of her body, her very self hung on that skeleton, the most rigid part of her.

The part of her that would last the longest, after everything else was gone.

She was just a spark, inside a skull, when all was said and done.

Juniper moved her bones, bending her elbow joints, rotating her wrists, opened her fingers, and dropped the iron-shod wand into her bag.

The moment it left her paw, the strange feeling faded, and Juniper was aware of her whole body again – and all the wights collapsed at once, like puppets with their strings cut.

"Nice work, warchief!" Ulbrig shouted to her. "That's put paid to that Oglin rubbish!"

"Do you actually try to sound clueless, or is it natural talent?" Camellia asked.

"Pah!" Ulbrig snorted. "I'd expect nothing else from a city girl like you. Call yourself a shaman? I heard you complaining about breaking a nail two nights ago!"

Juniper tuned the argument out, and turned a blind eye to Woljif quietly picking up a few choice trinkets from the carts now the fighting was over.

If this was all from the Tower of Estrod, then that would mean the claw was probably Terendelev's claw.

She picked it up, feeling the same strange tingling that she'd got from Terendelev's scale, but nothing more.

Hopefully, she'd be able to find the Storyteller again and ask him about it.

A few hours later, Juniper sat in Nurah's tent as the historian went though the events of the fall of Drezen – events started by Minagho's trickery, persuading Staunton Vhane to remove a great relic from the fortress-city. The Sword of Valor, if displayed publicly and proudly, negated the ability of demons to teleport in a wide area around it, and it had always been one of the keys to the city's defence.

"So… what then?" Juniper asked. "I understand that when Staunton removed the banner it made the fortress more vulnerable, but that didn't do it by itself."

"Well, no," Nurah agreed, nodding. "But it made it possible. The demons mustered everything they could pull together for an attack on Drezen, and Staunton didn't just take the banner itself – he was taking a whole battalion out to launch an attack, and that left the defences undermanned and unable to counter all the moves the demons made."

She pulled out a sheaf of notes, and scanned quickly through them. "Our reports are fragmented, but we know that there were plenty of flying attackers – they got over the walls that way, and there weren't enough archers to stop them. That consumed a lot of the attention of the defenders, and Yaniel was lost trying to rally her troops."

The mention of Yaniel made Juniper's paw twitch, half-reaching for Radiance, then she stilled it.

"That would cause problems," she said, instead. "But there's plenty of covered fortifications – all the towers and gatehouses, and the citadel too."

"Yeah, it wasn't enough by itself," Nurah concurred. "And there were great big magical battles, between the defending wizards and the attackers! But the covered positions didn't fully command the walls, just the gates – and they couldn't reinforce one another, while the demons could teleport around and focus their attention way more easily."

She shook her head. "It took at least a day for Drezen to properly fall, but fall it did – hardly any survivors made it out, and they said that the force that actually took the central citadel included balors and other powerful demons alongside hundreds of minotaurs. Staunton Vhane's unit began to dissolve when they heard the news, and I'm guessing that the lack of troops eventually pushed the numbers down enough the Sword of Valor stopped working – because Staunton certainly didn't have it when he returned to Mendev."

Juniper nodded to herself, thinking.

There were possibilities there… and problems. But if Drezen had been built as a Mendevian fortress-city (and it had, Juniper had the plans among her paperwork), then it was built to be defended by Mendevian tactics and armies.

Not by cultists. And not principally against a small, mobile strike team.

"Thank you, Nurah," she said, and picked up some of the notes on the table. "I'll help you put these back."

"Oh – don't worry, you don't need to do that," the halfling replied. "I have a system!"

"I remember where these ones went, at least," Juniper replied, sliding them back into place, and there was a clink noise as one of her tails brushed something.

Stifling an urge to turn quickly, which might just have swept her tails across and knocked over half of the accoutrements in Nurah's tent, the Commander instead took a slow step away from the shelves before looking down to see what had happened.

Nurah's cosmetics collection had been jostled, and a few of the bottles had spilled across the floor.

"Sorry," Juniper said, crouching down.

"It's okay, I know it wasn't your fault!" Nurah replied, coming over to help, and between them they gathered up the dropped bottles. Juniper gave them all to Nurah, letting her put them back, then left the tent with another apology.

"Good going, Juniper," she mumbled to herself. "If these tails are a blessing, at least try not to knock everything over…"

She rubbed her muzzle, sighing, then stopped.

Sniffed.

It was faint, but there was a scent there that she thought she'd smelled before. Mixed in with a lot of other things, strong scents that were confusing her nose, but… she thought she'd smelled this specific scent before.

Juniper wasn't sure what it meant. Not yet.

But she was going to be keeping a careful eye on Nurah from now on.

"Here we are, warchief!" Ubrig said, proudly, early the next morning. "This is a great view of the Currant Valley, right here! Currantglen is just over this rise."

"My word," Daeran noted. "We're almost neighbours. Heaven's Edge isn't more than a few miles from here."

"Never heard of that place," Ulbrig replied, as Juniper took a look around the valley.

It was just west of the West Sellen, into the land that had been Mendevian-controlled for some decades after the fall of Sarkoris, but the combination of the war effort and later the loss of Drezen had always prevented Mendev turning the area into productive farmland or forestries.

This far from the Worldwound, the corruption it had spread was relatively minor. The trees were lush, there was wildlife she could hear on the wind… it was what the wild heart of Sarkoris had been like.

She closed her eyes, reaching up a paw to wipe away a tear she'd only just noticed, and followed Ulbrig.

The big man led them all over the rise, pointing out the palisade wall raised for defence, then stopped as they reached the bend into the village.

"Look, warchief," he said, nodding towards the far bank of the stream. There was a blue-white wolf stood there, on the high ground, and it raised a muzzle to soundlessly howl before dissolving like leaves on the wind.

"A spirit?" Juniper asked, glancing at Camellia.

"Of course," Camellia replied. "I don't know what it wants, though."

"Giving advice, probably," Ulbrig told them, as he set off again. "Maybe a warning. Maybe guidance. It's best to pay respects to spirits, even if they're not your own…"

His voice trailed off, as the village came into view.

"What… is this?" he asked.

The buildings were in terrible shape. Half-collapsed, rotted, thatch gone leaving the insides open to the sky. And the village was silent.

"How could all this happen in a month?" Ulbrig demanded.

"Not a month, Ulbrig," Juniper said. "A hundred years, like we-"

"Not that hundred years nonsense again!" Ulbrig snapped, cutting her off. "This is some kind of Oglin trick, an illusion! Use some of that magic you're so proud of and get rid of it!"

Just in case, Juniper rummaged in her bag to get out a dispel Magic scroll. The parchment crinkled as she handed it to Nenio, and her fellow kitsune looked at the scroll before looking at Juniper.

"Where do you want me to cast this?" she asked.

"On the house over there," Juniper said, then felt the tingle of a dispelling pulse at close range.

Nothing happened to the house, but Ulbrig was already moving again. He strode ahead towards the middle of the village, and Juniper hurried to catch up – accompanied by the others.

It was the first time Juniper had gone though a ruined Sarkorian village, and it was giving her a strong feeling of heartache.

She'd known, intellectually, that Sarkoris had been destroyed – the nation's heartland destroyed, the Kellid peoples who'd lived there forced out of their homes, their survivors scattered to the winds and their culture grievously wounded.

But to see it, to walk through a village that had once been vibrant and alive now reduced to destroyed ruins… it was a smaller thing, but it brought the disaster down to a mortal scale.

It made it something that she could understand, not intellectually but emotionally. And somehow the fact it was a Sarkorian village made it even worse – she hadn't felt like this going through Kenabres, even when the city was actively in the middle of a struggle between defending crusaders and attacking cultists.

Or maybe it was that she couldn't help with this kind of damage. It had all happened long ago, leaving hardly any survivors, and she could feel soul-deep how painful it would be to be one of the last survivors.

Put like that, it was easy to understand why Ulbrig had been rejecting the idea.

"Whoever did this, they'll pay," Ulbrig decided, eventually, after trying a dozen different houses and finding nothing useful.

Then he looked to the east, across the Currant. "But – wait! Warchief, they must have evacuated – there's villages nearby – we'll have to try the Stone of Voices! It's across the river."

"Ulbrig-" Juniper began, but he was already moving.

"This way!" he said. "There's a cavern, it crosses the Currant, the water doesn't look safe but we can still cross!"

Sosiel hurried to catch up to Juniper as she followed Ulbrig, and coughed to get her attention.

"It's going to hurt him all the more when he finds out," the cleric pointed out.

"I know," Juniper agreed. "I know… but if he's not going to accept it when we tell him, he's got to find out in a way that he accepts it."

Ember looked sad. "He's hurting," she said. "I think part of him knows you're right, but he's ignoring that part because if he didn't he'd have to hurt even more. It's all twisted up inside and he doesn't even know it himself."

Juniper nodded. "And we can't stop him, so… I hope he doesn't take it too badly."

She looked back. "Anyone know what a Stone of Voices is?"

"Presumably of no tactical relevance," Regill said.

"I guess maybe it's a stone that says something?" Lann asked. "Not writing, though, some other way."

He shrugged. "If you want an expert, you've got the wrong mongrel."

"We had one back at home," Finnean volunteered. "I never really found out how they work, though, I just knew they were used to raise the alarm sometimes. Demons coming, that kind of thing."

When they caught up to Ulbrig, he was still in the underground cave that connected the two sides of the river – and not moving.

Juniper moved up to see what he'd seen, then stopped with a wince.

An open space in the cave had been repurposed by unknown hands – into a shrine.

A shrine with familiar symbols drawn on the walls.

"Now that's not good," Woljif winced.

"This… how long has this been here?" Ulbrig demanded, then turned to Juniper. "How can this be here?"

"We keep telling you, Ulbrig," she replied. "It's been a hundred years. This might have been set up decades after you left."

"I won't-" Ulbrig began, clenching his fists, then bit off the words he was about to say. "Look at it! People were here, under my village, sacrificing to Oglins! To the locust god!"

"Not just people, Ulbrig," Juniper said. "This is so close to the village… it only makes sense that it was your people."

Ulbrig looked angry. He tensed, took a sharp breath, then whirled and punched the side of the cave.

A few rock splinters came off.

"Maybe," he said, sullenly, then turned to face her. "All right, yes! Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes! I wouldn't have believed a single person in Currantglen would do this, but it's happened, and that means I didn't know some of them as well as I thought! Is that what you want me to say, witch?"

Juniper's blood pulsed with hot rage, a metallic tang filling her mouth, but she clamped down on it before she said or did something worse.

"I didn't do any of this, Ulbrig," she replied instead, waving at the profane altar. "I've been trying to warn you about what happened all along, so you'd have time to come to terms with it. But it's something you'll have to face."

Ulbrig's mouth worked.

"You've been telling me nonsense, is what you've been saying," he said, but the flash of anger was subsiding. "Aye, you've been warning me and warning me, but… I still don't believe it. How could a whole country just… vanish?"

Another long moment of silence, then he turned irritably away from the altar.

"Come on," he said. "The Stone of Voices is this way. You'll see."

After going through the rest of the cave, they emerged back into the light, and Ulbrig led them ahead with a quick stride. The ethereal wolf was waiting for them, and howled soundlessly before evaporating again.

"There we are," Ulbrig said. "See? The Stone of Voices!"

It was a menhir, about ten or twelve feet high, carved all over with deep runes and set with flat stones surrounding it in concentric circles.

Juniper stepped forwards, maintaining a respectful distance, and took in the magic.

It was… a kind of self-similarity spell, mixed with communication, divination… there was protective magic written into the runes, and a part that read Olsek and Valley of the Swift Stream – no, Currantglen, that was what it said.

It was connected to all the other stones made in the same way, no matter how far apart, and it could transmit voices, messages… warnings and alerts… even teleport? Juniper wasn't sure, but the magic was intricate and complex and it reminded her of the site-to-site teleportation circles that could be used to move a small number of people once per day. But it might even be more sophisticated, and it was certainly smaller.

Sarkorian enchanters might have hated arcane magic, but they'd been able to use the art of magic in impressive ways even with that restriction.

"Done staring?" Ulbrig asked, sounding much more cheerful now. "Then watch this!"

He put his palm on the stone, resting it in a clear indentation where palms had rested dozens of times before, and the stone's magic responded. It curled around him, runes lighting up with energy, then the magic sank into the stone and made it pulse. Juniper could only just feel it, but she could tell what was going on… other Stones of Voices would be pulsing in the same way, warning the clan chiefs of Sarkoris that someone wished to speak.

After a minute, Ulbrig's grin became a frown.

After five, he took his palm off the stone and tried again.

After ten, he stepped back, and his face crumpled.

"Nothing," he said, hoarsely.

"They might not have been paying attention?" Juniper suggested.

"No," Ulbrig replied. "No, that's not how… the Stones of Voices bound Sarkoris together as a people. One or two chiefs might have been busy, but there should have been too many-"

His voice caught.

"All gone," he said. "Or near as makes no difference."

Juniper swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Ulbrig," she said.

"No, warchief," Ulbrig replied. "You shouldn't be sorry about this. It had nothing to do with you, not one bit… but Sarkoris is dead, and I didn't believe you when you told me. You've been nothing but honest with me."

His form wavered for a moment, as if he couldn't decide whether to shift, but he stayed human.

"I might just be the last chief of Sarkoris," he said. "A chief without a clan… a protector who wasn't there, and who can't find his god. And what does that make me?"

"Important," Juniper told him. "Vital, even. You're a living memory of Sarkoris – you and Finnean, in different ways."

Ulbrig looked up, surprised, then they both turned as a low buzzing sound got louder and louder.

It echoed through the valley, and a giant insect demon flew down to hover just next to the Stone of Voices.

"What's this?" it asked, gleefully. "Morsels!"

Juniper reached for Finnean. "Short sword!" she called, holding out the paw with her overpowered protective ring and casting a shield spell on it. "What is that?"

"An Apocalypse Locust!" Nenio said. "I'm almost sure of it, but I'd need to take some measurements. Do you think you could make it hold still long enough to count its limbs?"

Ulbrig bellowed, and that turned into a griffin's harsh cry as he shifted. Seelah and Camellia drew steel, Woljif snatched one of his paired daggers out of his belt, and Sosiel raised his glaive as Lann nocked and drew a pair of arrows.

"Commander," Regill said, as next to him magic glowed on Ember's palms. "This creature may be beyond us. I recommend leaving a rearguard and breaking contact."

"I volunteer to not be in the rearguard," Woljif told her quickly.

"You can't volunteer to not be part of something," Daeran said. "Otherwise, my dear cousin wouldn't have put me in this situation…"

Juniper was ready for a tricky battle, but then the spectral wolf appeared again in a shimmer of blue light.

It howled, and the howl pulsed out in a visible shockwave tinged with flecks of gold. The blast passed right through Juniper – and all her companions – without touching them, but the apocalypse locust was knocked directly into the Stone of Voices.

There was a stthcrack and a sizzle as the protective enchantments of the stone violently repelled the demonic insect, and it shouted a curse before swiping back at the wolf's spectral form.

The attack made the spirit dissolve, but the Apocalypse Locust seemed badly injured by the pair of blows it had just taken.

"Is that mangy mutt still hanging on?" it demanded, more of the air than anything. "I'll tear her apart and devour her!"

"Lann!" Juniper called, pointing, and Lann fired. The arrows struck, and his target vanished in a swirl of teleportation.

As it left, though, it summoned allies – succubi and incubi, and horrible Vermlek demons, and for the next minute or so a battle raged around the Stone of Voices.

That evening, in camp, Juniper sat with Ulbrig, and they both got drunk.

It wasn't responsible, maybe. Not for the Commander of the Fifth Crusade. But the army was working like a well-oiled machine, and they were still days from Drezen, and Juniper had decided that responsibility could wait.

She'd seen a taste of what it was like for a country to die, and giving those who had gone a Sarkorian send off seemed only right.

"Then there was… Hywaith," Ulbrig mumble, looking into his cup. "He was a brave one… learning to be a druid, you know? I helped him with the sacred tongue."

"Hywaith," Juniper repeated.

She was feeling maudlin herself, right now.

Like she'd thought before, bringing tragedy down to a scale a mortal could understand made it worse… it was harder to ignore or brush over. But it was a truer portrait of what had happened.

Of why she was the Commander of the Fifth Crusade.

"It's hard to accept, you know?" Ulbrig asked. "Knowing that they're all gone. That I'm alone."

He took a drink, and Juniper matched him.

She was going to have a hangover in the morning, but right now that wasn't as important.

"It makes me want to change and not change back," Ulbrig said. "When I'm in my other form, it's… easier to think about something else. Or not think."

"You're thinking on a different scale," Juniper agreed. "A fox is cunning, but it lives in the moment… it doesn't worry about things it can't change."

"Aye," Ulbrig nodded. "Aye, warchief, you've got the right of it."

He shook his head. "If you told me before that a mage would know what I felt like…"

Juniper's focus was a little fuzzy, but for once a myriad selves weren't clamouring for attention.

"I don't know all of what you lost," she said, as the thought occurred to her. "But you don't have to be alone. Not like you said."

Ulbrig stared at her for several seconds.

"I don't know what to do, now," he admitted. "All I can think of is to avenge Sarkoris. Show that… Areelu Vorlesh… the kind of pain that she brought to my own land."

That night, Juniper's dreams were troubled.

There was a confused swirl of Kenabres falling and Sarkorian towns burning, mixed with a vague dream of a little thatched hut in green wilderness, but gradually those were replaced by something else.

An impression of a circle, drawn in red, and a tug that tried to pull her towards the circle.

It was gentle, vague, and didn't form much of a problem at all… and yet, at the same time, it was insistent, and it felt more real than a dream.

Juniper felt more awake than she should be if she were asleep, and yet she was clearly still sleeping. It was a paradox, and her half-awake half-dreaming mind turned it over and over as she tried to work out exactly what was going on.

Another tug, and she moved a little closer to the circle. Slowly, lazily, and she rotated in the not-space half-dream to look at the circle itself.

It had internal lines, defining a metaphysical tension. A binding circle, to trap something inside it. And runes, defining the specifics.

Juniper parsed the runes, and realized that what she was looking at was a very odd kind of demon summoning. The target wasn't any particular kind of demon she knew about, but it was very clearly aimed at a demon of some kind… and yet, it was exerting a gentle, vague tug on her.

That realization – the idea that she was being bound, that whoever had drawn that circle was trying to trap her – brought up another surge of sweet, tempting rage, inviting her to break the connection with sheer power. The bonds were weak, they were trying to bind a demon and she wasn't a demon, so however they'd been able to latch on to her would easily splinter and fall away!

It was such a simple solution, such a tempting, powerful solution, and Juniper's rage flashed over into action before she had time to think. The summoning shattered like glass, making the circle vanish from her view in an instant, and hot, surging energy filled her-

-then she sat up in bed, feeling like she'd run a mile and could go for a dozen more.

Her head ached, halfway hangover and halfway her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and Juniper blinked muzzily before breathing deeply to try and still her racing heartbeat.

It looked like it was still early in the morning, and if she stayed awake too long it would be very hard indeed to get back to sleep… so, as soon as her heart rate slowed down to something more normal, Juniper muttered a healing spell and soothed her head before curling up under her blankets again.

Nothing about that seemed odd, somehow.

"You all right, boss?" Woljif asked, the next afternoon. "Thought I'd ask, is all."

"I'm fine, Woljif," Juniper replied.

"You sure?" the tiefling checked. "Because I don't normally see people sitting staring out into a river like that."

Juniper waved her paw. "Maybe not, but I'm more… wondering about what could have been."

Woljif looked worried. "No, boss, that really doesn't help me out much."

"You've never wondered about it?" Juniper asked. "About how your life would have been different?"

She rubbed her muzzle. "Sorry. It's… something I've been thinking about a lot, recently."

"I guess sometimes?" Woljif tried. "Like, if I'd had more money, or if my grandmother hadn't drunk so much… hey, maybe if I'd been an aasimar? I bet people wouldn't be condescending to me!"

He sat down next to Juniper, since she didn't seem to be moving much. "Maybe I'd get to be condescending myself instead, like Daeran."

"Maybe," Juniper said.

She pointed to their right, where a small village rested by the side of the Icy Rill – a little stream that flowed down to join the West Sellen some miles to the southwest. "Jernaugh… you remember Jernaugh?"

Woljif looked blank for several seconds, then brightened. "Oh, yeah, one of the clerics from the Defender's Heart, right? Worshipped, uh, Erastil I think?"

"That's him," Juniper agreed. "He came here after Kenabres was sorted out, that's part of why we came to visit, and the people here – they're simple people."

"You can say that again!" Woljif laughed. "I tried it on half a dozen people, none of them could find the lady! Until Seelah showed up and spoiled my fun."

"Really?" Juniper asked. "How'd she do that? She's not the usual kind of paladin."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Woljif said. "She's better at the trick than I am, and she explained how it worked in detail. Now nobody here will so much as watch me juggle."

After a few seconds, he frowned. "So… what do you mean, then?"

"Oh, just…" Juniper began, then scratched her head. "Maybe I could put it like this. I don't think any version of me is the kind to stay at home, fishing or farming or working as a blacksmith all my life. It's too important to me to make a difference."

She laced her fingers together, and stretched them out. "Sometimes I don't know anything else about myself, but I think I can be confident in that. And that's made this trip worth it."

"Well, great!" Woljif said, completely lost. "I wouldn't want to be a farmer either, I've heard it's way too much work."

Chapter Text

Juniper awoke, in the darkness of her command tent, and for a moment she wasn't sure why.

Then there was a flash outside, that lit up the outer fabric slightly, and she automatically compared it to how bright it would have been without the enchantments woven into the tent – and shifted her shape, blurring into a four-tailed fox in a shimmer of transformative magic.

Her robe was on the chair by her bed, and she wormed her way into it before returning to her base form. Practice and luck combined to mean she got it right, and she snatched up Finnean to hang on her belt.

"Juniper!" Lann called. "Juniper!"

"I'm awake!" Juniper replied, fighting down a yawn. "What's going on?"

"Gargoyles," Lann replied, grimly. "Like when we met Regill."

Juniper cursed. "Quick – outside, do what you can. I'll be a moment."

She grabbed one of the wands from the table, and flipped it around to point at her throat.

"General Shy," she said, activating the Sending – an expensive way to talk to someone less than a hundred yards away, but there simply wasn't time to do anything else. "Gargoyle attack, full air defence drill, protect the camp. Report your status."

"Understood, commander," the Oread general replied. "Attacked by unusually powerful Nabasu demon to start the attack, defences compromised but recovering. Will do what I can."

Exiting the tent into the night, Juniper saw what her general meant as several Scorching Ray spells blazed up into the sky at once. A whole contingent of Flaming Lance mages were already at work, then Juniper spotted half-a-dozen gargoyles swooping down at once.

She snapped her fingers together, conjuring a tiny bead of flame, then flicked it up. It detonated with a roar, the Fireball sending half her targets crashing to the ground in a shower of flame and the other half having to break formation, then archers peppered one of them with arrows.

More gargoyles were already landing, though, and she drew Finnean.

"Scimitar!" she said, then changed her mind. "Javelin!"

Whirling, she threw Finnean into the closest target, ready to run over and retrieve him. That wasn't necessary, though, as he vanished and reappeared in her paw, and Juniper blinked in surprise before deciding not to question it.

The gargoyles were swarming over the camp, even with her archers and mages doing their best, and she saw several of them carrying prisoners off to the north. One of them picked up a particularly big captive by the camp entrance, then through the smoke and gloom Juniper saw the big man turn into a griffin four times the size of the gargoyle.

Ulbrig grabbed the startled gargoyle, beat his wings to roll, and landed right back on the ground gargoyle-first. She couldn't hear the impact from the command tent, but even with how it was one of the attacking gargoyles she couldn't hold back a wince.

"Lann, cover us!" she said, looking left and right – there was more fire over to the right, and that was the part of camp where Ember, Nenio and Regill slept.

Where Irabeth, Anevia and Nurah slept.

She had to pick somewhere to check first, and that was as good a reason as any.

Juniper checked where Ember had been sleeping – nothing – then a gargoyle swooped low overhead, aiming for her, and Lann shot it in the throat.

It crashed in a tangle of wings and claws, rolling through a tent, and a half-dressed crusader stabbed it to finish it off. The impact drew Juniper's attention to another low-flying gargoyle, though, and she hurled Finnean to down it before reaching out to the side and catching him as he reappeared.

There wasn't any sign of Nenio, either, or the Tirabades, but as Juniper scanned that side of the camp she did spot Nurah – out in the open, moving with purpose, not far from the burning tents.

With alchemist's fire at her belt.

A dreadful suspicion blossomed, but Juniper didn't let it show.

"Nurah!" she called. "Are you okay?"

"Commander!" Nurah replied, sounding highly stressed. "There's gargoyles everywhere! What do I do?"

"Alchemist's fire?" Juniper suggested, still thinking about her suspicion.

"Where?" Nurah asked, then looked down at her belt in surprise. "Ah!"

She snatched the grenade into her hand, throwing it at a gargoyle – and missing – and ducked between two tents.

Juniper dropped one gargoyle with Finnean, Lann got the other, then the kitsune flicked her tail as she used a sleep spell. It knocked one of the ascending gargoyles unconscious, letting the prisoner drop free as their talons relaxed.

"Back that way," Juniper decided, pointing to the other side of the camp. "Let's see who we can find."

Camellia was easy enough to find, standing nervous and alert next to a clearly-dead crusader, then Seelah and Ulbrig near the camp entrance. Juniper hadn't seen any of her other companions, though – but by the time she'd almost finished a circuit of the camp, her archers had most of the situation under control and there were pike and spear hedges raised to keep the archers safe in turn.

They'd taken heavy casualties, but the gargoyles were suffering at least as heavily, and she was grimly certain that they'd regret having launched this attack.

As she moved into the last part of the camp, though, part of her keeping a running tally of who was missing – Nenio-Regill-Sosiel-Ember-Daeran-Woljif – she saw Anevia up ahead, with a squad of archers around her.

And, further ahead, a Nabasu demon who fairly simmered with unnatural vitality… with Irabeth, sprawled on the ground next to him and clearly unconscious or worse.

"You're the demon who led the attack," Juniper realized, and Finnean switched from javelin to spear.

The Nabasu turned to her, and giggled. "So you're the one!" he said, gleefully. "You're the leader of all these soldiers! Silly soldiers playing silly games!"

He looked at her, and waved a clawed hand. "She said you were like me! But you're not my equal at all!"

"Your equal?" Juniper repeated, not sure how to take that. "What do you mean?"

"She doesn't know!" the Nabasu laughed. "You don't know! My army's better than yours! Taking your soldiers to make more of mine!"

A pulse of hot rage flashed through Juniper's blood, stronger and more tempting after how she let it take over before, but she wrestled it under control. Instead, her heart responded, shining with indignation and righteous fury.

"Was this attack to hurt our morale or our army?" she asked. "Because your gargoyles have been decimated several times over just by trying – and the Fifth Crusade is tougher than that!"

"Yeah!" a crusader cheered, next to her.

"Goldentail is with us!" another called, raising his sword.

Seelah and Ulbrig loomed either side of Juniper, one on horseback and the other simply big enough that his wings came up to her neck without even trying to lift them, and she heard Lann and Camellia move up as well.

"We're tougher than that," she added. "Who are you, demon, so I can know who I'm going to kill?"

That got her another giggle.

"Nulkineth!" the demon introduced himself. "But you won't kill me, I'll kill you! Not here though – it'll be a game!"

He clapped his hands as Juniper approached, and dozens of gargoyles swooped down to form a living shield around him. General Shy's archers opened fire, as did Lann, and Seelah and Acemi charged, but flapping wings and fanatical gargoyles kept Nulkineth from being attacked until the whole assemblage flew skywards again – leaving behind more than two dozen gargoyles, but no Nulkineth.

And no Irabeth.

"Commander," Anevia said, her voice flat with throttled fear. "Call an urgent council."

Technically, Anevia shouldn't have been giving her any orders at all, but Juniper couldn't begrudge her.

The only subject at the council, after all, was going to be a rescue mission for Irabeth and the other captives.

General Shy gave his report first, summarizing what he'd pulled together from the camp structure in general, though his numbers were preliminary.

Casualties had been quite low, if higher than Juniper would have hoped, and the gargoyle casualties had been even worse than she'd first judged – partly because so many of the animated-stone monsters had fallen outside the camp itself and she hadn't caught sight of them.

The ones who'd been carrying captives hadn't been fired on, though, partly because of simple prioritization problems, and that meant almost all the missing were probably where the gargoyles had been taking them.

"There," Anevia said, pointing at the map. "The chapel, there. Scouting reports and the directions the gargoyles were flying – it all lines up."

Juniper frowned.

"Not Drezen?" she asked, measuring off the distances with forefinger and thumb. "It's almost as close, and it'd be much better defended."

She glanced up. "I'm not disagreeing with you, Anevia. I'm just surprised."

"Well, I'm damn sure," Anevia said, mollified. "What's so strange about it? You're the expert, I guess."

"I'm not sure about this," Juniper hedged, sliding a claw between Drezen and the old chapel. "But I think… if this operation were staged out of Drezen, it would make a superior place to take our captives. There's got to be more demons and cultists there, while this chapel can only really have the gargoyles and a small support team… plus this demon Nulkineth, I suppose."

She measured out another distance, this time to the place where she'd recruited Regill. "But the difference… we keep forgetting it, but demons only co-operate under duress. I wonder if this Nulkineth is running an independent operation, with his gargoyles, and he's so impressed with his own strength that he's not even going to try to coordinate with the forces in Drezen."

"Their mistake, our advantage," Camellia said. "The carnage tonight was bad enough."

"You sound like you've got a plan, warchief," Ulbrig rumbled. "Let's hear it."

"I do," Juniper confirmed. "Half the army is to remain here while we break camp, then make a night march to the foot of the chapel hill. The other half is to move immediately to the foot of the chapel hill. I'll be taking a strike force to the chapel to rescue anyone we can – and destroy this Nulkineth if possible – and having a force at the foot of the hill to send rescuees back to will be important. Eyes on the sky, sentries will be anyone with good night vision – and don't hesitate to light the area up to get a better view. They've seen us anyway."

She paused. "Did anyone see any of the Hellknights? I didn't spot any of them or any of their Armiger initiates during the battle."

"I saw some being taken," Shy volunteered. "They didn't run, or anything."

"Speaking of, Commander," Anevia said. "Someone saw a tiefling who looked and was dressed like Woljif leaving camp in a hurry, during the attack. I don't think he'll be back any time soon."

Juniper sighed.

"I see," she said. "We'll deal with that at a later point… for now, what matters is getting to the chapel."

The chapel's hill loomed against the night sky, and Juniper glanced back behind her.

Only a small number of Crusaders had arrived so far, mostly the mounted outriders and knights. She herself had only got there a few minutes ago, after a forced-march through the night, but it was hard to justify waiting any longer.

She couldn't justify waiting any longer.

"Commander!" Anevia called, in hushed tones. "Look who I found."

Juniper glanced over, then blinked a few times to make sure she was seeing correctly.

"...Nenio?" she asked. "What happened to you?"

"I was doing an experiment," Nenio replied, matter-of-factly, and adjusted her scroll belt. "It turns out that a blind gargoyle that has just begun a landing approach cannot successfully land in the right place. It was a most fascinating conclusion, which is that gargoyles rely on constant adjustment rather than locking in what they will do the moment they make the decision to descend. It will make an excellent addition to the article on gargoyles in my encyclopedia."

Juniper tilted her head, as several questions all got jammed up in her mind at once.

"...blind?" she asked.

"Yes," Nenio agreed. "I constructed an illusion of darkness across the eyes of the gargoyle. I had to apply it several times in succession to ensure the experiment was successful."

She brushed herself off. "I was going to ask the gargoyle what it thought about the result, but it expired after crashing into the ground."

"...right," Juniper said, deciding that she didn't really have time for the other things she wanted to ask about that. "Did you see anything else useful as you were coming in?"

"I have a page of notes about gargoyle physiology," Nenio volunteered.

Since that probably meant the actual answer was no – or that Nenio didn't share her opinion on what counted as useful, and had thus forgotten it – Juniper shook her head slightly, throwing off her confusion like water after a bath.

"I'm glad to have you," she said. "Anevia, I can't justify waiting any longer – I'll head uphill now."

"Got it, Commander," Anevia replied. "I'll set up the clerics when they arrive. Send down anyone you need."

She caught Juniper's eye. "And keep a lookout for Kitrane."

Juniper nodded a reply, understanding what Anevia meant.

"Let's go," she said. "We've got some prisoners to rescue."

Gargoyles swooped down on them as they climbed the hill, taking attrition from Lann on the way down and then running headlong into the problem presented by both Seelah and Ulbrig working together, then after they passed through a cut the attacks stopped.

"Looks like they've learned their lesson!" Ulbrig laughed, shifting back from griffin form, then shaded his eyes. "Hmm… warchief, is it me or are there people up ahead?"

"Why are you shading your eyes?" Nenio asked him. "The purpose of doing that is to avoid sun glare. Doing it at night is illogical."

"Hmpf," Ulbrig replied, glowering at her, then there was a little flash of magic up ahead.

Juniper jogged ahead, seeing that Ember was crouched over a wounded crusader and healing him, and that Daeran was with her.

"It's good to see you both!" she said. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Daeran replied. "Let me tell you, that was a dreadful experience, I always wanted a flying pony when I was a child but dangling half a mile in the air from a brainless creature is exactly the sort of experience I did not want to have."

He shook his head. "When I'm free of this miserable crusade, I intend to find out how much wine it takes to entirely forget that."

Nenio made an interested noise. "Wine allows you to forget things? Fascinating. I will have to attempt that when I get drunk."

"Forgive me, my dear, but the very thought of you being drunk is intimidating," Daeran said. "But, well, I got taken into a cave further down the mountain where the gargoyles were keeping their loot, and I escaped from there."

He paused. "And, take it from me, it wasn't much good as loot. I doubt you'd be interested."

"They took me and tried to make me into one of them," Ember piped up, as the crusader she'd healed got up. "But when they touched me to try and make me stop moving, it didn't work!"

"Make you one of them?" Camellia asked. "Can gargoyles even do that?"

"The dead people," Ember replied, pointing up the slope. "There's lots of them, up in the building there."

"Dead people," Juniper repeated, thinking. "And they tried to make you stop moving, but it didn't work… you're an elf, so you're immune to paralysis… ghouls?"

She glanced at Daeran. "I hope you've still got some magic left."

"Oh, plenty, I assure you," Daeran replied. "Of course, I'd like nothing more than to be more than a hundred miles away from here, enjoying myself in Nerosyan and raising a toast to you whenever I heard about some incredibly bloody battle… and yet, at the same time, I want to come along and watch as you make them scared of you. It's only fair."

Yaker and a group of Hellknights were next, and the officer saluted before informing Juniper that they'd exploited the moment of vulnerability as their captors came down to land. That had let them attack the gargoyles, gaining their freedom, and Juniper confirmed that Regill was as-yet unaccounted for before sending them down to help Anevia hold the camp.

There were more and more ghouls as they climbed towards the chapel itself, and having Daeran along was invaluable. The aasimar used his healing powers offensively, pulsing out great waves of positive energy that made the undead hiss and flinch or simply disintegrate entirely, then just after he'd knocked down a whole pack of ghouls there was an answering pulse from up ahead.

Juniper ran up before she'd recognized what she was doing, and saw a woman in Hellknight armour holding off several ghouls while Sosiel used his own clerical powers to knock them down.

"Javelin!" she called, flinging Finnean to hit one of the ghouls in the head, but her intervention was a moment too late – the woman collapsed, finally injured beyond endurance, as Sosiel's glaive swung to slice the last of the ghouls in half.

"Juniper," Sosiel said, sounding distracted, and crouched down to minister to the Hellknight. "Please be… no, she's gone."

He sounded torn up, and Juniper could understand that – but, at the same time, something seemed odd about it. Sosiel hadn't exactly been a fan of the Hellknights in camp.

"Did you know her?" she asked.

"No," Sosiel replied. "Not her."

He lifted the Hellknight, and freed the shield half-trapped under her leg. "I recognized this… it's my brother's shield. He brought it all the way from Andoran. What's a Hellknight doing with it?"

His face clouded, and he clenched his fist. "All this time… she was in the same camp and I never saw her! And now all I have to go on is the shield."

Juniper winced.

"What about her commanding officer?" she suggested. "There isn't time right now, but several Hellknights have already been sent downhill – you can try and find out once we've made it through the night."

"Yes," Sosiel agreed. "I – thank you, Commander. You're right."

He slung the shield across his back, checking to make sure it was held tight to the armour, then picked up his glaive. "People need our help."

Regill was the last of Juniper's companions to be accounted for, and – true to form – the old gnome was with the rest of his Hellknight contingent, fighting his way down the hill as Juniper fought her way up.

He saluted, commended Juniper for her efficiency in arriving promptly, then asked if he should retreat with his unit to the foot of the hill or if either he or they would be necessary.

Juniper paused for a long moment, looking up at the size of the chapel, then made her decision.

"Your unit should retreat," she said. "I'll want your assistance, but as it is this will be close quarters work and even without the Hellknights there'll be trouble fitting everyone."

"Affirmative," Regill nodded, turning to one of his sub-commanders. "See to it."

He returned his attention to Juniper. "If we are to attack the chapel, there are several possible routes of ingress. However in this case I believe the front entrance will be preferable; speed and aggression can be as effective as a flanking attack and we will need to sweep the whole complex anyway."

Crouching, Regill sketched a map in the dirt with one of the hook-ends of his hammer. "The chapel proper is here. I saw captives through here. This is the front entrance."

Juniper considered, for several seconds, then nodded.

"I agree," she said. "Let's go."

There were worrying numbers of ghouls outside, especially with one of their known opponents being a Nabasu who could create ghouls by draining life force, but once they were destroyed Camellia hurried up to the chapel door.

"Locked," she reported.

"I'll handle it," Ulbrig said, and transformed. Rearing up, he did the same slap-the-doors-open trick from the Grey Garrison, and the chapel doors slammed open with a wham.

Juniper darted through, a spell sizzling on her paws, then stopped and stared.

It looked a lot like there was a priest, taking lay worshippers through a sermon. But the lay worshippers were frightened crusaders, and the priest was a ghoul – and not just any ghoul, but clearly the elderly cleric Vissaly Rathimus who had handled sanctifying her army's altars as recently as yesterday.

He was in the middle of talking about being transformed into a ghoul as a holy sacrament, copying the wording and form of any of Iomedae's priests addressing the faithful.

"Ah, commander," he said, looking up. "Have you come to join us in worship? Or have you come to die?"

"This is mockery," Seelah said, behind Juniper.

"Commander?" one of the crusaders asked, in a small voice. "Have you come to save us?"

Juniper's golden-dusted tail twitched.

This was a situation where it would really help to be an Oracle-

And her mind felt like it was cracking in half.

I should help – they need to be stopped – this was a holy place – who is in my head – Targona where are you-

Pain stabbed her in the chest, and she felt sunlight reaching out from her heart to fill her up. It built and built, then boiled forth in a wave, and Sosiel gasped faintly as the Commander unleashed a wave of positive energy – healing the living and harming the undead, all at once, knocking armed ghoul guards off-balance as an energy she shouldn't have been able to harness poured forth.

"Juniper is with us!" someone shouted. "For the Commander!"

The Commander recognized the name, but wasn't sure if it was hers.

She caught herself before she fell forwards, then looked up at the sound of a commotion. The moment of distraction had let someone else get involved, and Knight Kitrane began hacking through ghoul bodyguards to try and reach the corrupted Rathimus.

"What the-" Daeran said, from behind the Commander. "The armour fooled me, but that could only be my cousin!"

Ulbrig called out a wordless battlecry, vaulting halfway to the ceiling, and crashed into the middle of the desecrated chapel claws-first.

By the time the chapel was clear, the Commander had got something of a handle on herself, though positive energy still bubbled under her fur and itched where it wanted to burst out.

She felt like there were two of her, and one of them was also two people, and one of those people was male. But they were united in what they wanted to do, at least… enough to be going on with.

"Commander?" Kitrane asked – Galfrey, she was Galfrey, why was her sister-in-arms in disguise? "Are you all right?"

"I've been better," the Commander replied, then winced slightly as context and place and her name came rushing back like the feeling of a dislocated limb realigning. "Please – take these Crusaders down the hill. We'll clear the rest of the building."

"If you are sure, Commander," Galfrey replied. "I fought to defend this place once, but it has changed so much…"

She shook her head. "So many have been and gone."

Juniper nodded, reaching down to run one of her tails through her paws, grounding herself a little – then felt the positive energy subside slightly, and stopped.

Right now, it was more important to have that energy than to know who she was.

"We should keep moving," she said. "Camellia, is that door locked?"

"You can count on me," Camellia replied, stepping over to check it, and as she did – as Kitrane left with the survivors – Juniper noticed another door.

It led down into the interior of the hill, and was covered by a hazy veil of illusion. But she had the sudden feeling she should check it later.

Then Camellia opened the door into the rest of the upper layers, and Juniper kept going.

There were more ghouls, in the rest of the chapel. A lot more ghouls… and they were actively at work, turning crusaders into more ghouls.

Not en masse, and not right that moment. A few of them, each with two or three ghouls taking care over their work – work which was halfway like torture, and which so absorbed the ghouls that they hadn't noticed the fighting in the main chapel hall.

Worse, they were talking about what they were doing like it was a mercy. Like they were doing their victims a favour.

Camellia swallowed. "How… unpleasant."

"They're only doing what they think is right," Ember said, softly. "They were hurt badly, but they were convinced that what happened to them is kind. Now they're doing the same to others. They're being as kind as they know how, just like crusaders."

"I confess, I didn't expect you to be a satirist, Ember," Daeran told her.

Ember just looked a bit confused.

"Those prisoners are effectively hostages," Juniper said. "They'll be killed straight away if the ghouls notice us… everyone be as quiet as possible, but be ready to move in straight away as soon as something happens."

"Like what?" Seelah asked. "You're not about to do some damn fool thing, are you?"

In reply, Juniper shifted her form, and used a Vanish spell at the same moment.

It wasn't impossible to notice her, but invisibility and the form of a small multi-tailed fox meant she could only be detected by sound… and the sounds were far too different from what the ghouls might have considered dangerous.

Part of the design of the invisibility spell was that she saw herself as a dim, ghostly outline, and for several seconds all of her attention was on her own paws as she picked her way towards the ghouls. Then she was close enough, and returned to her base shape in the same moment as she let the positive energy surge forth.

The splitting headache came right back, but this time Juniper had expected it, and she snatched Finnean off her belt.

"Quarterstaff!" she called, and used the living weapon as an ersatz spear to knock one ghoul away from an imprisoned crusader. Wings flashed overhead as Ulbrig came flying in, landing on a ghoul with tremendous force, then Lann began loosing arrows to give them cover and Acemi's hooves thundered on the ground around them.

The double-triple mental state thrummed around her, tugging at her concentration, but by the time it faded – by the time the ghouls were all gone – Juniper had at least got a term for it.

The second mind-state was like before, when she'd had intrusive memories, and the third… the third was Lariel, the angel whose sword she'd taken up below Kenabres. Only an echo, nothing more, but enough of one to tug at her control and concentration.

To act as a curse… like an oracle was cursed, perhaps.

Irabeth was among the prisoners in the next room they cleared, hung from the ceiling by her wrists and left for later.

Seelah cut her down with one blow of her sword, and Irabeth dropped to the floor. She nearly fell over, but Sosiel caught her before she actually toppled, and the half-orc paladin blinked a few times before focusing on Juniper.

"Commander," she said, sounding dizzy. "Knew you'd come for us… sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Juniper asked, more harshly than she'd probably intended, and Irabeth flinched.

"I mean it!" the kitsune insisted. "We got attacked by surprise, at night, from the air. Being taken prisoner is nothing to be-"

"Some of my men died in front of me," Irabeth said, dully. "They weren't blessed with immunity to disease, yet… the ghouls turned them into more ghouls."

"And this is the commander of a Mendevian order?" Regill asked. "Pathetic."

"Paralictor Derenge, if I wanted your opinion I would ask for it," Juniper replied sharply. "Make no mistake, you have impressed me tonight with your escape plan from the gargoyles; Irabeth Tirabade impressed me before I even met you, by ensuring the successful defence and liberation of Kenabres."

The words still seemed to have had an impact on Irabeth, and Juniper put a paw on her shoulder.

The last of the positive energy she'd used before flowed out of her, into the paladin, and she patted Irabeth on the back.

"Anevia's waiting for you at the bottom of the hill," she said. "Go and see your wife, Irabeth."

"Wait," Irabeth said. "This nabasu… he's powerful, and he's mad. Minagho's with him, and Staunton too… be careful."

"Thank you for your report, Knight Tirabade," Juniper replied, formally, then gave her a little push. "Now get some rest. We'll take care of Nulkineth."

On the other side of the next door was a large open space, that might have been open to the sky even before decades eroded the chapel and certainly was now, and Juniper assessed what she could see the moment she was through the door.

Up on a high tower, there were Staunton and Minagho, observing what was going on. Then, on the main open field, there was Nulkineth… and about twenty men and women stood in ranks in front of him.

About half were ghouls, but the other half were crusader prisoners, still in armour, and Nulkineth was staring at them avidly.

"Hup two, hup two, keep it up!" he said. "Now you ones march over there! Why have you stopped!"

"The Commander!" someone gasped. "She's come to save us!"

Nulkineth looked peevishly angry, actually stamping his foot, and turned towards Juniper.

"You've interrupted me!" he said. "Go away! I'm playing with my new toys!"

"Toys?" Camellia repeated. "You're playing with toy soldiers? What are you, eight?"

"My word," Daeran said, almost laughing. "Paralictor, what strategy would you recommend to deal with a petulant child? And what does it say that your entire force was kidnapped by them?"

Regill grumbled something in a low voice.

"Look, Staunton, darling!" Minagho said, speaking loudly so that Juniper could hear her. "There's Juniper, and her friends! They're all going to die, it's going to be such a delight, isn't it?"

Staunton said nothing, but he didn't disagree either.

"How do you think this is going to end, Staunton?" Juniper asked. "How do you see this ending for you?"

"One way or another, it'll be my choice!" Staunton replied, the dwarf glowering down at her. "I spent an entire human lifetime following the commands of others to try and prove I was sincere, and nothing came of it!"

"Shut up!" Nulkineth demanded. "Don't ignore me! I'll rip you apart!"

Purplish light fizzed over his wings for a moment, and Juniper's gold-dusted tail twitched in response.

A pulse of draining, negative energy rolled outwards from the nabasu demon, making some of the crusaders he'd been ordering around shiver as some of their vitality ebbed away, and Juniper held up Finnean with one paw.

"Spear!" she said, running forwards, and Nulkineth swiped at her. She flipped Finnean around as the claw came at her, blocking it with his blade, then an enervating ray hit her in the side and her muscles suddenly went weak.

A surge of golden energy responded, though, strengthening her just as much as the ray had weakened her, and the fact she hadn't slowed down caught Nulkineth off guard. Her spear-butt hit Nulkineth in the side of the head, the blow coming with a crack of golden smoke that knocked him staggering back a pace, then he shouted an order and all his ghouls began rushing Juniper.

One of them made it only two paces before Lann's arrow caught it in the chest, and the rest of Juniper's companions opened fire or charged past to engage the ghouls. The crusaders began laying about them as well, snatching up weapons or just using their gauntleted fists, but most of Juniper's focus was on Nulkineth.

She wanted to tell Finnean to switch to a dueling sword, but he'd already made the change, and she flicked up the blade to block Nulkineth's claw attacks before pushing away and throwing herself backwards. A fireball flashed up into the air from her free paw, detonating just high enough to avoid hurting her but definitely low enough to hurt Nulkineth, and he shouted in rage before flaring his smouldering wings and trying to stamp on her.

Juniper rolled out of the way, coming upright with a single supple motion, and Finnean reshaped into a javelin in her paw. She threw him, guided by lessons from a different lifetime, then caught him as he vanished from Nulkineth's shoulder and reappeared in her paw.

Flame curled around her as she formed a kinetic blade in her free paw, striking out at Nulkineth's clawed hand, then that vanished in favour of a shout of rage and fury as Finnean-the-longsword met Nulkineth's attach and pushed him back. Reddish-purple power flared up around her opponent, and he snatched a flail from his belt before whirling it around his head and swiping at her.

He missed, as Juniper blocked with the field of force around her protective ring, then swept up Finnean to block the second attack. Their weapons clashed with a sprang, the flail-head swinging around to hit her upper arm but only hard enough to draw blood,and Nulkineth scowled at her.

"Stop it!" he demanded. "Hold STILL!"

Power flashed out, and everyone stopped moving.

Juniper stopped as well, held in place by the same spell, and Nulkineth chuckled unpleasantly.

But warmth was spreading through Juniper. From her tail, up her spine, into all her limbs. She felt hot-fury righteous-anger nervous-energy cool-dispassion ageless-serenity wild-freedom, and golden dust like fire spread out over her whole body.

She couldn't do anything, but that was fundamentally anathema to the golden power that filled every strand of fur to bursting. That demanded her to do everything, and Juniper heard Minagho's hooves clacking on the stone next to Staunton.

"No, she's doing it again!" Minagho realized. "Nulkineth, you idiot, kill her! Kill her now!"

It was too late.

It would always have been too late.

Nulkineth's spell shattered into dust, and an explosion of golden light filled the whole courtyard.

She was…

(everyone)

(no)

She was Caitrin Aldori, expert duelist and swordlord who dabbled in magic. She was Olivie of the Blacklions, bloodrager and nomad. She was Mirala of Kenabres, Sings-Brightly, Acolyte Falconeyes, she was a thousand different people and more.

But they all had names. They were all different.

And they were all the same person as well.

She was Juniper Goldeneyes, Commander of the Fifth Crusade, and Nulkineth didn't have the first idea who he was dealing with.

Landing with vulpine grace and dropping into a three-point crouch, Juniper held Finnean out to the side. Her tails splayed around her like a fan, two of them shedding golden dust like mist, and an exultant grin played across her muzzle.

"Get us out of here!" she heard Staunton demand, but that didn't matter.

Only Nulkineth mattered.

"Stop it stop it stop it!" Nulkineth demanded. "You're supposed to die! This isn't fair!"

He swept down his flail, and Caitrin Aldori guided Juniper's paw. Finnean knocked the weapon out of Nulkineth's hand, leaving him looking dumbfounded, then Mirala of Kenabres directed a pulse of healing magic that fixed the wound in Juniper's forearm and Sings-Brightly lent structure to her war-cry.

Nulkineth flinched, then Juniper shifted Finnean to a greatsword. Acolyte Falconeyes identified a weakness, Olivie of the Blacklions directed her stance, and Juniper cut the nabasu demon in half with a single mighty blow.

"You feeling better?" Sosiel asked Juniper, most of an hour later.

"Well, my head's stopped feeling like it's trying to explode," the kitsune replied.

She glanced back at her tails, fanning them out, then winced and closed her eyes again. "If I ever work out exactly what I just did, I'll be sure to tell you I don't recommend doing it."

Sosiel chuckled. "I won't say I know the feeling, but I'm glad you've got some of your pep back. Do you need any healing?"

Juniper did her best to evaluate that, honestly.

"I don't think so," she decided. "I know once my combat stress fades I'm going to love getting to bed, but for now… I think I need to spend a bit of time walking around. Maybe do something less stressful, like fight some gargoyles."

"If you ever want to find out how your powers work, girl, I would be delighted to assist!" Nenio contributed brightly.

"I'm surprised you managed to restrain yourself from saying that for the last hour or so," Juniper replied.

Nenio tilted her head. "I have observed that people who are in pain are often less likely to agree with an offer of experimentation."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for it," Juniper answered, then stood up and stretched. "I think I'm going to have a look around the foot of the hill… see if there's anything there. Then it's back to the army."

Thinking about that brought a flicker of pain and blurred vision, but she took a deep breath and did her best to push through it.

"Actually, after what happened last night… we should probably rest the army a day," she decided. "Or not move far. It'd be too much strain."

"Another example of the weakness of Mendevian armies," Regill said, levelly. "I keep raising these, Commander."

Juniper nodded. "You do, Paralictor. But in this case it is nothing to do with the weakness of Mendevian armies except for those that are simply unavoidable. Satisfy my curiosity – how do Chelish armies manage their logistics?"

Regill regarded her for several seconds.

"I believe you are trying to lay a trap for me, Commander," he said. "But, to provide the answer I am sure you already know, Chelish armies manage their logistics the same way most armies do – with horse drawn wagons, unless the expense involved in the campaign is much greater than would normally be considered."

"Precisely," Juniper told him. "The limitations from horses are more strict than the limitations from soldiers. If I were to order the army to continue with a normal march today after the movement made last night, we would begin losing horses – and a pattern like that would see us stranded in the outer Worldwound without any ability to actually take our objective at the end of it."

The elderly gnome inclined his head. "A well executed trap, Commander. My congratulations, and I withdraw my objection."

"Good," Juniper said, taking a deep breath. "As I said, I'm going for a walk. If anyone's interested, they can come with me, but otherwise you might want to head back to the army – I'll join you when I'm done."

Chapter Text

Lann, Ember, Ulbrig and Seelah ended up coming with her, along with Sosiel who might have been along to make sure she didn't strain herself, and after some experiments with Ulbrig they worked out how to get Acemi down the shallower bits of slope.

It wouldn't have worked with a dumb animal, but Acemi was quite willing to have a rope attached to her barding and be slowly lowered with Ulbrig's griffin form providing the belaying, and once they were at the bottom Ulbrig returned to human form and snorted.

"I don't mind telling you, warchief, that was a weird thing to do," he said. "Bet it was weird to watch, as well."

"It did look peculiar," Juniper admitted. "But I appreciate the help, and I'm sure Seelah does too."

"You bet I do!" Seelah called, then pointed into the sky. "Look out!"

Ulbrig grinned, then transformed and sprang into the air. The incoming gargoyles reacted with shock as they recognized him, one of them turning to fly away very promptly, and though the rest continued coming down to attack they didn't get very far.

Technically one of them got all the way to the ground, but Ember had wrapped him in a magical sleep so it was very much a crash landing.

Some minutes later, Juniper was glad she'd decided to investigate the outskirts of the area.

There had been plenty of ghouls wandering around, sort of lost, but they hadn't yet begun moving out or taken notice of the army camp a few miles away – and, with Sosiel's help, they'd been returned to a true death.

Then there had been the remnants of Nulkineth's gargoyles, a force of incubi and succubi, and even the worrying sight of a demodand. Juniper wasn't even sure how a demodand had got to Golarion, but they were from the abyss like actual demons, so they might have been able to travel through the Worldwound like demons had done… the main thing that made their presence worrying was the question of why.

They'd found the gargoyle treasure hoard, as well. Most of what had been in there was either of limited value or actually worthless, but there were some useful things to be found – all of which went into Juniper's bag – and a ladder which presumably led up to where they'd found Daeran the night before.

"I don't think we're getting the horse up that," Ulbrig muttered, then noticed the gargoyles at the foot of the ladder. "What happened to them?"

Juniper didn't have an answer. There were about half a dozen of the stone monsters, but they were all missing heads… and, though it was a bit disgusting, she crouched down to have a closer look.

"Perfectly smooth," she said. "Strange…"

"What have you found, Soot?" Ember asked, picking something out of the remains of the gargoyle treasure as her crow hovered overhead. "It's got a butterfly on it."

"Desna's symbol," Juniper replied, turning to have a look. "A small harp… and we found a sextant earlier, didn't we?"

She rummaged in her bag, then drew the sextant out, and confirmed that it had a butterfly on it as well.

"What do you think it means?" Sosiel asked. "Desna is a goddess of good, like Shelyn, so this is a good omen, isn't it?"

"Reminds me of those three we met in Kenabres, huh, Juniper?" Seelah contributed. "You know the ones."

"Oh, the butterfly goddess," Ulbrig said. "Hmm… now I think about it, warchief, I saw an altar to the butterfly god back on the south side of the hill. Might be worth looking at."

Seelah laughed. "And here I was thinking you were unobservant!"

"Don't know why you'd think that, lass," Ulbrig replied.

Juniper kept her peace about how long it had taken for Ulbrig to admit that he'd been a statue for a hundred years, and about how he still had a tendency to get demons and fey mixed up.

Instead, she took the rest of them around the hill to the altar, and placed the harp and sextant on it.

"Are you a Desnan?" Sosiel asked, curious. "I don't think I ever asked, but I assumed you honoured Iomedae."

He looked back up the hill. "After all, she's given you her blessing… twice so far, counting earlier this morning."

"I'm not Desnan," Juniper replied. "Anevia is, but that's not my faith. I'm…"

She paused, trying to pick out the correct answer from a hundred vague ones, all of them seeming incorrect.

"I'd assumed that Daikitsu was the one giving me a blessing," she said, after a moment's thought. "But that's not right either. I just don't really have a deity that I specifically worship."

Crouching down, Juniper touched the harp, and it played a three-note tune.

"Hmm," she said. "That sounded familiar."

"It did?" Lann asked. "Forgive me, I'm no good with music."

"Those notes," Juniper explained. "I've heard them before…"

She tried the other two objects on the altar – the sextant, and a map with a similar butterfly symbol that had been there already – and each played a different three notes.

Humming to herself, almost without noticing, she glanced back. "Seelah, Ember, Lann – you were all there when we heard this. Listen."

She tapped them again, in a specific sequence, and this time it played the tune that Ilkes, Thall and Aranka had shared with her. The notes rose into the air as Juniper added her wordless voice, then a shimmering image appeared.

"I… hear you," the image said, gaining definition and revealing the subject to be a woman. "Who are you… oh! I can see you! You're beautiful."

Juniper would have to have been made of stone to not find an unsolicited compliment like that gratifying.

"Who are you?" she asked. "I can see an image of you?"

"An image?" the voice replied. "Oh… it's a projection, of course. You're not really here."

The image flickered. "I was caught – I was spying for the crusaders, but now I'm in prison in Drezen… thank you for this taste of freedom…"

The image faded away, and Juniper glanced left and right.

"Did any of you see that?" she asked.

"Didn't see a thing, warchief," Ulbrig answered, with a shrug. "Sounds like you got a vision from the butterfly goddess, though. Up to you if you trust it."

That was the problem, of course. But it had felt real.

Juniper had a lot to think about on the way back to the army camp.

Some hours later, after sleeping for much of the day, Juniper came back to the chapel with a completely different set of companions.

"I don't know what might be down there," she admitted. "But I'm glad you all agreed to come."

"I'm always glad to help a friend," Camellia replied, idly.

Regill shrugged. "An investigation like this deserves caution. An illusion of the type you spotted could be the result of just about anything, but narrowing down what we might be leaving in our rear is critical."

He glanced to the side. "Though I would prefer that you hadn't decided to bring her."

Nenio didn't seem to notice the comment, which… was probably an accurate reflection of why she hadn't reacted, actually.

"I'm flattered, Paralictor," Daeran said, eyes glittering. "You didn't include me on your list of people you disapprove of."

He waved a hand up at the sky. "And the atmosphere! A starlit night, an abandoned temple… why, were it not for how many others are along I might almost call it romantic."

Then Daeran contemplated Regill, Nenio, Juniper and Camellia. "Though, I suppose nothing's really stopping us from making it romantic. The more the merrier, as I say when arranging courtesans."

"You are not funny," Regill grumbled.

"I disagree," Daeran replied. "And besides, you can hardly say that if you've made a career out of not finding anything funny – even if it is funny. Why, by now I'm sure you wouldn't recognize a good joke if it bit you."

"We're here," Juniper interrupted them, and reached out a paw towards the illusory wall. It dissolved entirely when she touched it, revealing a set of stairs leading down.

Lacing her fingers together, she stretched her paws out in front of her. "Let's see what's hiding down here."

Going down the stairs, Juniper and her companions found a complex of rooms that looked like they'd been almost undisturbed for decades. Mummified food was still in place on tables, the air was musty, and everything felt just a little colder than it should.

The light from Juniper's two gold-dusted tails meant they weren't operating in complete darkness, but it was still eerie.

"This must have been here since the chapel fell," Daeran said. "And it can't have been disturbed in all that time… otherwise I'm sure those gargoyles would have taken some of it to add to that hoard of theirs."

"It's very out of fashion, but I suppose that would be just like them," Camellia replied, thinking out loud. "Hmm."

Juniper held up a paw.

"I can hear something ahead," she said, then pushed the door gently open.

The other side was a library, one stuffed full of books by dozens of people. Many of them were rotted into scraps, but there were just as many that were in pristine condition.

"Why would someone use an illusion like that to disguise a library?" Camellia asked. "If the chapel was going to fall, who would bother to put up a defence like that, anyway?"

"Girl, the answer is obvious!" Nenio said. "The information stored here could be vitally important!"

"Both of you, sssh," Juniper instructed, trying not to sound too sharp. "Look at the books."

Nenio picked one out of the bookshelf.

"Know Thy Enemy," she said. "A Crusader's Brief. This appears to be thoroughly incomplete, the section on werewolves does not even cover the minimum dosage-"

"Not like that," Juniper told her. "Look at the spines of the books."

"Yes, I see," Regill realized. "They're not dusty… someone is down here."

Juniper reached down to touch Finnean's hilt. "Someone nearby," she agreed, then made herself invisible for a brief moment.

The sudden lack of light from her tails revealed a different light source, and when she reappeared she advanced towards it.

Within a few moments, she saw the source of the light – an everburning torch serving as the reading light for an undead man, wearing clothing that looked like it had last been in style a hundred years ago.

He looked Juniper up and down as he turned away from his book, sizing her up with a lengthy glance.

"Greetings, crusader," he said. "You have the honour of meeting Zacharius the lich, last warden of the Newfound Sanctuary and master of this place. I sensed you as soon as you stepped through the gates of my stronghold."

"Zacharius?" Daeran repeated, with a strangled laugh. "The Martyr Zacharius… is a lich?"

He clapped, with a broad smile. "My, my, that's a better joke than any I could have come up with myself! I have at least half a dozen relatives named after you… who should I tell first? Zacharia the Cleric of Iomedae, or Sir Zacharius of the Order of the Emerald Sword?"

Zacharius glanced at Daeran irritably, then dismissed him.

"You have my wand," he told Juniper. "In your bag, on your person, I care not. Return it to me, and as my oath requires I will do you a favour."

Something deep inside Juniper reacted to the dark power Zacharius controlled, bringing back that same sensation of being irrelevant parts layered on top of bones. She reached into her bag, bringing out the wand, then hesitated with an effort of will.

"I want to know more," she said. "Your wand was on display in the museum in Kenabres, until it was stolen-"

"The museum?" Zacharius asked. "Then my apprentice failed."

"If the museum custodian was your apprentice… he said that you wanted your wand passed to a worthy crusader," Juniper said. "He's very old now and his mind is going, but I have to ask… why did you want your wand passed to a worthy crusader?"

Zacharius made a sigh like the grave.

"My oath," he said. "In my foolish, youthful days, I swore that I would help a worthy crusader who returned my wand to me… but after decades spent here, underground, unable to leave because of an oath I swore in a fit of youthful passion, I want nothing more than to be done with it."

He regarded Juniper levelly. "You have my wand, and you qualify as a worthy crusader, but then again so would almost anyone. Teldon should have been able to find someone to bear my wand within six months, not put it in a museum for slack-jawed idiots to gawk at."

"Why swear your oath, then?" Regill asked, actually sounding curious.

"Foolishness," Zacharius answered. "But as to the help I offer you… it is simple. If you know anything about the nature of a lich, you know that becoming one is a difficult and lengthy process and that the steps for each individual are different. They take decades of expensive research."

He folded his arms. "Until now. I have developed a process which can transform any mortal into a lich, in an efficient process that takes a fraction of the time and resources that it would normally take. This would allow you to-"

Nenio gasped, interrupting Zacharius mid-flow. "Sir Lich, may I offer myself as a specimen to be transformed into a lich? It is the only way I can experience and impartially record all the sensations of this magnificent process. You must see me as a colleague, we are both devotees of science."

Zacharius gave her an impartial regard. "You are not the bearer of my wand. I have no interest in you."

"Take your time to think about it!" Nenio said, almost pleading. "Your name will be immortalized in my Encyclopedia, after all!"

"No," Zacharius responded, flatly.

"You didn't even ask what my Encyclopedia was," Nenio pointed out, unperturbed. "It will gather all the knowledge in existence from across Golarion. Without any division into black and white, just dry, exhaustive facts. This will be a great book to determine the direction of the advancement of science toward a happy future."

She tilted her head on her side, then caught sight of her paw. "Also, relevantly, I would be an ideal test subject to make sure the process would work on the girl, since I am also a kitsune."

Zacharius stared at her for a long moment, then turned towards Juniper. "When you become a lich, get rid of her. Or you'll lose one of the main advantages of undeath… silence."

Juniper had been thinking while Nenio distracted the lich, and two issues warred in her mind.

One was… should she accept?

It seemed likely, or at least possible, that Zacharius's time as a lich had changed his mind on a fundamental level, turning him from the kind of selfless man who Mendev venerated as a martyr and who would willingly swear service to a worthy crusader… to someone who viewed the whole thing as an imposition.

And yet, it couldn't be denied. The kind of power Zacharius was talking about would definitely help her battle against the Worldwound and everything it involved. The dead of Mendev and Sarkoris littered the land, after a century of war, and their help could make all the difference.

It could.

And the other was simply the observation that a lich was a powerful undead, and there was no way to be sure they would leave the basement alive if she refused.

Even destroying a lich's phylactery… and she was now strongly suspicious that she held Zacharius's phylactery in her paw… wouldn't be enough, because one had to destroy the lich and the phylactery at the same time.

And at the back of her mind, part of her rebelled against Pharasma's rules. Not the burning rage in her blood or the wild freedom that could fill her lungs, but an almost passionless observation that the Lady of Graves was a tyrant claiming dominion over all who had ever lived or would ever live, jealously opposing anyone who opposed her absolute rule and caring nothing for anything else that would ever happen.

(who else would separate a mother and child forever and call it mercy)

Juniper tossed the wand, and Zacharius caught it out of the air.

"A wise decision," he said. "I will see you in Drezen."

He vanished in a flicker of teleportation magic.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Daeran asked. "I'm not saying it was a bad idea, I would love to see Cousin Galfrey's face when she finds out about this, but I got the feeling he'd kill you himself if it was even mildly convenient."

"If you're asking that question, Daeran, it would have been a good idea to start at least a week ago," Juniper advised, trying to shake off the insistent feeling that everyone around her was just an assemblage of bones.

She rubbed her paws together, wrapping her tails around herself to quell a chilly ache in her skeleton. "Though I suppose there's this – it's rare for the undead to break and flee the field."

"An excellent point, commander," Regill said, evenly.

It took a while for Juniper to shake off the sensation from meeting the lich, but by the next morning – when the army was ready to go on the move – she felt a lot better about the situation. Even if she did wonder about why she'd felt so sure at the time.

It sometimes seemed like she felt as sure as could be about lots of things, and then she would be just as sure about something completely different a few hours later. But… that wasn't a problem to contemplate just now.

She could wait until after Drezen.

Everything was rapidly coming to a head, and Drezen was where it was all going to converge. They were less than two days away, which meant that the operational details of actually reaching the fortress-city itself consumed more of her time and attention.

But not all of her time, because she was still mindful of Galfrey/Kitrane's words.

Sosiel talked to Regill about the dead Hellknight, then sought out Juniper's advice.

"I don't know what to think," he admitted. "Regill knew who she was, but not enough to say how she got the shield… you don't think that she took it off his corpse, do you?"

Juniper considered the question, frowned, then took a deep breath.

Hellknight, she thought, for a moment, and felt an odd double-vision. It only lasted for a moment, and she swayed before supporting herself on a tent pole.

"Are you all right?" Sosiel asked. "Was that the same thing you did at the Chapel?"

"Sort of," Juniper replied, trying to hold the memories of fighting a summoned devil to earn her place in the order with the right level of distance. "I think… there are several possibilities here, but I don't think…"

She frowned. "Trever was a paladin, correct?"

Sosiel nodded, still looking worried. "Whatever you're doing, Juniper, it can't be healthy."

"My health is only relevant where it impacts my ability to do my job," Juniper replied, then shook her head. "No, that's not… not quite… you're right, it is confusing. But this is…"

The kitsune stopped, as she almost tripped over her own thoughts.

She'd invoked the attitude of a Hellknight, to understand how they thought… but that very same attitude believed at once that her health was only relevant where it impacted her mission, and that risking her health for this question was a pointless waste. While the rest of her was sure it mattered, but not sure it was a good idea.

It was a confusing mix, and she shook herself to try and reconcile what she was thinking.

"I don't think she was responsible," she said. "If that's what you mean. And Regill did say she had the shield when she transferred into his unit. That means we could try tracing it back further, if we find her old unit."

Then she looked up. "But, Sosiel… you have to consider that war might have changed your brother. If you only look for the person you knew, you might miss clues."

Sosiel looked rebellious.

"Think," Juniper insisted. "You had no reason to check the Hellknight side of camp – fine. That's not a failing of yours. But if you had, you would have found a lead."

The Shelynite cleric sighed.

"You're right," he agreed. "Thank you, my friend. And thank you for caring enough to help me on this."

Juniper made the time after that to investigate a map she'd found, which led to the camp of an erudite kobold who gave cryptic but potentially useful advice, then finally faced up to the fact that she'd been trying to avoid an unpleasant duty.

She'd been making work for herself trying to avoid it… but she couldn't justify waiting any longer, and really should have acted already.

So, the moment she got back to the army encampment, as it set up that evening not more than five miles from Drezen, she entered Nurah's tent.

"Commander!" the halfling said, turning from the folding table she was using to write. "Sorry, that was rude of me… Juniper! It's a pleasure to see you!"

Her voice turned conspiratorial. "Want to discuss plans for really showing those demons what for? I've got a great trick they really won't like!"

Juniper shook her head. "That's not why I'm here, Nurah."

"Oh, then you're here for some wine?" Nurah asked. "It's a bit early to celebrate, but I'd take it!"

Rather than reply directly, Juniper crossed over to Nurah's perfume.

"I don't know how you face using some of these," she said, picking up one of the bottles. "They smell terrible to a foxkin's nose."

She opened the bottle, confirming what she'd half-scented days before, and made a face. "This one smells like the pheromones that made the vescavors attack me, in fact."

Nurah shrugged. "I like my cosmetics! I don't know anything about pheromones."

"Maybe not," Juniper said, replacing the stopper, and sat down on Nurah's bed. "But you do know a lot about demon summoning, right?"

Nurah nodded, one hand twitching near her pocket for a moment. "Of course, Commander! That's part of why I'm on the Crusade with you, to give you all kinds of advice!"

"You're certainly good at that," Juniper said, fighting down a sudden urge to smirk.

Something about the whole situation just seemed funny to her, despite how serious the situation was.

Or… was it serious, really?

"You could even tell that the one who summoned the vescavors was a man," Juniper went on. "Remember? You said his plan, even though Minagho's our main enemy… of course, you could have been tying to distract from the possibility it was a woman who did it."

She pointed. "Then there's the alchemist's fire, the night of the gargoyle attack. So, do I win a prize?"

Nurah trembled, then her whole happy-go-lucky demeanour fell away.

"Yes!" she said, and the word carried hatred with it. "Yes, well done, Commander, you've worked it out! I did try and get you killed, and I did tell the gargoyles who and where to attack… and do you know why I did it?"

Juniper didn't reply, but mostly because Nurah didn't give her a chance. "Because when I arrived here with Lord Trezbot, I was his slave, his pet halfling brought along to make stories of how amazing he was! And Mendev's crusaders didn't do a thing to free me – Isger's a subject of Cheliax, Cheliax is an ally, and either way I wasn't a slave to demons so they didn't care! Mendev is as bad as the rest of them… but the demons helped me out!"

Her voice was trembling with long-felt rage, suppressed for so long and finally given an outlet. "Lord Trezbot's crusaders all died, all right, and it was all because of me! I drugged their meals, let the demons into the camp – without a shadow of a doubt, expecting nothing in return. But they let me live, and I've been a cover agent for years and nobody in Mendev even guessed!"

She snatched her wand from her pocket, and pointed it unsteadily at Juniper. "These crusaders are all the same! I want nothing more than to take these smug holier-than-though knights down a peg!"

Juniper couldn't help it.

She started laughing.

"What do you think is going to happen?" she asked Nurah, between giggles.

Nurah seemed honestly surprised by the turn the conversation had just taken.

"...what?" she asked, glancing down at her wand for a moment before looking at the kitsune commander. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I have any idea what on Golarion is going to happen when we attack Drezen?" Juniper asked, sniggering. "Two weeks ago I went up the Grey Garrison, probably stabbed a giant crystal with a knife made of stone, and blew off the roof of the building! I beat Nulkineth by being six different people at once!"

She leaned forwards suddenly. "Also, relatedly, I'm not a subject of the Mendevian crown. Queen Galfrey managed to miss that bit when she gave me command of the Fifth Crusade, and she might be thinking of me as a figurehead but I can assure you that I'm not one. And it's going to be hilarious when they run into that… whenever it would be most amusing."

Her paws tingled with manic energy, and her giggles had turned into a smirk, and right now the Commander was thinking of a different kind of Aldori Swordlord – the swashbuckler who parried, feinted and riposted, always with a quip to puncture what her foe was thinking or going to say.

But mostly she was thinking about how funny this was. Queen Galfrey had assigned Daeran to her as a prank, and Nurah to keep an eye on her, but if anything Daeran was the one who was doing better at keeping an eye on her and he was doing a terrible job at that! It made her wonder who Galfrey would assign to keep up army morale, and she immediately thought of Zacharias before managing to stifle another giggling fit.

Nurah stared at her, open-mouthed, then the halfling began to grin.

"Oh, boy!" she said, her free hand coming up to her mouth. "They don't know who they're dealing with, do they?"

A manic zeal rose in her own expression. "You wait, Commander, we'll prank the whole lot of them! I'll see you in Drezen!"

Nurah waved her wand with a flicker of magic, and teleported out of the tent in moments.

The following afternoon, with the army in their final camp before Drezen – now less than a mile away – Juniper got a good look at the city and the terrain from a low hill.

Shadows of training and experience she'd never had flicked through her mind, and she made some notes on a map of the area without looking.

The river was… currently at a lower ebb than it would normally be at this time of year, probably because of the Worldwound's scarring reducing the amount of tree and soil cover. More water in the rains as it all sluiced down into the drainage system, then less in the dry periods as the soil held less water.

Vrocks orbiting the citadel itself, staying clear of the army because they knew what happened if they got too close without cover and weren't interested in sacrificing themselves… ash giants manning catapults on the inner walls, just visible over the outer curtain from this high vantage point… drawbridge down and the chains both completely slack, which Juniper suspected meant that it couldn't be raised.

Somewhere inside that fortress was Staunton Vhane. And Minagho. And Nurah, probably, though Juniper wasn't sure what the halfling was doing.

With an extra day to think about it, she wasn't sure if she'd made the right choice. It had all made sense at the time, and Nurah exposed was preferable to Nurah still trying to sabotage the army, but… the way Nurah had reacted, it seemed like she was capable of anything.

She could probably surprise even herself.

Juniper shook her head. It was too late now, and she'd made her choice.

As for Staunton and Minagho… she didn't know how she would treat Staunton. Minagho was a clear foe, but her mind changed on the dwarf almost every time she thought about him.

She didn't know if she'd have done better, faced with decades of implacable prejudice.

That prompted her to wonder about the mages of Sarkoris, and Juniper rubbed her temples before turning away from Drezen.

There was a tactics meeting to be had.

Chapter Text

Galfrey walked into the command tent in full armour within a minute of the meeting starting, which made several people jump in surprise but not Anevia, then the spymistress finished summarizing what she knew of the Drezen situation.

"Commander," Regill said. "I recommend using my Hellknights to launch an independent strike moving up through the wall breach. This operation would be likely to quickly eliminate the giants and archers that would otherwise bombard our forces."

He raised his head to meet Juniper's gaze. "If this was our main effort and you took your companions through the same route, it could be a near certainty."

Juniper nodded. "Possible, but I want to consider all options before we commit to a plan. Irabeth?"

Irabeth shrugged. "We attack, fail, and die."

Juniper looked up sharply. "Commander Tirabade?"

Irabeth waved her arm back to the south, in the direction of the chapel. "We took heavy losses when ambushed by gargoyles. Attacking Drezen is a suicide mission. Why should we put in any effort?"

"I-" Regill began, then went silent at a glare from Juniper.

Her eyes tingled a little, everything starting to slip into numbers and vectors, and she blinked them a few times to try and concentrate properly.

A hot, thrumming pulse trembled through her veins, making her want to tear into Irabeth verbally for having been weak. For having broken. And she gave it serious consideration, even though she'd just stopped Regill from doing almost the same thing.

Beneath that, though, there was a shining conviction in her heart, that wanted to reach out to Irabeth and awaken the same righteous energy in the paladin that Juniper felt herself.

She wanted to verbally flay Irabeth. To comfort her. To invigorate her. To relieve her of command, to accompany her personally, to assign her to the Queen's personal bodyguard as an honourable sinecure and turn over the Eagle Watch to her second in command.

"Irabeth," she said, instead. "I did not realize you were still injured from the battle against Nulkineth."

Irabeth looked confused, and Juniper kept going. "I do not think the Irabeth who saved Kenabres would say that if she were healthy, in the same way that I do not think the Irabeth who fought her way to the Wardstone would drop her sword if her arm was still strong."

Queen Galfrey was silent, watching, and Juniper let the words hang in the air for a moment.

"The Eagle Watch will go into battle tomorrow morning," she continued. "If you wish, you can stay out of the battle, as you are clearly still recovering from an injury to your heart and soul. You will simply be recorded as a lingering casualty."

Regill made a gesture of disapproval, but Irabeth wasn't looking in that direction so Juniper didn't make an issue of it.

"No," Irabeth replied, after a long moment. "I won't abandon the Eagle Watch, but-"

"Then you owe it to the Eagle Watch to be the leader who inspired them all," Juniper interrupted. "Irabeth, without you, I would have never made it to the Defender's Heart – not that there would have been a Defender's Heart to fall back to. And now we stand outside Drezen, where no Mendevian army has stood in seven decades."

She met Irabeth's eyes, levelly. "Call it what you want, but there are thousands of people who are alive because of you… and I think you can keep it up."

Irabeth began to speak, stopped, then nodded sharply.

"My apologies, Commander," she said. "I spoke out of turn."

Anevia shot Juniper a grateful glance, then the kitsune laid down her map.

"Do we have battering rams?" she asked. "If so, I have a plan."

"Of course," General Shy confirmed.

"Good," Juniper murmured, most of her attention on the map, and on her memories of the fortress.

If they could do this right…

"General Silverhill," she said, getting the attention of one of her sub-commanders. "Take your shieldbearers up the hill there, on the wall to our right of the gate, along with our siege weapons. I want you setting up a base of fire to overtop the walls."

"Commander," the dwarf saluted. "We'll be vulnerable, though."

"Take half the archers," Juniper instructed. "And I'll give you… twenty scouts and a Hellknight squad as a mobile element. The priority is to get that siege equipment going up before nightfall, though I don't require you to finish – make sure your troops are rested, as well."

That got her a salute, and the dwarf general set off with a steady clink of armour.

"General Evenmist," she went on, nodding to another sub-commander – this one an elf. "I want your rangers to pick out the lines of march towards the main gates and that breach there to our left of the gate – the one Paralictor Derenge indicated. Use differently coloured shuttered lanterns and move them into place after dark."

"Commander," Sovarielle Evenmist replied. "I saw the ground earlier. My rangers can do it, though it'll take them a few hours to do it quietly."

"Very good," Juniper nodded. "General Shy, I will want you to prepare the remainder of the main force to leave the camp an hour before dawn, whereupon they will make a night march using the lanterns as signals. They will reach the main gate shortly before sunrise, whereupon if the gate is closed you will open it with a ram assault."

She nodded at Regill. "Have your subordinate Yaker take the rest of the Hellknights through the breach, Paralictor, to likewise leave the camp an hour before dawn."

"I believe I begin to see your plan, Commander," Galfrey said, considering. "For my part, my place is with the main force – but what of yours?"

"That, your majesty, is why I will have Yaker in charge of the Hell Knights," Juniper replied.

"Can't say I ever considered this a good bloody idea even at the start," Ulbrig muttered, some hours later.

He looked dubiously at Nenio. "You sure this is going to work?"

"Hm?" Nenio replied. "Oh, yes, the scrolls! They appear to be fully functional, though no scroll can be guaranteed to work until it is used – unless I was the one to create it, of course, because in that case I can confirm that I put the magic into the scroll."

She tilted her head. "Assuming it is relevant enough to remember."

"This is going to go down in the history books, one way or another," Lann guessed. "I just hope it won't be under the title of the Great Splat."

Juniper chuckled, then checked the little group again.

Silverhill's catapult and ballista bastion wasn't just to make it look like she was settling in for a long siege, and thus gain the element of surprise for the main attack… it was to explain away any lights or sounds coming from the hill, only a few hundred yards from Drezen's walls.

Nenio had two expensive scrolls ready to read in quick succession, one a bit of intense size-shifting magic and the other a Haste scroll, and Ulbrig was eyeing up a set of ropes and handles that they were almost sure were the right size.

On the signal, Ulbrig would shift to his griffin form and shrug on the ropes, then Camellia, Nenio, Lann and Regill would take hold of their respective ropes as Juniper shifted to her full-fox form and sprang onto his back. Nenio would enchant Ulbrig with both spells, making him much stronger and faster, and they'd do their level best to hold on as Ulbrig raced for the main gatehouse.

"I don't know how you persuaded me to agree with this," the gnome grumbled.

He wasn't even wearing his normal plate armour. A light mithril chain shirt graced the Paralictor instead, though Juniper was sure he'd switch out for his customary but much heavier plate as soon as they landed.

"Efficiency," Juniper pointed out. "The only light person not going is Ember… and we'll meet up with the others soon enough."

Then she looked around at a sudden flash of fire magic.

"Now!" she said, and transformed.

The Battle for Drezen was on, and she suspected they wouldn't be expecting this as the opening move.

Ulbrig got them onto the gatehouse, then a combination of Camellia and Regill took the inside of the building before the demons and cultists could react, and Juniper pointed.

"Lann, the giants," she said. "Archers too if you can handle them, but giants first!"

"Got it!" Lann agreed, drawing his bowstring back so it hummed with tension, then there was a thwack as he fired and landed his first hit on an ash giant.

The lithe mongrel dodged away from the return attacks, then Ulbrig swept overhead and took several hits. Juniper raised her voice. "Ulbrig!"

A griffin's cry answered her.

"Get behind cover or down low!" she told him. "You're too big a target!"

Ulbrig wobbled in the air, then snatched at a catapult as he went past. It fell to pieces, released tension injuring the giant who'd been running it, then the Olesk chieftain dropped outside the walls of Drezen and out of sight.

Juniper almost reached for the Sending wand she was carrying, but there weren't many charges left on it and each one was very expensive.

She'd have to wait until later – and she had work to do.

"How's the gate coming along?" she asked, looking inside.

"Almost done," Camellia said, fiddling with a locking mechanism, then smiled pleasantly as the capstan slots all opened up. "There! It's a good thing you have me along, isn't it?"

Regill simply slotted one of the wooden handles into the capstan, then began heaving, and below them the gate creaked open.

A loud cheer went up from the gathered soldiers, invisible but audible, and Juniper rummaged in her robes for her notes about the fortress.

"Murder holes… there, but the passage over the gate was destroyed in the attack and not repaired," she said. "I think that's us into the outer section of the citadel, now we'll take it one area at a time. Firstly…"

She turned to Regill. "Can your Hellknights hold their own pocket around the barracks? There's a gate to link them up with the main attack, if we can take it."

"Consolidating our position would be wise, Commander," Regill said, which wasn't an answer but was quite close to one.

"Agreed," Juniper decided, after a moment's consideration. "Nenio – get the mass invisibility scroll ready, we'll need it soon. Lann, how are you doing?"

"Giant's gone down," Lann replied. "I wouldn't mind some healing right now, though."

Juniper looked, and winced – Lann had mostly avoided being hit, but at least three arrows had got through anyway and they'd all been flaming. He was tough enough that the hits hadn't disabled him, though, and he grinned nervously.

"You should see the other guy," he said.

"I have the scroll ready, girl," Nenio reported. "Now?"

"Almost," Juniper answered, leaning out of the gatehouse door to check the situation, then counted down from three. "Now!"

Going from the wall-walk to the barracks was easy enough while invisible, and the spell lasted long enough to let them get down to ground level as well. Sneaking past the battle going on between the Hellknights and the local demonic defenders was impossible, though, and Regill waded right in alongside his own Hellknight force to help Juniper clear a path to the internal gate.

Armiger archers swept the inner wall where the catapults and giants had been, and with the barracks area taken the Hellknights set up a temporary camp – while Juniper moved right on to the part of the fortress just in front of the main gate, linking up with Seelah, Sosiel, Ember, Daeran and the command group.

"I'm impressed so far, Commander," Galfrey said, with a smile. "But we're only in the outer ring. What's the next rabbit you're going to pull out of your hat?"

"We can't use Ulbrig again," Juniper admitted. "Not for a flying insertion – they're ready for him now."

She took out her Sending wand, telling Ulbrig to come to the main gate, then stowed it again after counting off the remaining charges.

There were still two large areas of Drezen they didn't have any access to. Facing the main citadel, there was the commerce quarter and main square on her right which mirrored the military and religious section on her left… then, further up the hill, there was an area behind the second curtain wall but outside the citadel's inner layer of defensive walls.

That area wasn't itself broken up by any gates, so access to part of it would mean access to all of it. Then there was the parade square inside the citadel's inner defensive walls, and finally the fortified keep itself.

If she remembered the diagrams and maps right, there were ways to avoid having to launch a costly assault on any of the gates directly…

"You look like you've decided what to do," Ember said. "There's a look you get in your eyes. Is that right?"

Juniper hadn't realized it, but she had. One of the ways to sneak around was going through the prison… and that made the choice by itself.

"We're heading that way," she said, pointing. "General Shy, defend this area and exploit it if they open any of the main gates, but I plan to take my team and open up the commerce quarter. That should stretch their remaining defenders."

"Commander," General Shy saluted. "Good luck."

Going through one of the underground chambers meant fighting several minotaurs and demons, then opening up a secret door, but once the violence had ended Juniper was in the cells under the prison… and looking at the prisoners, wondering.

Two of them looked like crusaders, then there was a dretch clinging to the bars and raving… and the final prisoner was a woman.

A winged woman, with a slightly unnatural beauty about her even aside from the wings.

"Hello?" she asked. "You're not…"

Then she brightened. "Is Drezen being taken by the Crusaders?"

"Commander," Regill said, from behind Juniper. "I must point out that that woman is obviously a succubus."

Juniper blinked, focusing.

"Yes, I am," the woman agreed. "My name is Arueshalae… I know it's going to sound like an obvious excuse, but I'm in prison here because I betrayed the demons."

"You're right," Regill agreed, which surprised Juniper until he kept going. "That is an obvious excuse."

"Hate to say it, but he's got a point," Seelah noted, Acemi waiting patiently behind her. "Obviously you being in prison is a damn fine start, but is there some way to prove what you're saying?"

"It's impossible," Regill declared. "Demons cannot be trusted. The only exception is that they can be trusted to remain true to their nature."

Ulbrig leaned into the room from behind, the size-enhancing magic still working even on his human form and forcing him to stoop. Juniper had weighed the pros and cons of dispelling it, but for now it seemed important not to waste the magic if they had to fight in the open again.

"You know, warchief," he began. "This could just be some kind of Oglin trick. They like taking comely forms to trick people."

Juniper held up her paw, to stall the conversation.

"Do you know where a succubus comes from?" she asked. "I mean how a succubus comes to exist, not just where they live."

"Oh, do pick me," Daeran requested, managing to beat Nenio to the punch. "I love showing off. Yes, a succubus is like most demons – it forms when a soul that goes to the Abyss is twisted according to the worst sin it reflected in life."

He smirked. "Personally I'm planning to make the whole metaphysical system break down when it tries to digest my soul. Too many choices, like trying to make a little child choose from a whole room of sweeties."

"Correct," Juniper said. "In a similar way, any angel that was not born at the beginning of the universe was formed from a soul ascending to Heaven, Nirvana or Elysium, out of their great virtues… and angels can fall. This is well known."

She knew about it from the studies of Acolyte Falconeyes, and from the revelations given to Mirala of Kenabres. And from other places as well, lore from a dozen places pulled together into a gestalt.

"You can't be honestly considering such a risky assumption, can you, Commander?" Regill asked, deeply disapproving. "This could all be a trick."

"She shouldn't trust me," Arueshalae said.

"It could," Juniper agreed. "I'm not infallible. But everything is probabilities."

Taking a deep breath, Juniper began to sing.

It was the same tune from the church, the same tune she'd played on the altar, and – just as she'd guessed and hoped – Arueshalae joined in before she'd finished the first half of the tune.

Their voices wove together, making the dretch flinch back, and a scent of wild grass filled the air.

"Should I applaud?" Lann asked. "That sounded nice, but I'm not sure why you did it."

"You were the one who contacted me before!" Arueshalae said, sounding delighted. "I didn't recognize you at first, but your voice… I should have known from just that, but when you contacted me I saw an Azata from Elysium, not a kitsune. Forgive me."

Juniper drew Finnean from her belt, and slashed the lock off the cell door.

"I believe you," she said, swinging the door open. "It's one thing for a demon to pretend to be helpful, but to fake a link to a Desnan altar is a whole different thing."

Arueshalae didn't look like she believed it, at first.

"I… thank you!" she said, swallowing slightly. "I didn't think… thank you."

Then she shook her head. "My bow is… somewhere, but I don't know where they put it. But I can help, and I'll fight by your side."

"Who are we recruiting next?" Camellia asked. "Because at this point I'd believe anything."

Fighting back and forth over Drezen gave Juniper only a hint of how intense the battle to take the city must have been, seven decades ago.

Even with the defences in terrible shape and fighting demons – never disciplined at the best of times – there were bouts of vicious street fighting, skirmishes in the houses and larger buildings as the Crusaders cleared their flanks and rear, and time and again Juniper led her team to intervene in a crucial fight or get around behind the demon positions. Dawn had broken, but heavy clouds to the east obscured the sunlight and stretched out the twilight, and it felt like the city itself was poised in a long half-light.

Nobody got through the fighting unscathed. Some only suffered minor injuries, like Camellia who was cut along her forearm by a babau's spear or Sosiel's armour failing to turn the swipe of a schir's polearm, but Ember freezing when they were confronted by three brimorak fire demons could have resulted in terrible injuries had Juniper not shielded her with a spell at the last second.

Daeran healed the burns she did suffer with gentle care, telling her she was brave, then they had to fend off a pair of derakni insect-demons and there wasn't time for more discussion.

People swapped in and out, snatching a few minutes of rest between battles, but Juniper was in the thick of it all the time. She wasn't sure if she wasn't getting tired, or if she was but the thrill of what was going on was overriding it… it wasn't even clear to her if the strange, splintered effect that kept jarring her perception was part of it, if the different personal histories and powers were tiring out independently, but she didn't have enough information to tell.

And every part of her agreed that it was a bad idea to tell Nenio.

The worst injury suffered by anyone in her whole extended party was Ulbrig, who assumed that the loss of the cultist archers meant that he was free to fly over the city again. He did plenty of damage, then a cultist witch caught him with an enchantment of slumber, and he crashed into the inner side of one of the curtain walls in an impact that broke one of his wings.

Defending the downed shifter from a platoon of demons and cultists coming to finish him off was a tense, hectic minute, but the cultists overextended and Juniper was able to counterattack and get up on the wall itself. Most of the rest of the gates were opened right then and there, leaving the defending forces only the parade ground and keep itself, but if anywhere in the whole fortress was going to have extra defences it would be there.

Juniper was discussing the attack plan with Irabeth and Galfrey, regretting the necessity of a direct ram assault on the inner gate but seeing no alternatives, when Arueshalae cleared her throat.

"I… have a suggestion," she said. "The gates are controlled from below ground."

"Who is this, Commander?" the Queen asked, looking disapproving.

"Arueshalae," Juniper replied, closing her eyes and wrenching herself sideways, and Caitrin Aldori blinked along with her. "I appreciate your suspicions, Your Majesty, but Arueshalae has been helpful so far. I would hear her out."

"Thank you, Juniper," Arueshalae said, looking down for a moment, then pulled two keys out of one of her pockets. "I… think these are two of the keys for the door to get there, it's hidden by an illusion now but I saw it being opened once."

She held out the keys. "I picked them up from dretches who'd stolen them, during the battle so far… I don't know where the third key is, though."

Juniper/Caitrin took them, examining them closely, then closed her eyes again.

They were the same sort of design, different only in the exact shape of the teeth.

Had she seen another one of those?

After a long, thoughtful pause, Juniper opened her eyes again.

"There was a third one," she said. "In the ruined tavern, down in the commerce quarter. I didn't recognize it as important at the time, but we should be able to open that gate soon… good work, Arueshalae."

She looked around the temporary defensive position. "Who still needs rest?"

Lann held up his hand. "I'm good to keep going," he said.

"Hah!" Ulbrig said. "Don't think you're getting away with not bringing me, warchief! Especially to a tavern we've just saved from oglins!"

"I'm sure we won't be drinking anything there," Camellia said snidely. "Unless you think you can only concentrate when drunk?"

"Enough of that," Juniper replied. "There's going to be more fighting after we've got that door open. If you still need healing, Ulbrig, stay here and wait until the clerics get around to you…"

"They're coming this way!" one of the babau fretted, adjusting his grip on his spear. "That foxkin's with them!"

Two of the other babau edged away from him, glancing up at their boss – the balor Darrazand – and Darrazand seethed before swiping down at the offending babau with his scimitar. Flames exploded outwards, and Darrazand growled at the other demons around him.

"She'll die like the rest of the crusaders!" he said. "And you'll die too if you're cowards! I'm in charge here!"

The assembled demons trembled, but seemed to be more afraid of their leader than of the Fifth Crusade… which was only slightly inconvenient, as far as Greybor was concerned.

He'd settled into a good hunting blind ten minutes ago, keeping his position hidden with a high-quality invisibility potion, and by the sound of things he'd picked his moment just about perfectly. The rest of the city was under Crusader control, which meant they'd be coming here next, and the chaos was almost certain to give him a perfect opportunity.

Casually, professionally, he checked the weapons on his belt. One side held his trusty waraxe, the other had an enchanted dagger in place of his normal handaxe.

His client had given him the dagger, saying it would be the ideal weapon for the target, and that was part of why he'd taken the job in the first place. No true professional liked a reputation for overpromising and underdelivering, and Greybor would never have said he could kill this target without an appropriate weapon.

Making sure the dagger was loose in its sheath, Greybor leaned back against the wall, then looked up at the scrape of metal on stone.

The courtyard gates swung open, revealing the vanguard of the Crusader army, and Greybor evaluated them with an expert's eye. The paladin, aasimar, half-elf… big human, he was new, then the mongrel from before, that half-elf girl… no tiefling, strange… an actual succubus? Peculiar… the Queen of Mendev and the half-orc from Kenabres… various others… and, stepping to the front, a familiar kitsune.

He'd seen Juniper Goldeneyes before in Kenabres, twice, and at the time he'd judged her as a mage with an unusual habit of fighting up close. She'd impressed him with her good sense, too, because she'd taken his advice… though, then again, she did try fighting a minotaur in close combat so perhaps that wasn't so true.

Of course, it wasn't necessarily foolish if you could actually pull it off.

Now, though… something about her had changed. She had five tails, now, two of them shimmering with gold motes that drifted to the ground behind her, and she was more confident. Surer of herself… and there was something else, as well, which made Greybor shift to the left a little to make sure he was seeing it right.

She had a dueling sword in her right paw, and she was holding it like an expert. Weight balanced between her footpaws at all times, stance a bit forward of what he'd expect but her tails probably counterbalanced it, and the tip was moving in little figure-of-eight motions.

Greybor had dealt with Aldori swordlords for his clients before, but he'd never heard of someone learning the forms that well in less than two weeks.

Darrazand growled, and Juniper replied with confidence. Several of the demons around Darrazand ran for it, not wanting to be anywhere near the fight that was about to happen, then the balor roared and intoned a profane hymn to Baphomet.

Battle was immediately joined, and Greybor shifted his weight to watch more closely.

Juniper held up the paw with her ring, using it as a shield against Darrazand's flaming scimitar, and droplets of flame scattered off as it crashed into the forcefield.

"Finnean, spear!" she called, twisting her weight and using the force of the blow to spin her around, and stabbed into Darrazand's side with Finnean's cold-iron tip. The balor roared in rage and pain, which doubled when one of Lann's arrows hit him in the chest, and he shouted with a burst of magic that knocked Lann, Nenio and Ember sprawling.

Seelah got hit by the whip of fire Darrazand wielded in his off-hand, knocking her off Acemi's back to crash into the wall nearby, and Acemi dodged the backstroke to end up with only a few burns along her side.

Juniper spotted Sosiel using his glaive to intercept the whip and prevent it from making a follow-up attack, then all her attention was on her own situation for a long moment as Darrazand hurled a barrage of spells in her direction.

She avoided the jets of hellfire, dispelled the fireball before it reached her, then a telekinetic shove hit her and sent her rolling-and-sliding backwards. Her path terminated when she hit the wall, knocking the breath out of her lungs, and Darrazand lunged for her.

"Warchief!" Ulbrig called, then transformed and charged at the same moment. He intercepted Darrazand with a crash, his eagle-claws grabbing for Darrazand's wrists, and his wings flapped hard as he matched Darrazand with both technique and raw strength.

The two held one another in place for several seconds, long enough for Juniper to recover her breath and get a handle on the situation again. Daeran was healing Seelah… Arueshalae was just finishing off the last of the demons before turning her attention to Darrazand himself… Camellia was circling to try and attack their opponent from behind. Then Queen Galfrey shouted a war cry, raising her sword, and stabbed Darrazand in the knee.

Flinching violently, Darrazand went over backwards, but twisted as he did so he threw Ulbrig free rather than ending up with the enraged griffin on top of him.

Juniper cast a Grease spell, fouling Darrazand's first attempt to get up, then heard someone running.

"Sweet dreams," a familiar dwarf said, appearing out of thin air as he stabbed Darrazand in the side, and the Balor lashed out with his fist to knock Greybor back.

"You little runt!" Darrazand seethed, wings beating as he relied on them to lift him more than his arms and legs. "You and Willodus will regret this! I'll find you and shove your entrails down your throat!"

He sprang into the air, avoiding Camellia's attempt to hamstring him, then vanished in a swirl of teleportation.

"Damn it…" Greybor complained, as most of the combatants picked themselves up. "The dagger was supposed to kill him on the spot!"

"Secure the area," Juniper called, breathing hard to flush out the fatigue from the fight. "General Shy, I don't know if that balor will be back but he might just try to ambush us – prepare sentries. Now we need to get into the citadel… short sword."

Finnean collapsed back down to an easily carried form, and Juniper hung him from her belt again before turning to Greybor. "It's a surprise to see you here."

"I go where my contracts take me," Greybor replied, contemplating the dagger he'd used. "Speaking of which, is there anything you can tell about this?"

He tossed her the dagger, and the Commander examined it with her arcane sight.

"Well," she said, after careful examination, and checking her conclusions twice. "It's technically enchanted."

"Technically?" Greybor repeated. "That's an… interesting word to use."

He packed some tobacco into a pipe. "Your eyes glowed for a moment there. Anything to do with it?"

Falconeyes blinked a few times until she realized what he meant, then shook herself, and Juniper re-steadied herself.

"Not really," she said. "It's just part of… something. It happened when I was trying to parse the enchantment… I've heard of this spell but I've never seen it before, it's called Magic Aura. It's an otherwise-normal dagger made to seem to most arcane examination like it's been enchanted with a slaying effect – which wouldn't normally fit on a dagger anyway. I don't think I'd have caught it if I didn't see it completely fail to have the expected effect."

She flicked it into the air, then caught it by the handle. "Do you have any reason to keep this?"

Greybor frowned, then shook his head. "Take it for the information," he said.

Juniper nodded, already sure about the best use to put it to. "Nenio?"

"Girl?" Nenio replied, looking up from a scroll. "I have been making a sketch of the courtyard to go in the architecture section of my encyclopedia. Is there a problem?"

Juniper held out the dagger. "You might be interested in having a look at this, and seeing if you can improve on it…"

Nenio probably needed an emergency weapon anyway.

Ten minutes later, with reports from her subordinates just finished, Juniper put down an old map of Drezen and stared at it.

"So, in summary," she said. "We have most of the fortress, but not the keep, and our supply lines are – of course – extremely tenuous."

"That's right," agreed the camp commander – a diffident man called Wilcer Garms. "Though it'd be more accurate to say we don't have a supply line at the moment, everyone's at the front or guarding the wagons with us right now."

Juniper nodded, thinking to herself.

"We're going to need the Sword of Valor set up soon," she said. "Once the banner is up and working, the threat of raids to our logistics goes right down and we can consolidate… and, of course, the threat and risk of a counterattack goes right down as well."

"That was always the plan, Commander," Queen Galfrey said, with a small nod. "Unless you have good reason to change it, I would expect us to keep to it."

"Indeed, Your Majesty," Juniper concurred. "Unfortunately, the keep's main door is heavily reinforced and they will have plenty of supplies in there… and in addition they will be cooking up ways to cause us problems."

She tapped the map. "General Evenmist, General Silverhill. Move our wagons into Drezen and into the commercial quarter and defend them – we're going to need them regardless of what happens today. General Shy, ensure we have forces posted around the keep in case of an enemy sally. Your Majesty, I would appreciate your personal assistance there – if that Balor returns then I believe your help would be essential."

"Understood, Commander," Galfrey said, touching the hilt of her sword. "I recognize your intent – you are planning to go into the keep yourself by postern. Correct?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Juniper confirmed. "The same reasoning applies as before. If we can find and hang the Sword of Valor then I believe the results would be decisive."

Galfrey had to think for only a moment.

"I agree," she said. "Good luck, Commander."

Chapter Text

"Ouch," Lann muttered, wincing. "My head hurts in here."

"That's…" Juniper began, then paused as she made sure of what she was going to say. "It's a kind of… defence, I think. Some kind of aura of madness."

She winced, then Sosiel cast a spell that spread over them all like cool blue fire.

"Thank you," she told him. "Yes, that helps… if I've got this right, it's affecting anyone who isn't a cultist."

She flicked one of her golden-dusted tails, touching it to her paw. "We should hurry. I think if we brought any soldiers in here before the aura was cleansed then they'd be affected much worse than us."

"Well, I suppose they have been good for something so far today," Daeran allowed. "Really, it's novel to see Crusaders actually succeeding at something."

"Who's that?" a cultist asked, a little way down the corridor. "Hey – get them!"

Lann unlimbered his bow with a single well-trained motion, dropping the cultist with two arrows to the chest before he could continue, and the half-a-dozen or so other guards returned fire with crossbows or charged to get close enough to use their glaives and scythes. Arueshalae joined Lann in downing the snipers, and Seelah blocked the first rush with her shield – on foot, for now – before replying with a blow of her sword that cut one of the cultists down.

There was a blur of violence in the corridor, and when it was over none of Juniper's companions were wounded.

"They didn't expect that," Lann chuckled, then looked ahead to the end of the corridor. "There's a stair, leading down…"

Juniper considered what she knew of the layout of the old keep.

"If they haven't changed anything… that's a good route to get to the chapel," she decided. "I don't know where they're hiding the sword of Valor, but that's an option at least."

She moved ahead, wrapping up her two glowing tails in the other three to obscure their light a little, then nodded. "I think we're clear… wait. Quiet."

Everyone else stopped, and Juniper closed her eyes and listened.

She could hear someone breathing, but there was something odd about it…

"Be on the lookout," she said. "I can hear someone, but there's just one person and they're close enough to have heard the fighting."

After going down one floor, they found the person Juniper had heard. An elderly woman, chained to the ceiling – and, as soon as Seelah saw her, the paladin gasped.

"Yaniel!" she said, astonished.

"Do you know, I think it is?" Daeran marvelled. "Before long we'll have met the namesakes of my entire extended family… I wonder what her deep, dark secret is?"

"You're sure, Seelah?" Juniper asked, blinking.

Yaniel would have to have been prisoner here for decades. But, now it had been mentioned, she looked at the elderly woman and remembered the statues in Kenabres… the look was about right.

And part of part of her remembered Yaniel, if she was remembering right… which she might not have been, because keeping track of what different parts of you remembered was hard to do, like writing notes on shifting sand about the shape of the sand itself. But something about this woman was… familiar, distantly but there, and after a long moment she nodded.

"Finnean, fauchard," she said, and used the long edge to cut the chains free. Yaniel dropped onto the ground a few inches below her feet, stumbling and nearly falling, then straightened and felt her wrists. The manacles were still in place, but no longer tugging on her wrists, and she sighed in relief.

"Thank you," she said. "Though… who are you?"

"Mirala of Kenabres," the Commander answered, automatically, then shook her head. "No… Juniper Goldeneyes. Sorry, I was… miles away."

"Evidently," Yaniel replied, seeming to have got over her imprisonment easily enough. "You would be the commander that the demons are raging about?"

"Commander, I must protest," Regill noted, gazing at her levelly. "And when possible I would appreciate an explanation for the name you just gave."

"You're not the only one," Sosiel admitted. "Juniper, are you feeling all right? Is this the same thing from the chapel?"

"Good guess," Juniper replied. "Seelah already knows, I told her before. Sometimes I get… flashes, of being different people. Different lives. It's…"

She shook her head sharply. "It's under control. Meeting Yaniel just brought it out, I think."

(she didn't want to admit how many things brought it out)

"Fascinating," Yaniel said, then gathered herself. "If you're here, then it can only be for the Sword of Valor. It's kept deep in the citadel itself as a trophy, and there are traps nearby… I know that much."

Juniper nodded her understanding, then frowned and reached into her bag. "I have your sword – you should take it."

Yaniel examined the golden blade as Juniper retrieved it, raising a hand, then lowered it again. "No," she said. "My time with it is over… I am sure it will serve you well."

She frowned. "I wouldn't want to delay you. If you can leave me a weapon, that would be appreciated, but otherwise I will take care of myself."

Hunting through the keep, they found a vampire, then destroyed him when he and his spawn tried to kill Juniper and her companions. They found cultists, and demons, and minotaurs who acted as outright priests of the demon lord Baphomet.

Then they found Joran Vhane, working away at a forge several layers down in the keep.

Meeting Joran Vhane again was… an odd experience, and Juniper wasn't sure at first what to think of the dwarf. He was pleasant and polite, just as he'd been in Kenabres at the Defender's Heart, and Ember said thank-you for giving her food when she was a beggar in the city.

Joran nodded, first to Ember then to Juniper, and he presented the latter with the sheath he'd made for Radiance.

"Just as I promised," he explained.

"Thank you," she said, taking it, then retrieved the sword itself from her bag again. This time golden light flickered around her paw when she lifted it, before bursting forth in a flare of light that illuminated the whole room, and when it faded back to quiescence the magic was definitely stronger than it had been.

"Still not as it was when I made it," Joran said. "But better. I dare say it's the right weapon for you, like it was the right weapon for Yaniel."

Juniper paused, halfway through sheathing the golden blade.

"Yaniel," she repeated. "Master Vhane, Yaniel is just upstairs. She was being held prisoner here."

Joran paused, looking at her. "That's impossible. She was one of Staunton's closest friends. He'd never keep her prisoner here."

"Do you think he knew?" Juniper asked. "Do you really, truly think he knows she's here? We marched here at top speed all the way from Kenabres, it's been less than a fortnight, and I know he was out of Drezen for some of that time."

She waved her paw up the stairs. "Go and look if you don't believe me!"

Joran stared at her, for a long moment, then shook his head slightly.

"Lass, I know my brother, and I don't know you. And I know my brother would have checked."

"Do you really know him that well?" Lann asked. "Two weeks ago, would you have expected to see him here? Commanding this fortress for Minagho?"

Joran folded his arms. "If you have to ask that, I don't think you know what Staunton went through. A lifetime of loyal service counted for nothing against a single mistake he made with good intentions."

"Good intentions," Regill snorted. "Insubordination, foolishness, thousands of casualties and the loss of an important bastion. And that is what you call a mistake? What would an actual crime be?"

Juniper had been thinking.

"You're not talking like someone who's prisoner here," she said. "I'd assumed you were, but that's not true at all, is it?"

"I'm here because my brother is here," Joran told her. "That's the main thing. He's my brother… unless you have close family, I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Juniper's eye twitched.

"Family matters," Ulbrig said, sounding surprisingly soft. "But what matters is the family who are yours, not the family you start with. Betrayal is terrible because you trusted a person, and it's worse when it's family, but that's because you expect more of them."

"So you understand-" Joran began.

"No!" Juniper interrupted, paws clenched into fists and her pulse pounding in her ears. "You don't get to do this!"

She bared her teeth, sweet hot fire coursing through her blood. "We're standing right here, in a fortress that your brother lost to the demons, and that is a mistake! A big one, the kind of thing that is hard to justify and that can't be called anything except a military catastrophe, but that's something I could actually believe was the act of someone who didn't know what they were doing!"

The closest of her companions to her were Daeran and Ulbrig, and they both took an uneasy step back as her five tails splayed out behind her. "You don't need to tell me that Staunton suffered in the Condemned. I know he did. I spoke to him about it! But when he decided to protect Minagho in the Grey Garrison, he changed his mind because of what she promised him – that's a decision! It's not something anyone else forced on him, except in the same way that I am being forced to listen to you justify this garbage because I walked into the room! I could turn and leave right now! So could you!"

It felt so good to lay into him like this, so right, even as her vision clouded slightly with a red haze and her paws trembled with the effort it took to not try and settle this with her fists. "But this is all about pretending you can't do anything about it!"

"Juniper-" Seelah tried, but the kitsune kept going.

She barely recognized the name.

"There's always choice!" she insisted. "Sometimes the choices are terrible. Sometimes you hate them all! But they're there, even if they're not in the place you first look, and for Staunton Vhane specifically you cannot just stand there and tell me that he had no choice here. Or that you had no choice here, because I can think of at least three and I'm not even trying!"

Olivie-Juniper snarled at Joran, feeling claws wanting to emerge-lengthen from her fingertips out of sheer annoyance. "If you're going to leave, leave. If you're going to fight, then fight. But don't make out like this is something that has to happen, because it's not. If it happens, it's because of what you decide. Right here, right now."

Joran sighed, sorrowfully.

"I wouldn't be the person I am if I abandoned my brother," he said, and reached for a shield and hammer.

"Would your brother be the person he is if he didn't listen to Minagho?" Daeran asked. "It seems to be something of a trend…"

It took almost five minutes for Juniper to properly calm down, after the short and ugly battle with Joran.

It felt like such a waste, and yet at the same time so much of her felt like being able to fight him and kill him had been sweet like wine… it made her want to solve her next problem the same way, all her problems, but part of her recognized that she wasn't thinking straight and she did her best to actually relax.

"Juniper, if you ever need to talk about this…" Sosiel began. "I…"

He paused, then continued. "I know what it's like to struggle with rage."

"I'm fine," Juniper insisted. "It's under control."

Sosiel lingered for a moment longer, then nodded. "If you say so, Juniper," he said.

Juniper rubbed her temples. "We should keep going," she said. "We're here for the Sword of Valor. That's what matters."

It was only a few minutes after she said that that they went into the old keep chapel, and the banner was right there – guarded by cultists and minotaurs, resplendent with the Sword of Iomedae on a red background.

The guards saw them at the same time as they saw the banner, and that led to a harsh little battle, but once it was over Seelah went up to take the Sword – only for Juniper to hold up her paw.

"Wait," she said, paws twitching. "I think there's something going on here…"

She frowned, looking around, then pointed. "That statue there… it's a trap, and so are the others. It's going to trigger the moment we touch the Sword, I think."

"I didn't realize you were an expert at this," Camellia said, but went over and examined the statue anyway. "I… think you're right, but the mechanism is hidden inside the stone. I can't disable it."

"Who said anything about disabling it?" Juniper asked, trying not to giggle as an idea occurred to her. "The Sword of Valor is important, so there must be some guards who will turn up to attack whoever tries to take it, rather than just rely on the traps. Which means they'll be appearing…"

She put a paw on one of the trapped statues and vaulted up on top of it, balancing precariously, then pointed. "There, and there, and a lot of them over there. Those are the places the traps don't cover. Which means… Nenio, you've got that wand with the pit spells, right?"

"Oh?" Nenio asked. "Yes. Why?"

Caitrin-Juniper rubbed her paws together, feeling them starting to tingle. "I'd like to borrow it."

Nenio rummaged around in her pockets, taking out the wand, and Juniper flicked it four times – conjuring four extradimensional pits in quick succession, holes in reality that acted like a normal hole except that they didn't actually project into the space below the floor – they just vanished.

With that done, she returned the wand to Nenio, and followed that up by stuffing some mirrors into the mouths of the statues.

"There we go!" she said. "Everyone over here and watch this!"

"Uh," Lann began, but Caitrin-Juniper sprang up and grabbed onto the Sword of Valor.

The moment she did, the banner vanished – turning out to be an illusion – and the traps all triggered, spraying jets of necromantic energy which bounced off the mirrors and harmlessly up towards the ceiling.

A squad of brimorak and vrock demons appeared, teleporting in with war-cries, and immediately fell in the holes Juniper had provided for them.

"Hah!" she laughed. "Weren't expecting that, were you! Come on, everyone, let's get them before they recover!"

"How did you do that?" Ember asked, curiously, as most of the others hurried forwards or began shooting. "Know where they were going to appear, I mean."

The Commander scratched her head. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "It's the places the traps weren't spraying, so it's the places where the demons were going to turn up. And of course I got it exactly right, that's much funnier!"

Soot cawed something, perched on Ember's shoulder, and the elf nodded slightly.

"You keep thinking differently," she said. "You're happy, then you're angry, then I don't know what you are. It's strange."

"Hey, one way or another, I'm still-" Caitrin began, then completed the sentence with "-Juniper," and nearly fell over.

Their route deeper into the keep was significantly less funny.

One room had nothing but a pile of bodies, and undead spawned from the desecrated site – ghouls in their dozens – and it took whole minutes for the group to fight their way from one end to the other. Juniper used Radiance instead of Finnean, for that battle, not able to explain why, but as she did there was a part of her that was insisting she was doing this wrong.

That the ghouls were a resource, a ready-made army waiting to be used to attack the keep from below, and that she could use them to clear her way… if only she knew how.

And that knowing how would not be so very hard, at all.

It would be a perfectly reasonable use of resources. They were already there, and she hadn't been responsible for their deaths, but it would make what had happened to them mean something.

Nothing came of it, and finally the flood of undead stopped. They reached the far side of the room, and a vrock demon appeared with a snarl – then stiffened, and slumped to the ground.

Yaniel lowered the dagger she'd used to cut its throat, and exhaled.

"Time did not bend me, it seems," she said. "There are secret passages in the keep, and it seems they never found that one."

"I'm surprised you didn't leave," Juniper admitted, lowering Radiance. "My forces are outside the keep."

"I decided you could use help," Yaniel answered. "Do you have a problem accepting help?"

"Not in most cases," Juniper replied. "It depends on the cost."

Yaniel nodded, slowly. "There's another secret passage," she told Juniper. "Over here… it leads to where they're keeping the real Sword of Valor."

She opened a passage in the wall, making the stone slide away to reveal a path, then looked back at Juniper. "And what about information?"

"Information," Juniper repeated. "I think…"

What did she think?

"Even if you aren't going to use it, it's always wise to learn new things," she said, an answer that just felt right in some odd way. "Including the enemy's strengths. It gives you more choices."

"Yes," Yaniel agreed. "Knowledge is the greatest weapon, and can succeed where strength or valour fail."

"I don't think that's necessarily true, Juniper," Sosiel said, frowning. "Knowing something about how demons work is important, but learning from evil? You'd only learn how to do evil, and you might end up… well, like Regill."

"I hope you are not implying I am like a demon," Regill said evenly. "It is Hell that we have studied to imitate, and the Abyss we have studied to destroy."

"Actually what I was getting at," Sosiel replied.

"Knowledge is priceless!" Nenio said. "Even a failed experiment should be recorded, as that way it will be a known failed experiment! Otherwise sooner or later someone else will think of the same experiment and conduct it again."

Regill snorted. "Or the experimenters should be impaled on a stake, to purge the world of the idiots trying to destroy it."

"We should get moving," Juniper said, cutting off the incipient argument. "The Sword of Valor is waiting."

The actual Sword of Valor was in a basement, behind a trap secured by a puzzle lock, and the moment she saw it Nenio pushed past everyone else and got out a piece of parchment.

Then, about thirty seconds later, she almost-reluctantly said that she'd solved it because six of the nine rotating rings were specific to three of the four buttons – two each – and after they were lined up the fourth button made the whole rest of the puzzle slide neatly into place.

Juniper took the Sword, then they fought their way through another cultist squad, and raced up the stairs to the postern – out onto the wall walk – and to the barbican of the courtyard gates.

A demonic counterattack had begun, and there was fighting going on below, and Juniper got ready to unfurl the Sword of Valor. But as she did, there was a sudden stab of pain at her chest.

Her wound had opened again, drops of blood spilling out to touch the Sword of Valor, and the fabric glowed brightly. But the pain kept rising, becoming an insistent spike of purest agony, and her golden power dripped from the wound as well – as her awareness spilled outwards to something greater.

The Sword of Valor was responding to her. Resonating with her. It reacted to her power, bouncing it back to pulse into her again, but the potential that coiled around her was inconstant and varying and every return pulse was different from what her power was by the time it came back.

It needed a form. It needed a choice. But Juniper was being pulled in so many different directions that choosing felt impossible. Was impossible.

But it was necessary.

It was like the golden dust had become fire, burning her away and remaking her at the same moment, and Juniper felt herself fracture into pieces.

She was Mirala of Kenabres, half-elf child of two worlds, whose heart beat in tandem with the decades-old echo of the Angel Lariel in his sword that glowed with sunset's soft light. Mysteries and insights came from her other half, powers that came from somewhere else, blessing and curse all in one.

Mirala was caught between two worlds, two minds, two mysteries, torn between using her power to smite the guilty or protect the innocent, between life-giving and battle-leading. For her there was only one answer, and that was to take up the sword of heaven and bear an Angel's halo at her brow, in memory of Lariel whose reflection advised her still.

That was who she was, but that was not the only one she was…

She was Caitrin Aldori, Swordlord of Brevoy, duelist and magus and dabbler and leader, who delighted in the feint and the riposte to keep her opponents off guard. She could command armies just as well as any other, and the dueling sword was not the only weapon she could work with, and she could wind words into knots in service of her aims whether serious or frivolous.

And, so often, a joke actually worked. Half the world was a joke anyway, and taking things too seriously just tied you down feeling miserable, and besides it wasn't like being all dull had solved anything yet, was it? Whereas a flick of the wrist and she'd disarm her opponent – with words or blade, it didn't matter to her!

For Caitrin, well, it was all about having fun, wasn't it? And she had some great ideas about how to really catch everyone off guard, like the Trickster she was!

That was who she was, but she was other people as well…

She was Acolyte Falconeyes, Inquisitor, who had worked as a contractor for Aroden's church in the past and for Iomedae more recently. An elf with hundreds of years of experience, she was used to making snap judgements about her priorities and was rarely proven wrong… partly because she was scrupulous about what was confirmed and what was merely strongly suspected.

Falconeyes saw one logical choice to be made, and that was to see through the layers of deception to reveal the truth at the core of everything. Taking up the mantle of an Aeon was the most reasonable way to fulfil that goal, and to see the weaknesses in her opponents, and she took up that burden with calm certainty.

That was who she was. But at the same time…

Olivie of the Blacklions had no patience for how long the war had raged on. A hundred years. A hundred years! It was obvious to her that nobody else had any idea what to actually do here, on either side, and her frustration was answered with a power that pulsed in her blood.

As a bloodrager, Olivie had always drawn on her bloodline for power, and it had answered her call while trying to push her into incandescent, rage-fuelled missteps. But that was nothing new, and she knew she could control it, so a stronger source of more power in her blood was the natural choice if it let her rip her way through her foes and break through decades of stalemate to actually achieve something!

Demon's rage pulsed in her blood, and she didn't regret it at all.

That was who she was. And yet…

Sings-Brightly had travelled the length and breadth of Golarion, always on the move, always on the lookout for a new song and a new road, and everywhere she went she'd been impressed by the variety of people she met and places she saw. She wasn't the best, but she had a smile on her muzzle and a swish in her tail and a song on her lips for any occasion.

Let others follow rules for the sake of rules, but Sings-Brightly wasn't going to be that kind of vixen. The song of Elysium still hummed in her ears, every breath like a gust of wind dancing free in the air, and she felt like nothing more than a wild Azata of Elysium.

That was who she was. But there was still another…

Yannet the Learned was of Kellid stock, of Sarkorians driven from their home as the Worldwound grew, and had she been born a generation earlier she certainly would not have become an arcanist – a scholar of magic and how magic interacted with itself, a student of arcane lore and mysteries. But decades of studying magic had done nothing to reverse the decline of her homeland… and it seemed like Sarkoris was going to die for nothing.

Until an offer in the crypt of an old, ruined chapel.

Yannet was sure that it would be hard. She knew it in her bones. But even if it took becoming a Lich, she would make the death of Sarkoris worthwhile.

Regardless of what Pharasma thought.

That was who she was.

And so were all the others.

Six different answers at once tore Juniper apart, but the golden-dust power had direction and purpose now – it had answers, no matter that those answers were contradictory.

It could handle something as minor as a logical paradox.

Golden fire remade Juniper even as she came to pieces, different choices and people snapping into place, and Juniper focused as best she could as her shattered mind came back together.

There were… six of her, or seven, or she was made of a thousand fragments and seven of them were bigger than the others. Or maybe six of them were bigger than the others, and Juniper was the name given to all of them at once, like a city was made of buildings.

Butterflies danced around her, then a golden halo lit the air over her head for a moment. Her skin and fur tainted red, then black, and orbs of light and dark orbited for a moment before being replaced by a domino mask over her eyes.

"What the…" Daeran said. "I was going to say something about being led by an angel, but I don't even know which joke to use!"

"It's so bright…" Ember murmured.

"I don't know what Iomedae is thinking, but I hope she does," Seelah said.

Juniper had six tails now, three of them leaking golden dust behind her like infinitely fine snow or pollen in spring, and she- Caitrin – Mirala – Falconeyes – Sings-Brightly – Yannet – Olivie – Juniper clenched her paws so her claws cut into the pads on her palms, gaining a little focus.

She unrolled the Sword of Valor, and the banner glittered in the light of the morning sun. It shone with Iomedae's symbol for a moment, then lit up with a flash of brilliant energy as it changed.

Now it bore a new device, a rainbow of light rays and a complex swirl of gold and orange tails, braided and weaving over one another until it was impossible to tell how many there were. But the power in the banner shone forth, instantly covering the whole of Drezen and spreading out for miles, and every demon in the city except Arueshalae

(and Olivie)

found themselves struck by a sudden overpowering sensation of weakness.

Several of them tried to teleport away, only for the Sword of Valor to turn their powers against themselves, and fatal teleportation mishaps signalled the fates of demons who hadn't realized exactly what was going on. The tide of battle tilted decisively in favour of the Crusaders in an instant, as those demons quick-witted enough to realize what was going on ran for it on foot or by wing, and their cultists and empowered-mortal votaries found themselves badly outnumbered.

"Forgive me this little masquerade," Yaniel said, and Juniper whirled to look.

But it wasn't Yaniel. It was the same woman she'd saved, but she could sense something else now… something deeper, something that seemed obvious now.

"You were testing me, weren't you?" she asked, as Falconeyes pushed to the front for a moment and her eyes glittered with a sight that reduced everything to numbers and facts. "You appeared as Yaniel because you had an excuse to be there and be someone I'd trust, but you wanted to know how I'd react."

"Indeed," the fake Yaniel replied, and dismissed her illusion.

In her place was… someone who Juniper saw like she was only half of a painting. She was a woman with a pair of horns, long, red-black hair, and wings on her back. She had tattoos, an expensive dress and jewellery, but her hands were smudged with ink, and her belt held not scrolls or potions but a mixture of complex arcane instruments.

"Areelu Vorlesh," Juniper recognized immediately. "The Architect of the Worldwound."

Then Nenio practically shoved her aside in enthusiasm.

"Miss Vorlesh!" she said. "It's an honour to meet you, I have so many questions about how you did what you did! Your research is simply groundbreaking… may I have your autograph?"

"I have no time for you," Areelu replied, dismissing her with a glance. Nenio wilted.

"Areelu?" Ulbrig asked, softly, then his voice became a roar. "That Areelu?"

Juniper glanced to the side, worried about what was about to happen, but saw that Ulbrig was – somehow – restraining himself from a bodily leap-and-charge at the woman who had destroyed his homeland.

Maybe he could feel the same thing Juniper could, now. The same thing it seemed as though everyone else could feel.

The sheer power at Areelu Vorlesh's command.

"I was testing you," Areelu went on, sounding completely unconcerned with telling Juniper that. "You've handled the power of the Sword of Valor well. Such artifacts are almost like living beings, and they react to… their own kind, shall we say. It once belonged to a mere mortal who became a goddess. It seems to see something kindred in you."

She smiled slightly. "Touching you has left the Sword changed, in a way that will never be undone. Now it is your banner, not Iomedae's… although perhaps it will still stop the demons, as it did before, because that is part of why you hung it."

"Wherever you go, things change," Ember said, staring at Juniper. "Someone who lived dies, someone who died is saved, and objects go from being one thing to another. Why?"

"What a good question," Areelu mused, but didn't elaborate.

Juniper felt a little like she was trying to balance a dozen balls at once, not wanting to let the virtual-selves of her powers fall out of alignment, but she could tell that there was another test here.

"You helped me," she said. "To find the Sword of Valor… and before, I think. In Kenabres?"

She shook her head. "You're supposed to be Deskari's favourite, but you're not acting like it."

Areelu gave Juniper a satisfied nod, and somehow that was far more important to Juniper than it should have been.

"I'm creating something," the half-fiend said. "Building. Studying the land, laying the foundations…"

"You destroyed an entire country," Sosiel said. "They call you the Architect, but you're nothing but a vandal."

"I create events," Areelu said. "Phenomena. Concepts. I am working on a far grander scale than one country."

A shooting headache flashed through Juniper as half of her disagreed with that dismissal of Sarkoris, but she/they disagreed about what to do.

"I'm not asking you to trust me," Areelu went on. "That would be unforgivably stupid. But I suggest that you… search. Analyze. Think. About what happened in Old Sarkoris. About the Worldwound. About what is happening to you."

She vanished in a swirl of magic, despite the Sword of Valor's steady pulse mere feet away from her.

With Areelu's departure, Juniper had a moment to focus, and looked up at the keep.

Minagho was there. And Staunton. She still had work to do.

A purple dragon with insectile wings was standing attentively next to her, looking supremely unconcerned with explaining her (her?) presence, and Sings-Brightly reacted to her with an infectious giggle that nearly escaped Juniper's muzzle.

One hour. One hour, and she could try and work out who she was now.

One hour and she could fly apart.

But for now, there was one final battle for Drezen to be had.

Up in the commander's tower, as the sound of fighting got closer and closer, Minagho was getting frantic.

"Darling, we've got to get out of here!" she said, her focus flicking between the conference room door and the balcony that looked out across the courtyard. "Juniper's coming!"

"What do I care?" Staunton replied, in full armour and with both hands on his glaive Soulshear. "Drezen is mine. I'm not leaving it again."

"But she's got that damn rag with her!" Minagho told him, panic touching her voice. "I can't teleport us out this time! We have to go!"

"You wanted me here so badly," Staunton said implacably. "I'm here. I'm staying to the end."

He reached up and grabbed her arm, pulling her in for a kiss, then released her. "And so are you."

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Nurah said, sitting cross-legged on the table, then knocked over one of the counters with her foot. "Oops. Was that important?"

"Of course it's not important!" Minagho snarled. "There's an army here in Drezen! And that damn fox is coming, and-"

The sounds of fighting outside grew to a crescendo, then went silent. There was a pause, of about four heartbeats, then the door to the conference room opened.

Juniper came through first, a wheel of golden-blue light over her head, and with Radiance glittering in her paw. The weapon shone with reflected light, and Minagho stepped back slightly at the sight – it was entirely too unpleasantly like being in a room with an angel.

And there was a dragon by her ankles, waving cheerfully with a forepaw before visibly catching itself and growling instead.

"Minagho," Juniper said, as her companions entered the room behind her. "Staunton Vhane. And Nurah Dendiwhar."

She smiled, then. No, smirked. "It's not a surprise to see you here, traitor. Is there anyone you haven't betrayed?"

"Nope!" Nurah replied, cheerfully, and waved. "I could write the book on betrayals! In fact, I already have."

"I'll be sure to read it," Juniper said. "And not trust it at all."

Nurah giggled, and Minagho looked like she wanted to strangle the halfling. There was a brand on her face, which took her a moment to identify, but it looked like a brand given as punishment by her master – the demon lord Baphomet.

It seemed as though someone wasn't in Baphomet's good books. If a demon lord had good books. Would they be evil books?

Then Juniper turned her attention to Staunton, and Caitrin Aldori receded as Mirala of Kenabres came back to the fore. "Staunton. I met your brother down below, you know."

Staunton heaved a sigh. "I don't doubt you did," he said. "That scabbard at your belt, it's his work. I'd know it anywhere. And I know my brother."

He set his expression grimly. "I take it he's dead, then."

"I'm afraid so," Mirala said, and had to fight off a sudden wobble in her perceptions as Olivie of the Blacklions tried to argue with that statement. "He thought more of you than anyone else… I think he thought more of you than you think of yourself, strange as that is to say."

"Aye, strange," Staunton said.

"Darling-" Minagho began, and Staunton thumped the butt of his glaive on the ground.

"Shut up!" he replied. "You've got something to say, girl. Out with it!"

"I wanted to know why," Juniper said, and that was a Juniper question. "Why do you fight on the side of the demons now?"

"You have the audacity to ask me that?" Staunton demanded. "I fought for the other side for seventy years, but they'd never trust me to do anything! Yes, I made a mistake, and I should have hanged for it – but the Queen did worse to me! She gave me mercy! A mercy that turned into seventy years of torture, serving faithfully and without reward, watching generations of crusaders grow old and being spat on the whole time!"

His voice turned hoarse. "You call that mercy? You think she didn't know what was going to happen? She said it was to give me a chance to make amends, but seventy years hasn't been enough! What else could I do?"

"Oh, tell me you aren't going to say you had no choice," Daeran drawled.

"Yes, I had a choice," Staunton replied, and now he just sounded tired. "I could become my own executioner, delivering the sentence she rescinded that day, or go over to the other side."

"Or you could have left," Juniper said. "Even if you couldn't tolerate another day in Galfrey's army."

"I would appreciate it if you would not encourage desertion, Commander," Regill muttered under his breath.

Juniper adjusted her grip on Radiance slightly, but held the weapon up in a defensive rather than aggressive stance. "But what I meant was… why that day? Why then and there, in the Grey Garrison?"

She shifted her footing. "Decisions don't happen in nothingness. They come about for a reason. Choices are shaped by the choices that came before."

"It's like a tree," Ember said, unexpectedly. "Trees fall over gradually, until they fall over suddenly."

Staunton's face worked for a moment, then he nodded. "That's about the shape of it," he said. "Truth be told, I'd made my decision a long time ago, I just didn't realize it until then. Minagho's affection is better than anything I got with the crusaders."

"Darling, I should go," Minagho suggested, and Staunton just shook his head.

Mirala closed her eyes, exhaling slightly as she mourned the Staunton that there had once been, then called on the source of sunset's light in her heart. Lariel's echo whispered to her, telling her things that only Angels could know, and Radiance flared as she poured the might of heaven into the blade.

Nurah ducked under the table, then began playing her lute, and a pulse of bard's magic rippled out – and touched Juniper and her companions, not Minagho and Staunton.

"You little rat!" Minagho ranted, then Mirala/Juniper advanced, and Radiance and Soulshear clashed with a belling sound that rang through the room.

Staunton and Minagho had completely different things they were focused on, and battling the pair of them was almost like two separate battles that happened to be going on at the same time.

The Lilitu was using destructive spells and throwing out hexes, or focusing on defending herself, as Lann and Arueshalae kept up steady volleys of arrows flying at her which stopped her from concentrating entirely on spellcasting. Regill was pressuring her as well, hammer flying, then when he got hit by a lightning bolt and knocked backwards into the wall it was Ulbrig's turn to lunge forwards with his fists growing claws and sprinting into a charge.

Sosiel healed Regill, getting him back in the fight, and Ulbrig slumped over as a sleeping hex took effect – at least until Camellia kicked him in the ribs, waking him up, before stabbing with her rapier as the little purple dragon used a sonic breath weapon to distract Minagho.

All the while, Seelah and Juniper were fighting Staunton. The dwarf was chanting an oath under his breath, making his armour tougher so it shed glancing blows from even the empowered Radiance, while he spun Soulshear in circles that kept both blades from getting the deadly blow they needed.

Part of that was that Juniper was having trouble focusing again. Mirala was still the facet that was predominant, but one minute Olivie was trying to encourage Juniper to take her sword in both hands and call on the power of her blood – smash Soulshear aside and crumple Staunton's armour in a single blow – and the next Sings-Brightly was pointing out that her real strength here was her friends, and that she should lean on teamwork rather than trying to do everything herself.

And Yannet was suggesting spells that would help. Dark spells, spells to twist flesh and bone, spells that would help her stop Staunton, stop Minagho… and when she started thinking about those, all the other facets began suggesting spells as well.

Magic that used a demon's rage. That imposed the laws of the universe. That was magic, wild and free, or that mustered heaven's might, or that was just funny.

Mirala-Juniper pushed them all away, shoving with Radiance to push Soulshear's blade away from her shoulder, then reached down to her hip with her left paw. A spark of golden light flickered around Finnean as well, and he changed into a dagger at her touch, then Staunton stepped forwards to gain momentum and brought Soulshear down like an axe aimed for her head.

Mirala shouted, a wordless prayer that invoked Lariel, and a surge of holy power filled her as she braced herself. Radiance and Finnean crossed in an X-shape, absorbing the impact from Soulshear, and the glaive-sword-dagger contact point screeched as the weapons slowly grated against one another.

Caitrin adjusted her footing, then wordlessly prompted Finnean to change from dagger to starknife. The transition from a short single-bladed weapon to a four-pointed star meant that Staunton's glaive shifted, and Caitrin turned that into a complete twirl that left Soulshear sliding off to impact the floor with a whack.

Seelah smashed her shield into Staunton as he tried to recover, and as Juniper finished her twirl her focus shifted back from Caitrin to Mirala and her halo reappeared. She thrust out, punching through Staunton's armour in a shower of sparks, and Staunton grunted before stepping back and returning his glaive to the ready position.

He was leaning on the haft of the weapon, now, but Juniper's focus on the battle was broken when Minagho cast a spell that hurled Ulbrig, Camellia, Regill and the dragon away at once.

The Lilitu was panting, and turned to Staunton with a tremble in her voice. "We're leaving. Now!"

"We're not leaving," Staunton replied, then Minagho hit him with a burst of enervating magic. He went to one knee, panting, and his lover ran past before Juniper or Seelah could react – jumping out the window, to the parade ground below.

Juniper ran to the balcony, a spell sizzling in one paw as she dropped Finnean to the ground, but by the time she got there Minagho had vanished.

The city was in chaos, there was probably no way to catch her in time, but Juniper used one of the last charges in her wand to pass on the order anyway. Then Staunton grunted, levering himself to his feet.

"Bitch," he said, and Juniper wasn't sure who he meant. Then he raised Soulshear for a mighty two-handed blow that would have taken her head off.

It didn't strike home. The point was never to strike home. It was a telegraphed blow, far too obvious to do what it was ostensibly meant to, and Juniper lunged forwards in a stop-thrust that ended with Radiance buried in his chest.

His arms went slack, and the glaive clattered to the floor.

"I am coming, Lady Death," he said, softly. "Forgive me for being seven decades late to our meeting."

Juniper withdrew Radiance, not sure how to feel as Staunton slumped to the ground, then Nurah emerged from under the table.

"Oh, boy," she said. "I didn't think I'd survive that! And now I'm alive… and I don't know what to do next! How exhilarating!"

Acolyte Falconeyes nearly came to the fore, to demand that Nurah be arrested for her treachery, but Caitrin Aldori and Sings-Brightly and Mirala of Kenabres all contested that at once. Yannet didn't care, and Olivie wanted vengeance, but in the balance of it all…

"Thank you, Nurah," Juniper replied. "And now… I never saw you. Run."

The halfling vanished in an Invisibility spell before she finished the last word, and once she was gone Juniper began to process the sounds outside.

Cheering. Wild cheering.

"I was right there all along, and I still don't know how you did it," Seelah said. "But you did it, Juniper. Drezen is ours again."

"The greatest triumph of the Mendevian Crusades in over seventy years," Regill noted. "Regardless of my thoughts about the methods you may have chosen to employ, they are clearly working… though I would appreciate details on what you said before."

"I'd say I wanted them as well, but I'm just a mongrel," Lann shrugged. "I don't think I'll be living long enough to hear them all, so… just give us the summary for now?"

Juniper rested her paws on the table, so she didn't visibly start falling over, and felt like she was made of pieces that were drifting apart.

Made of six bright facets that anchored her mythic power and gilded by bright dust, and accompanied by dozens of smaller ones. All confused in different ways, all with different histories and origins and skills… all the product of choices, and all with different opinions on choices of their own.

All different manifestations of potential.

"I have different… versions of myself," she tried. "They can do different things, they don't agree about a lot of things… sometimes some of them are louder or quieter than others… I have trouble focusing and concentrating and thinking a lot of the time… but if I have something to do, I can handle it."

And that really summarized what mattered.

"There's still work to do in Drezen," she said. "It's going to take days to take an inventory, for a start."

And if that was something Juniper could use to distract herself from the pressure of her selves, that was almost even more important.

Chapter Text

For all that Minagho's escape and Staunton's death had clearly been the decisive moment of the Battle of Drezen, and of the campaign to reclaim the city as a whole… that wasn't remotely the same as the situation being under control.

There were demons to hunt down throughout the city, and traps left to defuse, and the logistics to organize – simply arranging to protect food convoys and stock the citadel with the food to withstand a siege or sustain long-term operations took up hours – and it wasn't until two days later, with Drezen in something close to working order, that Queen Galfrey called Juniper for a meeting.

Rather than in the commander's conference room, they met in the courtyard under the sun, and Galfrey inclined her head.

"When I appointed you to the position of Commander of the Fifth Crusade, it was – candidly – as an attempt to restore the faith and hope of a country tired from decades of fruitless war," she said. "I do not really know how much longer Mendev can sustain this military effort… but I think now that it is longer than I would have said if asked two weeks ago."

She smiled. "Commander, that you have turned out to be not merely inspiring but also a talented military leader is a rare gift indeed… our march north to Drezen saw both the normal challenges of a campaign and novelties the demons rolled out specifically to stop you, and not only did you overcome them but with trifling casualties relative to the gains made."

Acolyte Falconeyes came to the fore, and Juniper nodded respectfully. "I was only doing my duty, Your Majesty."

"Your duty, indeed," Galfrey said. "Would that everyone did their duty as well as you, or we would not have needed five Crusades to achieve as much as we have."

She looked up at the balcony of the conference room. "As you have probably guessed, I will be returning to the capital of Nerosyan soon. In my absence, you will of course command the Fifth Crusade in the further battles and campaigns, and I will expect you to make your residence in Drezen – though I don't expect you to spend all your time here."

Another nod, and Falconeyes smiled slightly. "I recall Knight Kitrane giving me advice on a similar matter."

"I'm sure she was a wise individual," Galfrey said. "There are some other issues I should touch on, but first… do you have any questions, Commander?"

Juniper's focus on Falconeyes drifted a little, as she shifted to using analytical tools favoured by less-dominant facets and looked at things from multiple angles, then Falconeyes firmed up again as Juniper decided on what to ask.

"Firstly, what is my objective?" she asked.

"A good question," Galfrey allowed. "I'm sure it's not a surprise that I don't expect you to gain control over the whole of the Worldwound just yet. The lands are harsh and torn, and can barely sustain life, while the demons move more easily and have larger armies deeper in the Wound. But I do expect you to secure control over the northern borderlands between the Worldwound proper and the remains of Old Sarkoris, and in addition to take control of the outskirts of the Worldwound."

She drummed her fingers on the hilt of her sword. "I don't expect miracles, but – operate aggressively, and gather information. Try and find out if there is a weakness here… there must be something, or the demons would have rolled over Mendev decades ago. Instead they are focusing their attention on us, and by great sacrifice we have kept them back, but the Mammoth Lords see only raids."

Juniper waited for a moment longer, then nodded her understanding. "I see, Your Majesty. To put it another way, I should do the things which the demons would most like me not to do."

That won her a startled laugh.

"If you could manage that, that would be a wonder!" Galfrey said. "I believe you understand me, Commander… though I must admit, I have some reservations about your own power and the forms it has taken."

Acolyte Falconeyes simply stood, waiting for more information.

She would justify herself if asked, but an Inquisitor was quite used to waiting for information.

"The Sword of Valor," Galfrey said, eventually. "The fact that it does not bear Iomedae's symbol any more makes me uncomfortable, I must confess. And the way that your powers seem to shift, from minute to minute… it makes it even harder for me to understand what exactly has been going on. Your powers are a blessing, but…"

The Queen shook her head. "I do not understand what kind of blessing they are."

Another pause. Acolyte Falconeyes was quite happy to stay silent, but Caitrin Aldori was clamouring for Juniper to say something and the balance between the two was shifting moment by moment as Juniper tried not to tip too far one way or another.

"I don't understand it myself," she said, with a shrug that made her tails bounce behind her. "Maybe it's meant to be a secret – because the demons certainly didn't expect it!"

"That much is true, Commander," Galfrey conceded. "I will have to leave you, now, but I have provided you with a capable set of assistants to help you and the Crusade function as effectively as possible."

Juniper bowed, giving exactly the right depth just as Caitrin Aldori had been taught in a childhood that wasn't even truly real, then watched as the Queen of Mendev walked across the parade ground and out towards Drezen's main gates.

Making the Crusade function as effectively as possible was certainly going to take a lot of hard work. The terrain of Sarkoris had already been rough, and the Worldwound had formed jagged canyons with sheer cliff edges from the brute force of the planar rift damaging Golarion itself. Combining that with existing choke points and military obstacles, rivers and escarpments and marshes, meant that really there were only a relatively small number of routes that could be used by a marching army – even one largely made up of demons, who still needed to eat.

Part of Drezen's value was that it sat near a choke point, between the escarpments to the south and the Lake Lost To The Sun, further north… and while the Wardstone chain was further south and east, shielding Mendev proper, Drezen helped to secure a swath of land along the West Sellen between Drezen, Kenabres and the Lake of Mists and Veils to the northeast.

Securing the routes around the northern lake would be a good first step, clearing out that triangle of land and placing a fort along the routes there, and then-

A sigh interrupted Juniper's thoughts, and she looked around.

"I don't understand these cities that mortals love so much," someone said, sounding partly disappointed and mostly curious. "Stone, stone, more stone… all the doors are so close to the ground and the same shape! Why don't they ever put the door on the top floor and slide down to the ground instead? And why do they want to go outside if it's no fun out there, anyway?"

Juniper looked down, and saw the little purple dragon who'd appeared two days before had a claw to her muzzle. "Maybe if there was… oh! A chocolate tree! So people could break off a branch to much on as they pass by?"

Crouching down, Juniper smiled, delighted to have a minor concern for once. "You sound like quite an enthusiast."

"I am!" the dragon agreed. "I am! Oh, do you think you could make a chocolate tree? You're meant to be in charge here, so they'd make a chocolate tree if you asked nicely, right?"

She leaned in closer. "Between you and me, I don't think most mortals are very good at coming up with ideas like that. Why else do they all have big grey stony buildings instead of something else?"

Sings-Brightly was giggling, and Juniper did her best not to giggle and keep a straight face instead. "Maybe it's because everyone here actually likes grey stony buildings for keeping out the rain?"

"Oh, I guess it might get soggy otherwise," the dragon admitted. "You don't want your sweets to get soggy, some of them get all sticky and then you end up stuck to them and you have to wash them off and you can't even eat them properly that way."

"I've seen you around for the last few days," Juniper said. "But you've only started talking just now… why's that, then? And what should I call you?"

The first question made the little dragon pout, puffing out her cheeks. "Well, maybe I was shy? We don't know each other… oh, but you've asked my name, so now we can introduce ourselves. I'm Aivu! That's because I'm little, because in my family names get longer as you get bigger and older… imagine being a five-year-old dragon with a name like Rezlarabren or Spykoranuvellitar! That way your name would be bigger than you were, and that would be terrible!"

"Sings-Brightly," the kitsune said, then shook her head. "Or, Juniper Goldeneyes, Goldentails, whichever. I'm afraid I've got a lot of names… you were there when I explained why, right?"

Aivu nodded solemnly. "I was," she said. "But I like all those names, and you're bigger than me so I guess it's okay that you have a longer name. Oh! Do you have one name for each tail?"

"...more than that," Juniper admitted, splaying out her tails and turning her head to count them. "Six tails, but at least seven names."

"Woow," Aivu gasped. "You must be really old! Or if you're not really old, I feel sorry for you for having so much name!"

"I'll do my best not to use them all at once," Juniper suggested. "So… how did you get here? Where did you come from?"

"Where did I come from?" Aivu repeated. "I flew all the way here to get to you! Well… I moved between the planes a tiny bit, I couldn't have done that normally but it was really easy when I felt your power, but then I flew the rest of the way."

She tilted her head. "That's okay, isn't it? You do want a dragon all your very own, don't you?"

Juniper patted Aivu on the head, and the little dragon looked very briefly contemplative before deciding that this was a good situation to be in and nuzzling into her paw.

"I'd be surprised if anyone didn't want a dragon all their very own," Juniper said. "So you came all this way because of me?"

"Yep!" Aivu agreed, fluttering her wings and taking off for a moment before settling down again. "Though there was something else… oh! Yes, I remember!"

She frowned, walking around in a little circle. "There's somewhere a bit outside Drezen… north, I think? And there's some friends waiting for you there, when you have the time. I know you must be super busy doing all the boring things you need to do to make those demons stop making everything dull and nasty, but it's really a good idea to go there some time soon!"

"I'll do my best," Juniper promised.

"Great!" Aivu said. "Oh, and one more thing!"

She sat down on her haunches, looking cute. "Do you have any sweets?"

Juniper introduced Anevia to Aivu, which pleased both of them, then retreated to her new bedroom in the Commander's Quarters of the citadel.

She'd been getting better at telling what was going on in her mind, and in… staying in the same mindset, maybe. But she was still drifting mentally when her concentration lapsed, including when she was concentrating on something else… but almost worse was the snap-back when she realized, and she suddenly settled on a personal history again.

Sometimes a different personal history to the one she'd had a short while ago.

At least she was learning to recognize them, but that didn't put her any closer to understanding who she was.

Juniper leaned on her desk, then glanced up at the mirror, and really looked this time.

The strange thing was, the vixen looking back at her was… unfamiliar, in a lot of ways. She knew, looking at it, that it was her muzzle, her face… her, Juniper Goldeneyes… but most of her remembered something else, and there were so many selves remembering different things that it was hard to shake a persistent feeling of… dysphoria.

As she stared into her own reflection, echoes in her mind shifted. Olivie of the Blacklions wondered why she was wasting time, Caitrin Aldori suggested that she should spend some time perfecting the kitsune's gift of taking on specific humanoid disguises, then Acolyte Falconeyes came to the fore and Juniper's eyes went from golden to blue.

And she saw everything. And herself.

The Aeon's sight looked deeply into the heart of things, and saw what was right and what was wrong. What should be, and what should not be.

But when Falconeyes looked at herself, that meant the power of the Aeon was entirely concentrated on her own reflection, and what she saw was… confusing.

And concerning.

Aeons would be champions of the cosmic order, except that the term champion was too loaded. They were enforcers of the cosmic order, and an Aeon had no trifle with a mortal obeying the law on Golarion or a demon behaving violently in the Abyss. Their concern was to make sure that what happened was what was supposed to happen, and that obvious violations of the order of things were opposed.

That could mean something as simple as ensuring that a petty thief was condemned for their crimes, though most Aeons would not concern themselves with something so minor… but it could also mean preventing an illegal joining of two planes and opposing a demonic invasion force into the mortal world.

Anomalies in the cosmic order were to be stopped, and stamped out. And that was what the new power resting in Acolyte Falconeyes was meant to do, as logical as an equation and as inevitable as the rotation of the world.

And yet.

When she looked in the mirror and saw herself, she saw a deconstruction of herself.

A kitsune with a wound on her chest that was more than just an injury.

A mind that was like a pane of patterned glass, smashed to pieces, but the larger pieces had their own designs and the whole picture was still visible.

An Aeon looking at an Aeon, but also an Aeon looking at an Azata, an Angel, a Demon, a Lich… nascent as they were, their powers still developing, but from what Acolyte Falconeyes knew about the laws of the universe just looking at her-fractured-self should look like-

Like-

Falconeyes couldn't come up with the words, but Sings-Brightly could, and she offered that it should be like six anomalies wearing a single coat to sneak into a tavern. The distraction made her focus waver, the blue glow of her eyes shimmering and flickering, but a moment later she was back into being Falconeyes properly and continued her assessment of herself.

Because there was no anomaly there. Somehow, Juniper Goldeneyes was exactly as she should be, and in context… that worried her more than anything else.

She blinked, and the only thing in the mirror was her own reflection.

Anevia and Irabeth were both staying in Drezen, rather than going back to Kenabres, and when she was told Juniper remembered something – she'd almost forgotten, in the chaos that morning, but one of the things she'd found in Joran Vhane's forge was the longsword Solemn Hour.

That was the Tirabade family blade, which Irabeth had sold years before – to raise money for curing an unspecified illness her wife had been suffering, if Juniper recalled correctly – and Irabeth took the returned blade reverently before insisting on paying Juniper for the service.

That handled, though, Irabeth had a report to give her. The new Eagle Watch chapter in Drezen had been incorporated into the scouting and information-gathering wing of the garrison, and already there were several matters to deal with. Demon attacks from a direction they shouldn't really be possible… overdue scouts… and a dragon, attacking any parties of crusaders that caught her eye.

"A dragon?" Aivu asked, jumping up on the table. "Oh, but it sounds like one of those mean dragons, not the nice ones like me!"

She frowned, then brightened. "Oh! Would it help if I tried to work out where the dragon lives?"

"There's a map right there," Sings-Brightly suggested. "Do you know how a map works?"

Aivu tilted her head. "Umm…"

"It's like a picture of the ground, showing things we might need to know," Anevia said, trying not to laugh.

"Then it's a terrible picture!" Aivu complained, walking across the table to look at the map. "Unless it's a good picture, but if it is a good picture then the whole place is boring! Look at how brown it all is!"

She sniffed it, then shook her head. "I don't think this is very useful, Juniper! You should try looking at the ground by flying up there instead."

"I can't fly yet," Juniper replied. "And I don't think you're big enough to carry me… and even if I could, the map is supposed to be so that everyone can see what we're talking about."

Then she frowned. "Though… actually, how big is the dragon? Anevia, do we know?"

"Reports don't say for sure, but the same sort of size as Terendelev was," Anevia answered.

Juniper nodded, thinking.

"Aivu, are there any dragons you met before who had wings as far across as this room, the long way?" she asked.

Aivu frowned, clearly thinking, then jumped down off the table. She scampered to one end of the room, turned around, and counted under her breath as she walked all the way to the other end.

"This is a very big room," she said. "Why do you even have a room this big? Why don't you just do things outside?"

"Maps again, I'm afraid," Juniper explained. "They'd get damp and we couldn't read them any more."

"Maps are dumb," Aivu declared, with the finality that indicated she had come to a Decision, then visibly remembered what she'd been doing in the first place. "Oh, um… yes! I met a copper dragon called Krasnakorixides who was that big, he had great jokes even if I didn't understand half of them!"

She crept closer, whispering to Juniper. "His hoard had chocolate in it! I didn't know you could do that!"

Juniper gave Aivu a scratch under the chin, and the little havoc dragon practically melted.

"Do you know how far he could fly?" she asked.

"Oh, a really long way," Aivu answered, wings fluttering. "He could fly all day!"

"Thank you, Aivu," Juniper said. "It sounds like that dragon could be based anywhere in the Worldwound… we won't be able to track down where they live, there's too many options."

Aivu looked disappointed. "Oh," she said. "I still helped, though, right?"

"Of course you did," Juniper assured her.

As Drezen returned to being a typical if strong Mendevian castle, a normal civilian life began to develop, and Juniper's companions spread out across the levels of the fortress to find places to stay. Daeran, naturally, snagged the best house he could find and started working on hiring people to come and stand around looking pretty, while Camellia took up complaining and Seelah headed down to the barracks.

Some of the places people went were a bit surprising, for Juniper – she wasn't sure where she would have guessed Arueshalae would end up either by day or by night, but standing right by the main temple wasn't it – and the person she was actually looking for, Lann, had taken up residence in one of the buildings not far from the main gate.

"Well, look who it is!" he said. "I'd come out and say hello, but that's, you know, out under the sky. I'm still more comfortable if there's a roof over my head."

He glanced up. "It's funny, because I know perfectly well that something is more likely to fall on me than nothing is, but looking out at the sky and knowing the nearest thing I can see is a cloud – miles away – is just… eugh."

The 'neather shook himself, and Juniper frowned in concern.

"You're all right, aren't you?" she asked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry about me," he said. "Just griping. But I'm guessing you sought me out for a reason, so come on in!"

Juniper did just that, sweeping her tails aside as she sat down on the floor.

"Fancy," Lann chuckled. "Did you learn that from that kitsune… Lady Konomi, I think?"

"Huh?" Juniper replied, then looked down at how she was sitting.

It was as much kneeling as sitting. She'd dropped to her knees, then sat back on her paws in seiza, in a position that felt as natural as breathing… but only in some lives.

"No, it's… the other thing," she summarized. "I wanted to ask, Lann… it's you, Camellia or Seelah here, and I've already brought enough of my problems to Seelah. And Camellia…"

Juniper didn't continue, but Lann took her meaning anyway.

"Yeah, it probably helps that you're a Knight Commander now, but she'd still find a way to be snooty, huh?" he asked.

In retrospect, it was surprising that Lann and Camellia had got on as well as they had, back in Kenabres. They could be professional in battle, but outside of it… the class-conscious noblewoman and the equally class-conscious but very un-intimidated Lann could spark friction a lot.

Or perhaps a better phrasing would be that they could spark friction all of the time.

"In the caves," she said, returning to the topic she'd come here to discuss. "The Light of Heaven – do you know what it was? I've… actually lost track of if I ever told you."

"Hey, I could be insulted by that," Lann said, waving a hand at his face. "How many people have a look like this?"

He shrugged. "I know it's the sword of an angel, and after what you did to fight Staunton I don't know how much that's a myth."

"It's more," Mirala replied. "It's… not the whole of him, but it's more than none of him. A sword is a sword, it's a physical object. Like Iomedae says – if I lose my sword, I have lost a tool. But there's a second half to that catechism."

"If I betray my heart, I have died," Lann finished.

"I think… when the Angel Lariel was in his direst straits and worst trouble, he poured his heart into his sword," Mirala replied. "An angel's heart is a powerful thing, and when I touched it… it took a while to realize it. Maybe until the Wardstone, maybe even later. But that part of him is a part of me, now."

She raised both paws, one of them glittering with positive energy and the other twitching as if to grasp a blade. "I don't know what that means, either," she added. "Whether that means healing or fighting, or which is more important, if one of them is more important at all."

"Hey, no wonder you came to me!" Lann said, tapping himself on the chest. "I wouldn't say I'm an expert, but I know a lot about being more than one thing at a time… you know I lived on the surface for a while? I lived in Neatholm the last several years, before meeting you, but that's how I at least knew what sunlight was."

He shrugged. "But, despite how I've got a lizard half and a goat horn and only a little bit of normal human, I guess I haven't really come to any kind of amazing revelation. Just that I guess I couldn't pull a bow with only one hand, so I've had to improvise."

Mirala thought about that, and Lariel's echo whispered wordless advice, and she reached for the scabbarded Radiance at her waist. She drew it out, and it glittered with quiescent sunlight as her halo flared into life on her brow.

"I… think you're right," she said. "An angel isn't there just to punish the guilty, with protecting the innocent as something they do in their spare time. And they're not there just to protect the innocent, while leaving the guilty uncontested. They're… both."

She exhaled. "They can be both, and that makes both of them matter more. I… thanks, Lann. I think I needed to hear that."

Lann laughed. "Hey, if you're telling me that I helped you with that, then sure, but I really didn't do anything!"

Bright and early the next morning, Juniper headed north out of Drezen. She followed Aivu's directions as the Havoc dragon orbited overhead, then landed and ran ahead instead, then said that it was super early in the morning and breakfast was ages ago and asked to be carried please?

Daeran looked over his shoulder.

"We're only, what, two miles away from Drezen?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Aivu agreed, as Juniper picked her up. "But it's still super early in the morning! Plus, this way I get a cuddle!"

Seelah laughed. "You know, if that's meant to be a secret then you're not meant to say it out loud."

"Oops," Aivu said.

Arueshalae giggled.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, warchief?" Ulbrig said, speeding up a little so he could be alongside Juniper to talk. "I know some of this is to do with the butterfly goddess, but there's something fae about that dragon as well. It's the wings, I think."

"My wings are pretty, though, right?" Aivu wheedled.

Ulbrig made a non-committal noise, turning his attention to the land around them.

"This place looks awful now," he said. "I flew over here in the past, it was… well, normal for Sarkoris. Now it's…"

He sighed. "These damn oglin plants everywhere, dead trees… it's bad for you, warchief, but I knew this area. I know what it's meant to look like."

"Oak and ash, and thickets of hawthorn," Juniper replied, gazing into the distance without truly seeing it. "Trees so old and large they're like pillars. Lush green grass underfoot, and wind that ripples through the elms and shake loose beech seeds…"

She shook her head. "A lot was lost, with Old Sarkoris."

"Aye, it was," Ulbrig confirmed, but he was looking at her strangely.

As they reached the crest of a hill, though, a new sight caught their attention.

The ridge was as devastated by decades of Abyssal influence as anywhere this far from the Worldwound, but it didn't look quite as bad. It was probably just the shape and form of the land, which looked… pleasant, and in happier times it could have been a grotto among the woods.

It was clearly the place Aivu was leading them to, though, because there were some familiar faces.

"Aranka!" Sings-Brightly called, hurrying forwards. "And Ilkes and Thall! I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Juniper!" Aranka replied, and the kitsune felt a momentary headrush from the sensation of being two people, before shaking it off as Aranka kept talking. "You've done such amazing things since we last met – and I'm so glad you came to visit us!"

She spread her hands. "And, of course, we wanted to meet your new dragon friend properly!"

"That's not the only person you should meet," Juniper said, as Aivu squirmed out of her arms and hovered beside her. "Arueshalae, you should say hello."

Arueshalae looked uncomfortable, then swallowed. "I… really, Commander?"

"Go ahead," Juniper encouraged her. "Ilkes, Thall, Aranka… Arueshalae is the one who was sending you your warnings."

All three of the Desnan Adepts stared at her, then Aranka broke into a broad grin.

"It's lovely to meet you!" she said. "It really is – come on, we should get introduced properly!"

"Seems the butterfly goddess likes you, warchief," Ulbrig said, some minutes later, once Juniper had been shown around the little ridge.

There were already several other people there, besides Aranka, Thall and Ilkes, drawn to fight the Worldwound by Juniper's success but not to Drezen specifically.

A dozen or so halflings who cheerfully introduced themselves and declared that they'd be the Free Crusaders, if Juniper was willing to accept them – Crusaders who fought the Worldwound's demons, sure enough, but who simply wouldn't fit in with the regimented Mendevian army… even with whatever changes Juniper might make.

Juniper actually had been considering whether such restrictions could be relaxed, but a new structure that operated from a separate base would probably work out better for all concerned.

Then there was Maitresse Olla Devara, an alchemist who was setting up her workshop in the area.

A Caydenite alchemist.

While it probably would have been quite useful on a purely military level to have the alchemist's help, the very idea of having a worshipper of the Drunken God messing with potions in the middle of Drezen made Falconeyes and Mirala wince.

But that brought Juniper back to Ulbrig's comment, and she sat down on a convenient rock before frowning.

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe it's more Arueshalae who she likes… I'm no Desnan, though I know a lot of her worshippers are gathered here at the moment."

Then Sings-Brightly had an idea, and pushed herself right back up again. "I'm being too gloomy!" she said. "You know what we need?"

"No?" Ilkes replied, warily. "Is there something we need?"

"What we need is a song," the bard answered.

Aivu's wings flared. "Ooh!" she said. "I don't think I've heard you sing yet!"

"Then that's something I'll have to fix," Sings-Brightly replied. She beat her paw on the ground, counting under her breath to begin the beat, then lifted her muzzle and began to sing.

Her decision about which song to sing came at the last moment, the Song of Elysium, but the moment she began she knew it was the right choice. Arueshalae joined in, then so did the Desnan adepts and Aivu, and Seelah watched with a laugh.

"You do have plenty of talents, don't you?" Daeran asked, over the music. "Maybe I could ask you to sing at my next party. I could even invite-"

As the song rose, though, the aasimar was interrupted by a pulse of magic.

Sings-Brightly began to dance, as well, tails flying out behind her, and the magic pulsed again. Blue-and-green butterflies of light orbited around her, along with a whirlwind of fresh grass and the smell of leaves, and Aivu stopped singing for a moment to giggle with delight.

"This feels just like your power did when I noticed you!" she said. "It's great!"

Then Aivu took up the tune again, and there was one more pulse of magic – and a burst of sparkles that flew outwards, raining down across the whole of the area and bringing with them actual rain – rain like mist, rain that made the ground damp and added a pleasant cool to exposed skin.

And the ground, visibly, began to heal.

Abyssal rifts and cracks in the ground closed up, or became simple depressions. Struggling plants grew in vitality and size. Trees burst forth, gaining years of growth in minutes, until it all hit critical mass and there was a soundless explosion of vitality.

When the green light faded, the whole ridge was transformed. It had changed in an instant into an oasis of soft grass and wild trees, some of them already growing fruit, and the rift nearest Juniper had become a deep pool of water as clear as air.

There was even a rainbow, hanging over the pool, and the air was full of a petrichor smell – the smell of ground and grass, the smell after rain.

"It's… beautiful," Arueshalae said, into the silence.

"She's got the right of it, sister," Seelah agreed, looking around. "Lady above, the difference between this and the rest of the Worldwound, even around Drezen where it's not too bad… it's amazing. It's like being reminded what green life should be like."

"And now, I wish you'd done that at one of my parties," Daeran said, eyes glittering with humour. "Oh, it would have been so wonderful… think of all the wet blouses that nobody would have been able to complain about!"

"Knowing your parties, Lord Arendae, I'd be surprised if anyone was clothed," Aranka chuckled.

"Oh, of course there would be plenty of people wearing clothes, my dear," Daeran replied. "You have to start with clothes on to take them off."

Sings-Brightly was panting a little, from exhilaration and effort all at once, but still caught Aivu when the little dragon jumped into her arms.

"I knew you could do things like this!" Aivu said. "But I didn't know exactly what, because that's what it's like in Elysium!"

"Elysium – that's right!" Aranka realized. "We should give this place a name. It can be your Court, like Azatas have… who can think of a good name?"

Sings-Brightly smiled as the Desnan adepts, Daeran, Seelah and the halflings all began throwing names around, then looked around as someone came up behind her.

"Warchief, this…" Ulbrig began, his voice a little hoarse. "This is…"

He swallowed. "I've been dealing with the knowledge that my land is gone for days. That… that the heart of Sarkoris was ripped out and destroyed. I dread to think what we'll find as we keep going south and west, towards Threshold and Iz. But this…"

After a few seconds of silence, he tried again. "This is no oglin trick, it's too real for that. The smells, the feel of the grass… it's like being back in my childhood again. And it's the first time I've seen anything healing any part of Sarkoris. Thank you, warchief."

He held out his hand, and after a bit of juggling to hold Aivu with one hand Sings-Brightly took it. "I don't know what that witch Areelu wants with you, but I'll be there all along," Ulbrig went on. "Thank you, Juniper."

Returning to Drezen saw Juniper pulled into meetings, first for logistics and then for a session of serious campaigning. One Crusade army moved north to cover the approaches to Drezen from that direction, and the others – bolstered by reinforcements flowing in from Mendev – feinted back and forth through the valleys west of Drezen itself, pursuing the retreating demonic and cultist forces without letting them concentrate against a single Crusader army or set up any strong defensive positions.

It was focused, intense work, which saw half a dozen battles of small to moderate size fought by generals Shy and Evenmist over the course of the three day campaign. March was followed by countermarch, but the demonic formations were too mobile, and Juniper had to content herself with flanking and crushing their rearguard around the southwestern edge of the Lake Lost To The Sun.

It was an achievement in its own right, but more consolidation was going to be needed if her forces were going to strike much further into the Worldwound. Considerations of operational movement and range, of defending Drezen, and of securing logistical support all counted, and Juniper considered the matter for hours – checking her reports, and applying skills that resonated best with Caitrin and Falconeyes – before giving orders to establish fortified keeps and garrisons at key locations, both on the road back to Kenabres and at the edges of the cleared zone.

She looked up from the table, rubbing her eyes, and stifled a yawn.

It had been important – critical – but already she could recognize the signs that she'd been overdoing it again. Queen Galfrey had left her subordinates to handle things… Captains Harmattan and Odan to manage the fighting forces, a dwarf with the nickname Stranglehold of all things to manage logistics, and Lady Konomi from the Royal Council to advise her on diplomatic matters.

Advise, not dictate… not that her fellow kitsune seemed to remember the difference sometimes. And perhaps that was the problem with learning to lean on her advisors…

Considering, Juniper wondered if maybe she should start bringing in her companions as advisors. Not… all of them, because she hesitated to even imagine the kind of advice Nenio would give on military tactics or diplomacy, but Ulbrig had to know a bit about how warfare in these lands had once been done, and Lann's background as part of a struggling underground community would at least let him spot the problems in how to sustain a group of men in difficult terrain…

Still thinking about that idea, Juniper decided to try and fend off her overwork by seeing how Drezen was looking now.

She wasn't expected to solve everything today. Some things could wait.

Perhaps the best sign of how much Drezen had recovered from seven decades of demonic rule was that Juniper's walk around the city quickly resulted in her finding a tavern.

Down in the commercial district, the Half-Measure had been set up by a lad who was – as far as anyone knew – the legal heir of the previous tavern owner in that same building in Drezen, and he greeted her with a smile.

"Afternoon, Commander!" he said, sitting on the bar. "Is Commander the right word, actually? I haven't met you in person before, though I'm glad of all you've done – but I wouldn't want to address you by name without permission."

He gave a mock shudder. "I hear that you can make people explode if you don't like them."

"I think that's demons only," Juniper answered, thinking about the question, and tried not to fuzz out too much as different opinions made themselves known.

Falconeyes thought that respect mattered. Olivie of the Blacklions didn't care so long as people weren't making fun of her at her expense… Sings-Brightly wanted time to relax, and Yannet the Learned wanted to delve into the study of magic, not anything else.

Juniper knew she was taking longer to answer the question than she should… then Caitrin had a wicked idea and it carried all of her along with it. "And… honestly, I don't care what you call me. Commander Goldeneyes, Caitrin Aldori… call me the Armoured Armadillo if you want."

"You're sure about that?" the tavernkeeper asked. "Because if you insist, then I will call you that, you know."

"I'm sure," Caitrin answered, and got a grin in reply.

"Hey!" the tavernkeeper raised his voice. "Marks! You know that song you wrote?"

The music in the bar came to a halt, and the band who'd been playing it looked up.

"Which one, Fye?" asked the head musician, presumably Marks. "Wait, is that the Commander? You bet I know the song you mean – you seriously want us to play it to her directly?"

"I surely do!" Fye agreed. "And I've got a name for it too!"

He put down his tankard, and made a flourish with his hand. "I'd like everyone to hear this new tune – the Ode to the Armoured Armadillo!"

It had a Brevoy feel to it, one that made Caitrin feel right at home, and she ordered a drink before sitting down to just… decompress.

Listening to the music reminded her of pleasant days of rest after learning the forms of the duelling sword, and while those days had never happened… it was still enough to let her relax.

That reminded her of something, though, and she took Finnean off her waist to rest on the table.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"Oh, well – you know, same old, same old," Finnean replied. "It's nice to get a visit to a tavern, though, I'll tell you that much! Don't forget to order me something, if you're buying!"

That made Juniper tilt her head slightly. "...can you drink?"

"I don't have the head for it I used to," Finnean told her. "But of course I can drink! I'm Sarkorian, we drink ale like water! Actually we drink ale instead of water, which probably explains all the brawls…"

"What about with your powers?" Juniper pressed, as Yannet came more to the fore. "You've been changing without my needing to say."

Finnean was silent for a long moment, after hearing that.

"I think… maybe it's my version of how you're making everyone else strong," he said. "Like how the Olesk chieftain can stay in his griffin form for hours, or how Lann's arrows hit with the force of a shockwave sometimes… I just know what you need, and I'm there to guard your back."

He sounded cheerful enough. "That's part of being a phantom blade! I know I don't call you warchief like Ulbrig does, but it's the same kind of thing from me, too."

"Fascinating," Yannet said, murmuring a cantrip to sensitize her eyes to arcane magic, then watched as she drew Finnean from his sheath.

He flicked into being a crossbow, then a quarterstaff, then to a shortsword. Each change had a little tingle of magic run down her arm, probably subconscious as she told Finnean what to do without words, then she put him back down and considered.

"Can you do a specific kind of weapon?" she asked. "I mean… can you do an enchantment like a flaming sword."

"I can, but not for long," Finnean told her. "Depends how big a deal what you want is, too, but – like I say, if you need me for it, I'll be right by your side!"

"Now, that's strange," a familiar voice said, and Juniper looked around to see the dwarf Greybor sitting at a nearby table. "It's not a common thing to see someone who talks to their weapons… and it's rarer still to see the weapons talking back."

"Well, if you view Crusaders as weapons in the hands of their commanders, how can you say it's uncommon to talk to weapons?" Finnean asked.

Yannet was still curious about the transformation, and the mental block, but Juniper turned in her seat to focus more fully on Greybor. "I'm surprised to see you still in Drezen, and not trying to track down that balor."

Greybor shot her a dark look. "There's a reason for that," he said. "I was hired to kill Darrazand with the dagger. I'd have charged a lot more to kill him without an advantage like that, and now that I know I was lied to I'm not going to complete the contract… it was broken by the other party, that's how that works."

He took a drink from his mug of mead. "So, I'm without a contract at the moment. Maybe someone will hire me to service a client around here, or maybe I'll end up working somewhere else… but for now, this is a pretty good spot to wait for a client."

A blue glitter sparked in her eyes for a moment, as Acolyte Falconeyes considered the assassin.

"So you're not going out looking for work?" she asked. "I'm surprised."

Greybor shrugged. "A… professional, like me, is always in demand," he said, simply.

"And I'm sure it's very convenient to be inside the Drezen fortifications, were you to be hired by the demons?" Falconeyes asked. "I'd like to discuss… contingencies."

For a moment, the dwarf returned her regard, levelly. Then he lit his pipe, and leaned back. "All right," he said. "Talk."

"Making you leave Drezen because of suspicion would be impolite," Falconeyes said. "Justifiable, but impolite. And restricting your employment opportunities wouldn't be neighbourly."

"It sounds like you're building up to something," Greybor observed.

"I am," Falconeyes confirmed. "Here's what I suggest. A daily retainer – a small retainer, but more than enough to cover your upkeep – for not doing anything to anyone within the walls of Drezen or under my command, and which you can cancel with… let's say three days of notice. Though of course you'd have to leave Drezen before the time was up."

Greybor considered that, smoking his pipe for several minutes.

"There's going to need to be some extra clauses there," he said. "I want to be able to defend myself if there's a fight."

"True enough," Falconeyes said. "No offensive act and minimal escalation, then."

Another minute's consideration.

"Pleasure doing business," Greybor decided. "Fifty gold a day."

"Done," Falconeyes said, putting the first day's amount down on the table with a clatter of coins. "I'll tell Dorgelinda Stranglehold to see to it, starting tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Around noon, two days later, a robed man came in to Juniper’s meeting room. She was alone, except for the guards by the door – the Tirabades were busy and Aivu had decided to try and locate the nearest source of sweeties – and Juniper waved him through, because the guards were more for crowd control than anything.

It was generally considered that Juniper Goldentails was less in need of bodyguards than anyone else in Drezen.

“I have need to discuss an urgent matter,” he said, and his voice reminded Juniper of the feel of a chill crypt and a body made of bones.

“Zacharius, I presume?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Zacharius confirmed. “I plan to fulfil my oath, apprentice. But first I will need a base of operations… I require you to build me a ziggurat, which I will use for my rituals and which will be your place of power once you have become a lich. It must be within the walls of Drezen.”

“It must not,” Juniper contradicted him calmly.

Zacharius glowered at her. “I do not take kindly to insolence.”

“No insolence is meant, learned Zacharius,” Juniper replied, feeling Yannet’s perspective coming to the fore. “But if you want a defensible place of power that has a good reason to exist where it is, there are better places to put it than inside Drezen.”

The lich regarded her levelly.

“I suppose you have displayed some military skill, since we met,” he admitted, though it looked like it was difficult for him to say. “Go on, then. Where should your ziggurat be built?”

Sweeping aside the map she’d been using, Yannet took out the local tactical map of Drezen. This one was new, surveyed in the last few days to update the older version, and she checked over it for a minute to be sure of her conclusions.

Then she tapped a point outside the walls.

“Here,” she said. “It’s the best place to put besieging artillery to attack Drezen, so having it fortified will make the whole city stronger, and the gorge helps defend it from one direction while engineering works can cut away at the base of the hill for materials… it could easily be a twenty foot sheer cliff before reaching the base of the ziggurat.”

“And if the Crusaders turn against you?” Zacharius asked, quietly. “You wouldn’t have an army inside the walls to use.”

Yannet smiled thinly.

“It’s the best place to put besieging artillery to attack Drezen,” she repeated. “Though it should be presented as… yes, I think that would work.”

She looked up. “Are you willing to represent yourself and the undead under your command as doing me a personal favour? I’ll issue orders accordingly, and that will explain any use of them in battle as well.”

It was a pity she had to use that kind of subterfuge to explain the employment of undead on the battlefield. But the use of skeletons and zombies to carry the brunt of the costliest attacks would inevitably reduce living casualties, and make victory surer and more certain as well.

Anything for victory.

“I… think that would be acceptable,” Zacharius decided, after serious contemplation. “I am not best pleased you have overruled me, but I see the logic. My pupil.”

“Good,” Yannet replied. “I’m sure I will have a lot to learn from you, master.”

With the military situation stabilizing, the kinetic campaigns of the first few weeks of the Fifth Crusade began to settle down into a period of consolidation.

With demonic forces finding it easier to move deep in the Worldwound, and their cultic allies and any other minions in greater strength as well – in direct opposition to how much harder it was for Crusade forces – it was, oddly enough, more the case that a small group of highly capable warriors could move around than an entire Mendevian army.

Or perhaps it wasn’t so strange at all, Juniper reflected, helping pack up after their night’s camping. There were certain strategic choke points, and the demons had fortified them – they weren’t fools – but a force like Juniper and her companions was small enough and strong enough to both take care of itself against small patrols and sneak past most larger armies.

And her bag, while not unlimited in size, could certainly carry the food for them all for a week or two – long enough that the corruption of the Worldwound was the limiting factor on their stays.

She shaded her eyes with a paw, glancing up at the sky, then finished rolling up the tent. “Message window.”

“Got it,” Lann replied, waving. “I’ll handle the cooking pot.”

Ember’s crow cawed, and the elf girl nodded. “Soot says there isn’t anyone nearby.”

Juniper closed her eyes, then listened.

Three Sendings came in, spaced by a few minutes, and each one a report from two of her main operational armies plus Anevia at Drezen.

All was well, no sign of recent large demonic forces, and Anevia’s message also told her that there were no major decisions requiring her attention. There were no reports, either, which meant that the arcane scholars hadn’t yet managed to give her a verdict on why the Sword of Valor had changed… but that was all right.

They had time.

Another five minutes produced no further Sending spells, and Juniper opened her eyes again.

“We’re good,” she said. “Let’s keep moving… I want to investigate the area to the west. Maybe there’s a good path for an army there.”

“You’re the boss,” Seelah chuckled, lifting herself up onto Acemi’s back. “Come on, girl, let’s get going…”

“Hmm…” Juniper frowned, a couple of hours later. “That rock step there could be a problem. It would need engineering work.”

“That’s nothing to block any Sarkorian warband!” Ulbrig chuckled, kicking at it. “A rock speaker could get it levelled out in minutes, even if they wanted a smooth ride.”

“I know that,” Juniper replied, chuckling. “But every one of the things that needs attention adds up. This road’s not got enough of them yet, but before long it’s going to turn into a road that’s only accessible by a small group… meaning, one without wagons. So an army wouldn’t be able to use it.”

She nodded up ahead. “And that gorge isn’t looking promising either.”

“I take your point, warchief,” Ulbrig admitted. “Still not used to thinking of war in this… civilized way. Back in… back in Old Sarkoris, it was god-speakers and blessed champions and the tough men and women of any clan, not more than a few dozen, and if they couldn’t do it it wasn’t worth doing.”

He laughed suddenly. “Must be part of why I feel at home in this group! Even if there’s an archer who’s not a follower of the Stag God, a shaman who doesn’t like getting her hands dirty, and… what, three arcane casters? And an oglin, of course.”

Arueshalae blinked, then leaned over to Sosiel. “Is it all right that I think being mistaken for a fae is actually a good thing?”

Sosiel chuckled. “I could understand just about any reaction to what Ulbrig just said…”

Juniper smiled. “Well, working out if the army will fit through here matters…”

She stopped, and held up a paw. “Does anyone else hear that?”

After a moment, Ulbrig nodded. “Voices up ahead, warchief,” he said.

“I hear it as well,” Camellia said. “Shall we see who it is?”

It turned out to be a group of cultists, Baphomet-ites by the look of them, but the party’s attempt at sneaking up was ruined by foul luck – one of the cultists was looking in Camellia’s exact direction the first time she came up for a look.

That cultist immediately shouted the alarm, and ordered the others to attack.

“Warn the Crescent of the Abyss!” he said, and one of the cultists immediately set off towards the northwest.

“Aivu, Ulbrig – follow him,” Juniper ordered. “Quick!”

Aivu took off in a whirr of wings, followed after a blur of shapeshifting magic by the bigger, slower Ulbrig, and within moments both flyers were shadowing the cultist messenger at a distance. Then for the next minute or so Juniper was mostly concerned with making sure she wasn’t chopped to bits with a glaive… but once the cultists were taken care of, it was only about an hour or so before Aivu came back again.

“We know where they are,” she reported. “There’s lots more of them!”

She sniffed one of the slain cultists, and made a face. “I don’t think they’re this stinky though. I’d have smelled them from where they were… why don’t cultists wash?”

“Clearly they’re not interested in the finer things in life,” Daeran decided. “At least, cultists of our current foes, Baphomet and Deskari. I imagine that being a cultist of, say, Nocticula or Socothbenoth would at least be more entertaining.”

He considered. “Perhaps Xoveron, but I hear he doesn’t like cities. I disagree entirely with that view, how else can you find so many people close enough together to feel superior to?”

“You make it sound like you don’t disagree with all demon lords,” Seelah said.

“Oh, my dear, that’s impossible,” Daeran countered. “With how many demon lords there are, of course I agree with some of them about some things. Most of them hate all the others, would you want me to disagree with them all there?”

“You’re incorrigible,” the paladin laughed.

“And you incorrige me all the time, Seelah,” Daeran pointed out cheerfully.

“Can you lead us to where Ulbrig is, Aivu?” Juniper asked, and got a nod from the dragon. “Is there anything else we should know?”

“Umm…” Aivu began, thinking to herself. “He said he recognized someone, but I don’t know who he meant. I forgot the name.”

T he messenger must have been moving fast, because it took almost two hours for Juniper and her companions to reach the point Aivu led them to.

Ulbrig jumped down from some rocks as they arrived. “Good thing you’re here, warchief, there’s something up. Looks like they captured a crusader, they were getting ready to tie him to an altar.”

“Then we’d better go and rescue him,” Juniper decided, reaching for Finnean at her belt, but Ulbrig held up a hand in caution.

“There’s more,” he said. “The one in charge – it’s that Woljif lad.”

“...what?” Lann asked. “Really? What’s he doing here?”

He scratched his horn. “I know he ran off, but I’d have expected him to head for the rest of Kenabres or something. Not deeper into the Worldwound. And he never struck me as a cultist or anything… ”

“Just saying what I saw,” Ulbrig defended himself.

They’d kept moving as Lann and Ulbrig talked, and as they came over a lip of ground Juniper got a proper view of the cultist camp.

There was an amazing array of detritus and rubbish at one end of the camp, and about half a dozen Baphomet cultists scattered around an altar at the other end. A carved stone throne was placed on a rock ledge over the altar, occupied by a nervous-looking tiefling who was definitely Woljif Jefto, and an armoured human was chained to the altar.

The moment Woljif saw her, he lit up, then took a deep breath as one of the glaive-bearing cultists turned towards her as well.

“Pilgrims!” he said, as loudly as he could, and made all the cultists look in his direction at once as his seething shadow rose up behind him… the same trick he’d shown off back in the Defender’s Heart, and good mostly for cosmetic effect. “Good news! Fellow cultists have arrived!”

“...what?” Sosiel said, quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, I know what’s going on,” Seelah replied. “Hold that glaive up as obviously as you can, Sosiel.”

“Hey!” called one of the cultists, pointing. “Those are the ones who I warned you about! I recognize the dragon!”

“They’re the ones who killed our fellow cultists?” another asked. “Crescent of the Abyss, what’s going on?”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Woljif replied, glibly. “Hey there, chief, long time no see! Pilgrims of the Worldwound, meet the finest member of our big family! Let’s hold off on the sacrifice for now, we need to celebrate this happy meeting!”

He clapped his hands. “In fact, just to settle the nerves of our brothers and sisters in the faith of Baphomet, how about you explain what happened?”

Juniper got the impression he was pleading for her to come up with a good explanation.

“If you mean the ones who attacked us earlier today,” she said. “I assume you do?”

“Well… it happened earlier today, yes,” the messenger agreed, sounding less sure of himself now.

“We’re playing a game, right?” Aivu asked, tilting her head. “How come nobody told me the rules?”

Woljif’s eyes darted around desperately. “Uhh… yes, it is a game! A game of the great forces led by our lord Baphomet! And you are a worthy player in that game, you evil spawn of the Abyss, you!”

Aivu gasped.

“I get it!” she said, in a quieter voice than normal, then practically bounced up and down on her paws. “Umm… you’re right, my evil comrade! I will help you strike fearsome fear into the hearts of mortals, and horrify them most… horrifically! The world’s never seen a creature like me, and knows not what I am capable of!”

The cultists exchanged looks and whispers. Juniper saw one of them not-so-discreetly pointing at Lann, and another very openly pointing at Arueshalae. They seemed impressed by Sosiel’s glaive, as well, even though he was the only one in the whole group wielding what was theoretically Baphomet’s signature weapon, and Juniper decided to add to the impact a little by wordlessly prompting a switch by Finnean to glaive form.

It looked like Woljif’s words were winning the argument, because one of the cultists began untying the crusader.

“If the Crescent of the Abyss says so… then welcome!” another said. “Make yourself at home. But why did you attack our brothers?”

Caitrin smirked suddenly. “Aivu, why don’t you explain?”

“They stole our sweeties,” Aivu said quickly.

She certainly sounded sincere about the severity of the ‘crime’.

“That’s terrible!” one of the cultists gasped. “I haven’t had chocolate in weeks… stealing from a fellow believer in Baphomet, that’s terrible!”

“I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that Regill isn’t along today,” Caitrin mused. “Either he’d really complete the illusion, or he’d have already started hitting people by now…”

Over the next few minutes, as Juniper’s companions and the Pilgrims of the Worldwound commenced the most awkward mingling she’d ever heard , Woljif gave Juniper the summary.

Yes, he’d run away, he admitted it, but mostly because the situation had been far beyond what he’d expected. But he’d had no idea which way was safe, and he’d ended up sort-of lost in the near reaches of the Worldwound, and then his shadow had started to talk to him. Actually telling him things he couldn’t have known, giving him advice, not that most of it was all that useful.

Then he’d run into a group of Baphomet cultists out to try and actually find a demonic army to join, the Pilgrims of the Worldwound, and used his shadow trick, bluffs and a good deal of desperation to both join them and end up as a kind of prophet… who would have real trouble leaving, especially with nowhere to go.

At least, unless he could rejoin Juniper’s group. Please? And try and deal with a demon called Voetiel who wanted Woljif specifically dead, at least according to his shadow.

Understandably quite highly strung, Woljif had taken almost five minutes to get all that out, and Juniper thought about it.

“Just one question, Woljif,” she said. “Is this going to happen again?”

“What this?” Woljif asked, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You mean being involved with cultists? Because I’ll be honest, boss, I did not expect this!”

“I mean you leaving,” Juniper replied. “I don’t mind if you say yes, you’ll be leaving. But I want to know now, because that way I can plan.”

Woljif looked down, clearly thinking.

“...you know, boss, I think I want a bit of time to be sure,” he admitted. “Right now? I don’t think so, ‘cause I felt way safer with you and the others. But I dunno… is it okay if I answer after we deal with this Voetiel?”

Juniper thought about that, then nodded.

“Great!” Woljif replied. “Oh, and… if I swing this right, I think I can get them to help us out in the fight.”

He paused. “By the way, what’s with the dragon? And the succubus?”

“Arueshalae is because of Desna, I think,” Juniper replied. “Aivu… might be directly because of me, I’m not sure. You missed a lot in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, like two tails,” Woljif replied. “Honestly, really glad that these guys haven’t met any other cultists yet or they’d probably recognize you.”

He steepled his fingers. “Okay, time for another performance…”

Woljif told the Pilgrims of the Worldwound of a vision, directing them to a location northwest of the Lake Lost To The Sun, and sent them on their way there… then, once they’d gone, untied the prospective sacrifice .

H e was quite annoyed about how his experience crusading had gone, so far, but admitted that Woljif couldn’t really have rescued him any sooner than it had actually happened. Then Juniper told him to return to Drezen, or rejoin his unit if he knew where it was, and he saluted before departing the camp.

The time Woljif gave meant that Juniper and the others had a couple of days to also get there, but Juniper checked her maps before firing off a Sending spell for information from General Shy. The response she got was in the affirmative, prompting a quick march north for her and her companions, and as the sun set she was stood on a hill watching Shy’s forces attacking a cultist army.

The tactical situation was difficult, because the area was so congested – it was the last point where the lakeside road was hemmed in by a crack in the earth and an escarpment to the south, before opening out to give more manoeuvre room.

C rusader forces were advancing, behind shield walls with archers peppering the cultists, but the terrain was too close for a cavalry charge and General Shy’s magical bombardment wasn’t doing enough. As the forces collided for a serious battle it was going to be very costly… except for one specific point.

Yannet the Learned was not in the mood to be denied.

Paws glowing with dark green light, the Commander gestured, and suddenly more than a hundred skeletons rose out of the ground.

Sarkoris had been around for thousands of years, before the Worldwound, and this had been a choke point for all that time. There were plenty of dead there to be raised, as Old Sarkoris made its own contribution to the battle, and the cultist line disintegrated in shock and confusion before the Crusader assault slammed home.

There were still casualties, and work for the healers, but it was barely a tithe of what it could have been.

Yannet surveyed the results, then let her animation spells lapse.

For now.

“… they tell me it doesn’t freeze over every winter any more,” Ulbrig said. “Strange to think of that lake like that… in my day, I’d visit some of the local clans and villages once the ice set in. It was a sight to see, whole villages out skating on the ice.”

He sighed. “That’s gone now, though. Even up here around the Lake Lost To The Sun, we’ve all fled or gone.”

“We’re getting close, boss,” Woljif warned. “Not sure if the Pilgrims have shown up yet, they should be about this time but they were a bit eager.”

“That… shouldn’t be a problem,” Juniper replied. “Unless we’re wrong about when this demon Voetiel is going to show up. How sure are you about that time?”

“Well, my shadow told me, so… who knows?” Woljif replied. “Ever been told something by your shadow, boss?”

“I do know what it’s like to be told something by a side of myself I didn’t realize I had, does that count?” Juniper asked, then shaded her eyes. “That looks like them.”

In the Worldwound, even on the outskirts, there were several reasons why a group of Baphomet cultists might be standing together… but Juniper was fairly sure she recognized some of them, and she fell back slightly to let Woljif take the lead.

“Brothers!” the tiefling said, sounding much more confident now that he had Juniper and the others to back him up. “It’s good to see you arrived safely!”

“Crescent of the Abyss,” the head pilgrim replied, bowing respectfully. “We are here, according to your instructions… forgive me for asking, but what are those cultists with you?”

“Fearsome ones!” Woljif replied. “They stand high in the favour of our lord!”

“Grrrr!” Aivu said, wings fluttering. “Raaar.”

“I’m sort of glad they don’t even recognize either Iomedae or Shelyn’s holy symbols,” Seelah said, very quietly. “Seeing as how we’ve got them on our armour, and all.”

Juniper couldn’t disagree with that. The generally uninformed nature of cultists had been very useful to them so far, after all, however much Nenio complained about it in the abstract.

Any further questions the Pilgrims of the Worldwound might have had, however, were interrupted abruptly as a tall, tough g labrezu stalked around the corner of one of the nearby rock outcrops.

“I thought you might be here,” the demon said. “Spawn of Ygefeles.”

“Spawn of…” Juniper began. “So… just to be clear here, you’re not talking about Daeran, right?”

“My, I’m touched,” Daeran said, moving his hand to his heart. “I’ve never been referred to as a spawn of anything. But I don’t know any… Ygefeles… in my family tree. Unless perhaps it’s an unusual spelling, and the actual name is spelled I-S-A-A-C?”

The glabrezu glowered at both Daeran and Juniper. “Obviously not. I mean the tiefling. But if you don’t even know who Ygefeles is… I suppose he’ll just have to die without knowing.”

“If I don’t know who this Ygefeles guy is, how come you do?” Woljif asked. “You’d think if it’s me you’re talking about, that I’d know more than you do about it.”

“Hepzamirah told me about you,” the glabrezu replied. “Know the name of your killer, spawn of Ygefeles! I am Voetiel!”

“Kinda figured, but it’s nice to know for sure,” Woljif admitted, his shadow growing bigger and stronger behind him. “Pilgrims of the Worldwound! Slay this blasphemer!”

The cultists exchanged glances.

“But… he’s a demon,” the lead one said. “Why do you want us to fight a demon?”

“Because he wants to kill me!” Woljif replied, daggers in both hands. “You don’t seriously think that followers of Baphomet don’t get in massive arguments all the time, do you? Well, this is one of ‘em! You heard him, he wants to kill me ‘cause of someone whose name I don’t even know for sure!”

More muttering took place, and an argument developed among the cultists as they tried to work out whether to believe the Crescent of the Abyss or an actual glabrezu demon.

Olivie couldn’t stand it.

They’d already got these stupid cultists to listen to them. Didn’t they know how this worked?

What kind of cultists were they if they didn’t even understand that demons fought constantly? The weak made way for the strong!

“Flail!” she called, snatching Finnean from her belt, and the living weapon transformed into a spike-headed chain flail. She whirled him around once, building up momentum, and her vision hazed red for a moment as fire pulsed through her blood and an iron tang crossed her tongue. “Pilgrims of the Worldwound! If you want a demon to follow, try this one!”

Her free paw’s claws lengthened, magic surging in her bloodstream, and she lunged forwards.

Voetiel had quick reactions – the glabrezu lashed out with one of his two giant claw-arms, deflecting a lot of the force of Olivie’s initial charge, but the cancelled momentum left her in mid-air and she gestured with the paw that didn’t hold Finnean’s hilt.

A spell of Haste crackled around her, speeding her reactions and movements, then Voetiel swung his other clawed arm up to smack her away and Olivie bared her teeth in a feral snarl.

And teleported.

The vicious crack/crack as she vanished from where she was and reappeared behind Voetiel was accompanied by a powerful burst of dimensional flux, one which acted as a weapon by itself, and she hit home with both her claws and Finnean in a flurry of attacks.

“Throwing axe!” she ordered, flinging Finnean up at the glabrezu’s face, and she heard the sound of the Pilgrims deciding that she was scarier than Voetiel and getting involved as well.

It was like sweet wine, the thrill of battle, and she lost herself in the sheer joy of it all… at least, until she had Voetiel staggering back, bleeding from a dozen minor and moderate wounds, not caring about the slashes that had made it though her own guard and left her fur (fur?) torn and rent and bloodied.

Then someone shouted a war-cry in the name of Iomedae, attacking one of the Pilgrims , and she rounded on him in anger at interfering with her battle!

It was the prisoner that they’d saved from the Pilgrims in the first place, and the sudden jolt knocked Olivie/Juniper out of her focused blood-pounding blood-tasting rage.

Voetiel vanished in a teleport while she was distracted, and the Pilgrims scattered, and Juniper snarled… then clenched her paws as her claws retracted a little, trying to think straight.

“...can be useful to give yourself something to do,” Sosiel told her, a few minutes later. “Something at least a little difficult and distracting, so it takes away your focus.”

He moved on to the back of her wrist, and frowned. “...there isn’t a wound here. There’s blood, but no wound. It’s like it healed by itself.”

“Maybe it did,” Juniper replied. “I… don’t know if I would have noticed.”

“Well, even if you don’t need my help healing your body, I’m glad I can help with your soul,” Sosiel said.

“Is she going to be okay?” Aivu asked anxiously. “You got really scary there, Juniper! I know I was trying to look scary, but either you’re loads and loads better than me or you were actually being scary.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Aivu,” Juniper assured her. “I’ll make sure it only happens if necessary.”

Olivie had a different idea of what was necessary, but she could agree with that idea at least.

“Woljif?” she added, raising her voice. “What do you think?”

“Oh, right,” the tiefling replied, glancing at the rescued paladin. “Well, uh… that guy there, he said he might have a job for me. You know, like I should be grateful for it. And…”

He looked awkward. “Is it weird that that made me think I couldn’t leave you guys? I don’t know, it’s more like… you’re the boss, boss, but it’s because you know what you’re doing.”

That made Juniper snort.

“Sort of,” she replied. “Don’t feel pressured, Woljif – make your decision. But it does mean commitment, so if you’re not sure it’s probably better to say no.”

Woljif looked around, then sighed and shrugged. “I guess I might regret it, boss, but… I’m in. Just, in less massive danger, maybe?”

“I can’t promise that,” Juniper replied, with a smile. “We’ll probably all end up rich, though.”

“Oh, good point!” Woljif admitted, sounding much more pleased now. “Hey, boss, you should have led with that one!”

Back in Drezen, and with Woljif busily re-establishing his underworld connections, a visitor approached Juniper and bowed to her.

“So that’s what you look like, troublemaker,” he said, politely. “The whole plane of Elysium seems to be talking about you. I am Early Sunset.”

He was wearing a toga, hung off one shoulder and revealing most of his chest, and he was clearly otherworldly. There was a sort of faint thrum of power around him, and his skin had an unnatural tint to it – very much like the red of sunset, which probably gave him his name.

“Ooh!” Aivu said. “You look like an Azata!”

“You have a good eye,” Early Sunset told her. “I came here to Drezen to examine your powers, Commander…?”

“Juniper Goldeneyes,” Juniper replied. “I’m surprised to get a visitor all the way from Elysium… apart from Aivu, of course.”

Early Sunset chuckled. “Well, I didn’t come all the way from Elysium, Commander Goldeneyes. I was travelling when I felt the shockwave of your power… with your leave, I’ll try to examine it, and pass on what I find out. And advise you, of course. ”

“Boring,” Aivu yawned.

“Wisdom is sometimes boring,” Early Sunset replied.

He frowned slightly. “I have already noticed that your powers seem to be a little… spontaneous. Azatas and other supernatural beings are created with their powers already part of them, while you have gained yours separately, and they may be dangerous. Self-control is essential.”

Juniper considered. “So you will be examining my powers from the Azata perspective?”

“I will be attempting to give you the advice you need to use your powers properly,” Early Sunset told her. “And examining your powers to get a better understanding of them, of course.”

Aivu shook herself out. “You should teach the fun bits, too!”

“That’s acceptable,” Juniper decided. “Do you need anywhere in particular to stay?”

“I will sort myself out,” Early Sunset told her. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Juniper watched him go, frowning slightly, then Aivu tapped at her ankle. “Umm… Juniper?”

“What is it, Aivu?” Juniper asked, crouching down.

“Let’s imagine, just for a moment, something completely hypothetical,” Aivu began. “A dragon you definitely didn’t know went and made a hole in the roof of one of the temples of Iomedae. How would you react?”

Juniper chuckled. “Well, let’s imagine, just for a moment, that this hypothetical dragon had their treats taken away for a week. How would she react?”

Aivu gulped. “The dragon, uh… would be really really sorry and would stop picking at the hole! There!”

“Well, if this hypothetical dragon found a hole in a temple, then maybe that dragon would deserve a reward for telling someone so they could fix it?” Juniper suggested. “I bet Seelah would be glad to hear about it.”

“Oh, yeah!” Aivu realized. “Seelah’s fun! I’ll go and tell her!”

The little havoc dragon scurried off, and Juniper smiled before heading indoors and up to her quarters.

As she reached them, though, she frowned.

The wardrobe door was open, and she couldn’t see her clothes in there.

Curious, she peered inside. Then walked through, and found herself in a round roo m almost as big as the citadel parade ground.

It was plushly appointed, with red curtains and candlestands all around the edge and more candles on frames hanging overhead, but the floor was tiled, and the only thing in the middle was a set of six tables pushed together to form a hexagon shape.

The odd half-elf she’d seen in the Grey Garrison was at one of the seats, along with a green-robed figure, a very large hippogriff wearing barding marked with the symbol of Abadar on mithril, a lion-faced agathion, and a middle-aged woman.

“Ah, welcome,” the half-elf said. “I am Socothbenoth, and I have convened this council-”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, and everyone else at the table immediately began to object. The hippogriff made a chrff sound, and the others began complaining in overlapping tones.

It all felt a lot like home for Caitrin, and she let the argument go on for another minute or so before raising her hand.

“If I might make a suggestion,” she said. “Since I don’t know any of you, what about if I ask you who you each are – independently?”

“What an excellent suggestion,” the agathion said, very quickly. “Quite reasonable.”

“It sounds delightful,” Socothbenoth agreed. “Of course, as the one who chose you as our mortal representative, I should go first.”

That kicked off another argument, naturally.

After several minutes, the question of priority was resolved by the use of dice, and Caitrin found out what she could about each member of the council, and about the council itself.

It had been formed to decide what to do about the Worldwound shortly after the opening of the planar tear , with representatives from every interested party. Who could be bothered to send a representative.

And had been contacted in the first place.

Still, despite the less-than-spectacular starting point, there was a wide variety of representation present. In addition to Socothbenoth – a Demon Lord in his own right – the agathion was Eritrice, an empyreal lord with the domain of Truth.

She was firmly of the opinion that merely fighting the Worldwound with armies would not be remotely enough to defeat it, since so many had tried and no success had been gained thus far, and that a true defeat of the Worldwound and of Deskari and Baphomet could be best secured through peaceful negotiation.

“The more blows you deal to Deskari and his followers, the more convinced they are that they are right,” Eritrice said. “True victory can only come through honest, unbiased debate. When they see the error of their ways, they will lay down their weapons!”

“And… how has that been working for you?” Caitrin asked.

“It could be going better,” Eritrice conceded. “But we keep trying. The truth always comes out, sooner or later.”

Not entirely sure about that, Caitrin moved on to the next member of the council – Chadali, the middle-aged woman. She was another empyreal lord, this time from Elysium, and she professed her belief in chance.

Caitrin just had to ask about that, and Chadali explained that she believed that chance was the world’s way of helping you do what you wanted to do, and that your main task was to not stand in the way of your own luck.

Further questions revealed that this did not extend to wanting to do bad things, or if you happened to suffer bad luck, and at that point Chadali asked to end the conversation and said that her mood was ruined.

Her remedy for this, it seemed, was her own home-baked cookies. Though they were very nice.

Moving on from there was the hippogriff, a high-ranking servant of Abadar by the name of Cobblehoof. He was enormous, very strong, and… completely nonverbal, though his chuffs and chirrs were surprisingly emphatic.

He wanted the Worldwound destroyed, but that was the main thing that Caitrin could glean from him.

Finally, the green-robed figure was the standout surprise, at least as far as Caitrin was concerned. They were none other than Shyka the Many themselves, a being of time’s great contradictions, and Shyka’s ever-changing faces studied Caitrin carefully.

Then they patted her on the back of the paw.

“We know this phase can be difficult,” they said. “But it gets better.”

“It does?” Caitrin asked. “What do you mean? How does it get better?”

“I can’t say,” Shyka replied, putting their finger to their lips. “After all, it gets worse as well.”

Taking that in, Caitrin moved to her side of the table – where there was a chair set aside for her, on the side of the hexagon most closely facing the doorway to her closet.

“All right,” she said. “So this council is to do something about the Worldwound. I, personally, am doing something about the Worldwound. Correct?”

“Well, not what I’d prefer,” Eritrice complained.

“You could be doing everything about the Worldwound,” Shyka said, airily.

“Just let your life take you where it will, and see if the Worldwound closes,” Chadali recommended.

Cobblehoof batted a paw on the floor. “Chrr!”

“Indeed you are,” Socothbenoth allowed. “You sound like you have an idea?”

“Well, surely you could defray some of the costs?” Caitrin suggested.

This was met with a resounding chorus of refusal, and from there everyone else suggested their own ideas.

Caitrin counted herself lucky to get out of the meeting three hours later with absolutely nothing decided.

Compared to the hundred years they’d already been discussing without coming to a decision, three hours was quite short.

“Partly, it’s troop numbers,” Juniper said, flicking through her reports. “And partly, it’s supply. We don’t want to end up with our forces caught out of position to defend the locations we’ve already taken… the better the scouting the better we can do, of course, but a good keep with good supplies will last longer in a siege than if it’s attacked directly.”

She examined one of the sketches. “So we have to assume the demonic forces will attack directly, and… we can’t rely on more than six days, for this design of fort.”

“You couldn’t use a better fort design?” Lann asked.

“No, not and be able to build these quickly enough,” Juniper answered. “These are a kind that can be thrown up in a couple of weeks by a whole army… it’s all about tradeoffs.”

Lann nodded. “Thanks for explaining,” he said. “I’m still getting used to how this all works. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you are as well.”

“Got that right,” Juniper admitted, then looked up as the door opened and Sosiel came in.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

Sosiel shrugged.

“Don’t know,” he admitted. “Anevia sent a runner to tell me to come here.”

Juniper considered, then strode to the balcony to look out over Drezen.

“Well, nothing’s on fire,” she admitted. “Though I’m not sure where Aivu’s gone, and if she’s silent for a long time it usually means she’s found something to entertain herself.”

There was a formal knock at the door, and Juniper turned. Anevia came in, along with a man in black Hellknight armour, and the scout and spymaster threw a quick salute.

“Commander, got a visitor,” she said. “Thought I should bring him to you.”

Something about her demeanour alerted Juniper that something was up, and she frowned before focusing sharply.

There was a slight mental lurch as Falconeyes came to the front, not as bad as she’d been expecting but still jarring, and the Inquisitor stepped forwards to look the man up and down.

“Is something up?” she asked, then noticed Anevia mouthing something at her from behind the man’s back. “Your name?”

“Hellknight Vanic,” the armoured man replied. “Trever Vanic.”

He saluted, and Sosiel went still.

“What brings you to Drezen, Hellknight?” Falconeyes asked. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you with Paralictor Derenge’s forces before.”

“I’m not with his Order, Commander,” the Hellknight replied. “I was passing through on my way to Mendev.”

“Yes, it is difficult to go to Mendev without passing through Drezen,” Falconeyes said, considering. “What order are you with, Hellknight?”

The Hellknight stood to attention. “Extirpators, Commander. Focused on the destruction of monsters, rather than direct warfare.”

“And are you under my command?” she pressed. “I have had disputes on the chain of command with Hellknights in the past… I want to be quite clear on the circumstances.”

“Independent operations, Commander… we tend to operate in the wilderness,” he explained.

Falconeyes nodded, considering. “Now… a personal question. How did you come to join the Extirpators?”

“That’s… not really relevant, is it, Commander?” ‘Trever’ asked.

“You would be surprised,” Falconeyes said. “So, Sosiel. Have you ever seen this man before in your life?”

The Hellknight blanched. “Sosiel? Then you’re-”

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Sosiel replied. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d bring him up, when he gave his name,” Anevia said. “Introduce the two long-lost brothers… or not, as the case may be.”

She looked up. “What should I do with him, Commander?”

“Throw him into the prison,” Falconeyes replied. “We’ll be along shortly.”

Anevia nodded, and two guards came to manacle the imposter’s hands. He waved them off, saying he’d go quietly, but Juniper watched him until he left the room.

“Did I offend my goddess?” Sosiel asked, in a quiet voice. “Every time I get a hint of my brother’s location, it’s… nothing.”

“This isn’t nothing, Sosiel,” Falconeyes corrected. “This man must have known Trever in order to use his name – it’s too big a coincidence.”

She strode to the balcony again, watching as the imposter was hustled down towards the prison.

“I want to know what’s going on as much as you do,” she said. “It’s a strange thing… there are so many questions about my identity, but I might be too close to it to work it out. And helping you out feels like it’s got enough distance that I can think about it properly.”

Sosiel’s fists were clenched, but he managed a chuckle.

“That’s a good point,” he admitted. “I should remember that myself… that sometimes distance from a problem is all it takes to see it more clearly.”

Then he rubbed his temples. “Though, if this is a lesson from Shelyn… I would like to reach the end now.”

Despite Sosiel’s hopes, they didn’t have a solution – though the interrogation did manage to confirm that the imposter’s real name was Graham, and that he’d known Trever.

He gave a current location for the camp of the Extirpators, and Juniper didn’t need to check her maps to know that it was beyond the currently secured area – so far south from Drezen that it was back down closer to Kenabres, on the western side of the West Sellen and the escarpment that divided the river from Sarkoris proper, and all but inaccessible except from the north.

It would take further campaigning just to get to the area, mostly the need to strike south along one of the tongues of relatively fertile land left in the Worldwound and break through a choke point where one of the great rifts in the Sarkoris plateau nearly touched the escarpment to the east.

Juniper couldn’t justify sending an army south just yet… but once the area at the southwestern tip of the Lake Lost To The Sun was secure, she could justify making it the focus of the next offensive.

“We’ll solve this, my friend,” she told Sosiel, as they left the prison.

She wasn’t sure if he believed her.

Chapter Text

With scouting units heading south of Keeper’s Canyon, near Drezen, and south of the Lost Chapel, Juniper was surprised to get a report of demons coming out of the area southwest of Drezen… specifically, out of a tip of land between two rifts.

According to all her maps, and according to the scouts, the rifts that reached up towards Drezen in that area were sheer-sided and impossible to climb – but there were demonic attacks and raids coming out of that area nonetheless, rather than coming through the tongue of high ground that she’d assumed.

That was more than enough to merit a personal visit, and Juniper gathered up several companions before heading south to investigate.

“We think we’ve pinpointed it, commander,” one of her scouts said, pointing. “Down there, there’s a cave leading into the rock.”

He looked nervous. “We haven’t cleared it out, because… well, we’re cavalry, and that’s a cave.”

Acemi snorted.

“Hey, girl,” Seelah chuckled, patting her supernaturally-enhanced charger. “Not everyone’s as good with scary places as you are.”

The scout looked like he wasn’t quite sure how to react to that, then laughed. “Well, I don’t think I’d want to compete with a paladin’s mount… does that mean you’ll be handling it, Commander?”

“This is a job for specialists,” Regill said. “I wouldn’t want to trust Mendevian units to handle it, anyway.”

“Not your place to say it, Paralictor,” Falconeyes snapped. “The job these scouts had was to identify the source of the demons, and they have done so effectively; I could not ask for more, nor should I have.”

Regill nodded, and the scout shot a dirty look at the gnome before smiling at Falconeyes. She wondered if that had been the point of Regill’s comment in the first place… but it was impossible to really tell.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Either we’ll find out what’s going on here, or at the very least we’ll collapse it.”

The path into the cave went down, winding down a few hundred feet, then passed into an open area. There was a pool of lava simmering down in the depths, producing a roil of heat that made Juniper cough, then her paw glowed as she put an elemental resistance spell on all her companions.

“Thanks, warchief,” Ulbrig said, looking down into the pool. “Didn’t know there was anything like that in Sarkoris… must be that rift, cracking it open.”

“Maybe,” Juniper agreed. “Fortunately it looks like it’s the kind of lava that flows, not the kind that explodes, but still… there’s going to be fumes. Nenio, I think we have some Life Bubble scrolls?”

“I can do it,” Camellia volunteered, magic flowing around her palm, then raised her hand and a feeling of coolness flowed from Juniper’s ears down to the tips of her tails. It made her aware of how warm it had been only a moment ago, even through the heat resistance enchantment.

Camellia smiled. “It’s a good thing you had me around, isn’t it?”

“All right, no need to fish for compliments,” Seelah laughed. “We’re all grateful to not have that smell around any more.”

“I don’t think this would be a safe place to take normal humanoids into,” Juniper said, then noticed movement on the other side of the chasm.

There were vrocks gathered together, and a set of metal cages, and as Juniper looked closely she was fairly sure she could see prisoners in the cages.

Humans, mostly – crusaders.

One of the vulture-winged vrock demons issued an order in stern tones, and another dragged one of the prisoners out into the middle of a spell circle marked on the ground.

“Ravukh! Ravukh! Ravukh!” the vrock chanted, as a little purplish rift opened. Juniper’s magical senses flinched back from it, as it felt like the corruption of the Abyss seeping into Golarion but much stronger, then the rift collapsed and the feeling diminished.

But it hadn’t gone away entirely. The prisoner who’d been in the middle of the ritual was… changed.

He had reddish, scaled skin, and a tail, and Juniper couldn’t see all the details at this distance but she’d be willing to bet his eyes glowed red and he had horns as well.

“So that’s how they’re doing it,” she said, then frowned as the vrock sorceror called for another prisoner. “We need to get down there and stop them.”

Shading her eyes out of habit, she pointed. “That path there – let’s go.”

Vrocks spotted them as they hurried down the path, prompting a vicious close-quarters fight over the lava, and Mirala drew Radiance before summoning heavenly power into it to help her fight the demons.

The golden longsword seemed to sing as Mirala used it, raising the powerful protective ring on her off-hand as a shield before counterattacking, and each strike brought a silent flash of golden light that wounded the vrocks more severely than it should.

The rest of her companions were at work, as well, Regill swinging his double-ended weapon with rapid grace while Lann and Arueshalae kept their flank clear with their bows, and Seelah and Acemi pushed forwards using their combined mass to physically shove vrocks out of the way – a task that was made easier when Nenio blinded one of the vrocks and left it confused and disoriented.

Daeran helped too, sending out a pulse of defensive magic to offset some of the unnatural influence of the vrocks, and it took less than a minute for it to become clear they were going to win.

Then one of the last demons left picked Ulbrig up, claws holding him by both shoulders, and Mirala turned to watch.

“Stop or he dies!” the vrock screeched, flying out to hold Ulbrig over the lava, and cackled as Lann and Arueshalae both pointed arrows at its chest.

Vrocks are made from the souls of hateful and angry mortals, Lariel’s echo whispered to Mirala. They enjoy killing.

“What do you think, Ulbrig?” Juniper called, as Radiance’s glow faded. “Would you rather be rescued, or rescue yourself?”

“I said stop!” the vrock insisted, wings beating, then Ulbrig shrugged.

“May as well do it myself,” he said, reaching up to grab the vrock’s ankles, then flexed.

He turned into a griffin midway through flexing, wings beating powerfully, and the vrock yelped in surprise and tried to let go. That just meant it had no further ability to influence what was about to happen, and Ulbrig tossed it against the wall with a crack .

One wing broke, and the demon bounced off, stunned, before landing in the lava.

“I hate to think of how that must smell,” Camellia said, making a face. “It’s a good thing we can’t smell it.”

Ulbrig laughed, a keening griffin’s cry, and Juniper turned to lead her group down into the demonic ritual space itself.

As she got closer, she could tell… some of how it had worked. The men had definitely been turned into demons, but that wasn’t the only thing that the vrock had been planning to do to them, she… thought?

There wasn’t a way of making them do what the vrock wanted… or if there was, she couldn’t see it. Compulsion magic might have been involved in the demonic raids that had been reported, but if it was then it hadn’t come along yet.

“You!” the vrock screeched. “What are you doing here? The vrock is busy!”

“...the vrock?” Camellia asked.

“Juniper,” Seelah hissed. “In that cage there – look.”

Juniper glanced to the side, and saw what Seelah meant.

One of the cages still held a prisoner who hadn’t been transformed yet, and she was familiar – she was Jannah Aldori, one of Seelah’s friends from Drezen, who’d run off shortly after Juniper had been made the Knight Commander by Queen Galfrey.

The sight of Jannah made Juniper frown, then smirk.

“I’m here to ask what’s going on!” Caitrin replied. “You turned humans into demons! The vrock is wise!”

“...is that actually going to work?” Lann asked, faintly.

The vrock actually looked flattered. “The vrock is – ahem – the vrock is pleased that you recognize the vrock’s wisdom!”

“What is the vrock’s name?” Caitrin added. “The kitsune is very impressed!”

Even more flattered now, the vrock tapped her chest. “The vrock is Vorimeraak! Wise vrock! Magical vrock! Snatcher of pathetic humans! Maker of demons! The vrock was given this ritual by wise Xanthir Vang the Plagued One himself!”

“Oh, no, it’s working,” Lann said, almost lost for words.

“Demons are often skilled at deception,” Regill said, shooting a glance at Arueshalae. “It appears that sometimes that doesn’t mean skilled at spotting deception.”

“Other vrocks said Vorimeraak was dumb! Chicken head, they said! Who is dumb now?” Vorimeraak demanded, getting quite worked up.

“Eww,” Aivu mumbled, watching the spittle that went flying as Vorimeraak ranted. “Can I sit this one out? If I get angry and bite it, I’ll never want to eat anything again…”

“You know, I think if philosophers saw this vrock, they might end up with the solution to all their questions about what makes mortals superior to demons,” Daeran said. “Clearly, it is because we don’t look like tattered scarecrows.”

Then he glanced at the archer ‘neather next to him. “...forgive me, Lann. That wasn’t aimed at you.”

Lann shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll say the same to you next time a bucket of slops lands on your head.”

“So you came here to raise an army?” Caitrin asked. “You’re kidnapping crusaders and turning them into demons?”

“Yes!” Vorimeraak nodded. “Wise Xanthir knows how to pour more power into demons! He is too busy to make an army himself but he has sent the vrock to go and do it! When he rewards the vrock, she will tear off the heads of everyone who banished her!”

“So… let me get this straight?” Lann asked. “He promised you great power, then told you to go somewhere else and raise an army for him?”

Juniper just about caught what Lann muttered next. “And now I’m doing it…”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine why he did that! Who could send away such a passionate and intelligent helper like you! He must be lost without you.”

Vorimeraak looked offended at first, but then looked completely convinced by Lann’s expansive statement.

“Stupid mortal!” she said. “Wise Xanthir would never get lost! He is too clever!”

She held out a piece of smeared paper. “He found old knowledge, that the vrock uses to turn mortals into demons!”

Nenio gasped. “Oh, how fascinating!”

A sheet of paper and a pencil appeared in her paws. “Please share your valuable expertise with me!”

Now completely confused, Vorimeraak did her level best to explain, but it was quickly obvious that she wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

Nenio looked disappointed, but Caitrin was mostly trying not to giggle.

“The vrock truly is wise,” she said. “Which is why the vrock must recognize that Wise Xanthir sent me here to relieve you! Give me the page, and fly to get your reward… but remember to wait outside until he comes to speak to you, as he might be busy reading.”

Vorimeraak looked faintly suspicious. “If the wise Xanthir sent you, then… he must have given you a password!” she said. “To prove he sent you! What is the password?”

“The password is Vorlesh!” Caitrin replied.

Vorimeraak frowned. “The vrock does not think that is the password.”

“The wise Xanthir Vang told me the password!” Caitrin replied. “Do you disagree with the wise Xanthir?”

Vorimeraak shook her head. “No!” she said. “The vrock would never disagree with the wise Xanthir!”

She handed Caitrin the page, turned around, and flew off.

For a long moment, there was silence.

“...did that just happen?” Arueshalae asked, eventually.

Caitrin tried not to giggle too much, and examined the paper.

It was written in ancient elven runes… ancient and familiar elven runes… and Juniper suddenly wished she had the first clue where the Storyteller had ended up. There were notes in a more recent language to translate the ancient runes, though, and just the bits that Juniper could read were worrying.

About making a soft spot in the world, and why the word Ravukh was to be used when creating it.

“Jannah, are you all right?” Seelah said, and Juniper put the page in her bag before heading over to the cages.

Jannah Aldori was there, along with the men she’d seen turned into demons, and Juniper considered the situation – Jannah first.

She’d run away, in a skirmish down near Kenabres back at the beginning of the crusade, and struggled to survive for weeks before Vorimeraak’s vrocks had caught her – as fodder for the ritual.

Regill pointed out that she had deserted in her first real battle, and that her actions could have cost somebody their life – and that a trial could well decide that she should be hanged. Seelah replied by saying that Regill didn’t decide in this situation, and Lann frowned.

“Isn’t hanging a bit harsh?” he asked. “The first battle’s always the worst.”

“Did you run away in your first battle?” Regill replied, glancing up at the ‘neather.

“Well… no,” Lann replied. “But I came close. Very close. And… the fight where she ran gave us trouble.”

“I have made my decision,” Juniper said, and felt both Falconeyes and Mirala approve. Neither of them was precisely dominant, right now, but both of them agreed on what she was about to do, and that was… good enough.

“Jannah,” she went on. “You were a member of the Eagle Watch, and you deserted. That means you are under my command… and I am going to imprison you in Drezen prison.”

She glanced up. “Seelah will be able to visit you at any time, including taking you out of prison for training, and I trust her to return you to the cells after each training session.”

Seelah’s face was troubled, but she nodded. “I… think that’s fair, Commander.”

Juniper wasn’t quite done. “And, at your option, Jannah, you will be able to transfer to the Condemned. It’s the legal sentence, but I am choosing to defer it in this case.”

“Interesting,” Regill said to himself.

“Why would anyone do that?” Ulbrig asked. “We saw what it did to that dwarf.”

“It may become a better option in time,” Juniper replied, levelly. “Do you understand this sentence, Jannah?”

“Yes, Commander,” the woman replied, rubbing her eyes. “I just… being on crusade has been so much scarier than I thought, and I haven’t lived up to Seelah’s example, and… after the last few weeks and nearly being turned into a demon, I’d love to be in a cell with good food.”

Juniper nodded, then turned to the transformed soldiers. “You are?”

“Wollard,” the crusader replied, clenching his fists in what looked like a self-control exercise. “This is Thomasz… we were scouts exploring the ravines around here, and the vrocks captured us.”

“Standing orders, if I recall correctly – and I do – are that scouts should not let themselves be captured,” Regill said. “I see you chose to ignore those orders. Now you understand why-”

“Paralictor Derenge,” Falconeyes interrupted. “If I issued orders forbidding defeat, would that have any effect?”

Regill went silent.

“I will be interrogating you later about what happened to you,” Falconeyes went on, but her voice sounded distant even to her. Her eyes shimmered blue, and more and more of her attention was on what she could see with an Aeon’s gaze.

Looking at the magic that had changed the captured Crusaders. At how it was structured, at how it had come about… at how it violated the rules of the universe.

These men had been changed by a magic that infused abyssal power into their forms. Combining planar energies, but without a physical anchor and without permission from the subjects… and it was recent, so recent that the changes were still happening.

A process that was still ongoing… and, all of a sudden, Falconeyes saw how it could be reversed.

She made a sharp gesture, then almost all her strength left her at once and she nearly fell forwards. Aivu scampered forwards, offering her head as a support, and Juniper used that and the bars of the cage to keep herself upright.

And Thomasz and Wollard were human again.

“How…” Wollard breathed, then swallowed. “Thank you, Commander. That’s… I never heard of such a thing. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Thomasz echoed, feeling his mouth and forehead to confirm that the demonic corruption had gone.

“We should get going,” Ulbrig suggested. “Get these people out of the foul air and back under the sun.”

Once they were back in Drezen, Juniper finalized two decisions she’d been thinking about since the siege.

“Irabeth,” she said, getting the attention of the half-orc paladin. “How are you getting on?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Commander,” Irabeth admitted.

“You’ve been distant since the siege,” Juniper explained. “You’ve been serving effectively, but I’m not convinced your confidence has recovered from the Lost Chapel.”

Irabeth looked worried. “Commander, I…”

Juniper held up her paw. “I am only concerned about your confidence, Irabeth… which is why I’m assigning you to handle the field force of the Eagle Watch for the next few weeks.”

She smiled. “I think you’ll handle it well… and, more importantly, I think it’s something where you can see you’re handling it well. Where the results are on a small enough scale that you can see them.”

Irabeth looked conflicted, then nodded. “I… understand, Commander. Should I depart immediately?”

“Not just yet,” Juniper replied, rummaging in her files. “First, tell me – what do you think of this? And Anevia, if you could look it over as well.”

The two Tirabades shared a glance, then laid the document flat on the table and looked it over.

“Pardons for members of the Condemned?” Anevia said. “Or… clemency, I suppose.”

She scanned through it quickly. “For assaults on citadels and other dangerous locations… members who volunteer to lead the assault… survival leads to clemency… and there’s definitions…”

Looking up, Anevia frowned. “I can’t see any loopholes in it, Commander, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m guessing this is because of Staunton?”

“Staunton, and other reasons,” Juniper replied. “I’ve been thinking about the Condemned for a while, and… it’s hard to see the military case for having a permanent penal unit. The reason behind it is exclusively disciplinary, to provide a punishment short of execution.”

She spread her paws. “Sometimes execution is required, in a war like this, and I agree with the punishment short of execution as well. But the Condemned, as it currently exists, is… an excellent way to give someone demonic sympathies, if they didn’t have sympathies of that type already. It happened to Staunton, and I don’t know what happened to the halfling Curl but it might be related… they just don’t have hope any more, except of escaping or a specific personal pardon, but that second one almost never happens and the first one doesn’t help us .”

“This won’t solve the problem,” Irabeth said. “Not entirely. Leading assaults is bloody and dangerous, and not many will volunteer… or survive to claim the clemency.”

She looked down. “But… it’s an improvement. I think you’re right, Commander.”

“Thank you both,” Juniper told them, reclaiming the document. “Now, I’m going to go and tell Seelah about this. It might make her stop giving me dirty looks.”

Juniper had the dream again.

It was the same dream from when she was in camp, during the campaign to take Drezen… an impression of a circle, drawn in red, and a tug that tried to pull her towards the circle.

She was… feeling vague, half-awake, half-asleep, half-dreaming, but the tug seemed stronger than she remembered.

The runes were the same. The circle was the same. It was an attempt to summon her, to trap her… and the idea of being trapped woke the same rage she’d felt last time.

Olivie tensed in her sleep, muzzle bared as she clenched her paws, and the hot rage pulsed through her. The summoning fractured, but it was stronger this time, and the tug intensified markedly as energy ran through her blood.

The circle came closer, and Olivie lashed out with her mind and will and rage. The summoning cracked again, but it was becoming stronger and more coherent with every moment, as if it was focusing in on her.

Or as if she was becoming more exactly what it was looking for.

That realization flashed through Olivie/Juniper in a moment, and she tried to calm herself – but too late. Drawing too deeply on the demon’s power in her blood had made her the true target of the summoning, and there was a momentary lurching sensation before she found herself sprawled on an unfamiliar floor.

“At last!” a voice declared, and Juniper pushed herself upright.

She was clearly in a prison, of some sort, with cell doors and bars visible around her… and an otherworldly feeling to the air, like she wasn’t on Golarion any more.

There was a huge female minotaur standing at the side of the room, accompanied by at least a dozen other minotaur guards, and the one who seemed to be in charge banged the haft of her weapon on the floor.

“You’ve been a difficult target so far, but I thought that would work,” she said.

“You summoned me,” Juniper muttered, half to herself. “A demon summoning…”

Hot rage burned through her again, and she reached for her waist – but Finnean wasn’t there, and nor was any of her equipment. She had her bedclothes, at least, but nothing else.

Magic flared in her paw, but the minotaur just laughed at her – and, to her irritation, it turned out to be justified. The binding worked like a typical binding circle, preventing her from escaping and preventing any of her magic from making it out of the circle, and her first attempt at a Magic Missile attack just splashed off the inside of the binding.

“Now,” the minotaur instructed, and a blank-faced, androgynous human came out to examine her.

They looked her up and down, searchingly, and Juniper tried to pull her clothes a little tighter around herself. There wasn’t anything particularly hostile or predatory about the gaze, it was just… intimate.

Then the androgynous human changed, form shifting, to become… her.

Or a near-perfect recreation of her, anyway.

“Is this to your liking, mistress Hepzamirah?” her doppelganger asked.

“Hmm,” Hepzamirah grunted, waving the doppelganger back, and looked at the two of them side by side. “Good enough.”

She waved forwards two minotaurs, each with Baphomet’s symbol on a chain around their necks. “Transfer her to the cell. Then we’ll get some information out of her.”

Juniper drew magic into her paws, trying to get into the right mindset – out of Olivie’s simmering rage beneath her skin and into Mirala or Falconeyes or Caitrin – but the oppressive atmosphere of the prison around her made it impossible to focus properly.

There was a kind of pressure on her mind, subtle but insistent, telling her she was lesser , a prisoner, inferior , and that was both making Olivie stronger and also making her more inclined to go along. To submit to the rule of the strong.

It was like an undertow that was pulling her paws out from underneath her, hampering any attempt to stand.

One of the Baphomet clerics opened the circle, and Olivie snarled before punching him in the chin. The other grabbed her around the waist, then one of the guards hit her in the side, and air whooshed out.

Bloodrage seethed in Olivie’s veins, and she kicked out, then the first Baphomet cleric hit her with a spell that paralyzed her and held her in place.

She struggled, trying to muster the strength to break the spell, then pain flashed through her and she gasped. The rage dropped away as she lost her ability to sustain it, and the feeling of weakness from the prison around her pressed in on her.

Despite the fog, Juniper did her best to think clearly.

This was… it was… the Ineluctable Prison, she thought. The clerics of Baphomet, and Hepzamirah’s presence and role… the Prison was Baphomet’s domain, a prison created for him that he stole away from Asmodeus and turned into his Abyssal realm.

And she’d been summoned here… and that doppelganger had taken her shape.

This was bad news.

She was being carried, then the clerics dumped her on the floor.

“You’re going to answer some questions for us,” Hepzamirah announced, raising her weapon.

“Or what?” Juniper replied.

“No or,” Hepzamirah replied. “And. You answer some questions for us, and the pain will stop… for a while.”

She gestured sharply, and a Symbol of Pain flared to life in the corner of the cell.

Juniper’s muzzle clacked painfully shut as she tried not to scream.

“Where are your forces now?”

“Explain the secret routes used by your supply convoys.”

“Where are you going to campaign next?”

“What would you talk about with the paladin Seelah?”

“Explain how you interact with the hell knight Regill?”

“Who are your other companions?”

For hours, there was nothing but pain, and questions.

Juniper answered some of them truthfully. Others, she worked up the willpower to lie. Sometimes, those lies were detected.

Those were the worst.

It was hard enough to think about what was true, let alone make up something believable. And the demon-touched rage that burned in her blood was a weakness, now… it was too willing to give in, to obey the stronger demon, and Hepzamirah felt like the stronger demon.

Finally, long after Juniper had lost track of time, the questions came to an end, and she was left in her cell.

“Keep her fed,” Hepzamirah instructed. “We’ll have more questions for her later.”

Juniper took a ragged breath through a throat torn raw by screaming, then curled up in the corner of her cell and tried her level best to focus.

Or at least think straight.

I am Juniper Goldentail, she thought to herself. Commander of the Fifth Crusade. I am… Mirala of-

Half her mind flinched away from the name as the other half tried to accept it, and she nearly fell over from the mental disconnect. It burned through her mind like the white-hot pain of an injured tooth, and she had to spend at least a minute breathing evenly before she could piece her thoughts together again.

That… hadn’t worked.

And the fact she was stuck here was… very bad.

The Ineluctable Prison was an abyssal realm built around the concept of being a prison. It wasn’t something that could simply be escaped… even Baphomet hadn’t found a way out. He’d made one, stealing away the entire prison with himself in it.

One of the guards threw in a bowl of food, and Juniper looked at it before sighing.

She wouldn’t do herself any good marinading in her own helplessness… and, though the cell wasn’t provided with anything as convenient as furnishings, she did at least have six tails to use as a pillow.

“Wake up,” a female voice whispered.

Juniper stirred, her muscles and joints aching, and for a moment she wanted to beg for another five minutes in bed. Then her situation came rushing back to her, from the dank cell to the three torture-and-interrogation sessions so far to the oppressive atmosphere of the Ineluctable Prison, and she startled awake.

“Ssh,” the same voice said, and it was oddly familiar. “I can help you.”

“Who are you?” Juniper replied, in a whisper.

“...a friend,” the voice told her. “I can’t get you out myself, but I can help. The guards won’t be able to see you, if you’re careful.”

The cool sensation of an illusion washed over Juniper, reducing her body to a faint, translucent image, and she tried to see who had cast it.

Nothing. They were completely invisible, even to her enhanced senses… though there was a faint, oddly familiar smell of…

...ink?

The cell door swung silently open on greased hinges, and the voice continued.

“This is as much help as I can give you, until you leave the prison,” her helper said. “Planar portals are so obvious. But if I know you, you won’t need any more help.”

Juniper stared at the open door for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

She wasn’t sure if her benefactor could see it, but a murmured “...good…” came in reply.

Straightening, Juniper focused on the open cell door. On herself.

The magic of the invisibility illusion was… not of a kind that would let her fight while disguised, but in exchange it was remarkably well constructed. It was like the Haste spell from the Grey Garrison, a spell that would last for hours rather than minutes.

Juniper flowed into her fox form, something she’d not used yet in the prison, and then all her focus was on the open cell door.

On her first hint of freedom.

Freedom , that was the word. The Ineluctable Prison was inescapable by concept, but she was not a prisoner there.

For part of her soul was connected to a little five-year-old dragon, worlds away from here, and Aivu was as free as the wind.

And… so was she. It was as simple as that.

Taking a breath, and then another, Sings-Brightly smiled a foxy smile, then slipped out of the cell door and padded down the halls of an inescapable prison.

It was barely audible even to herself, but she was singing a song of freedom and defiance. Her paws were moving on heartless stone, but there was a spring in her step as she danced down the corridors.

Free has a sound, it rings around, a lovely way to be.

So dance or sing, or do anything, you’re free, free, free!

When she got back to Drezen, Juniper was still humming under her breath, and though she hadn’t seen or really properly heard her benefactor… she wasn’t inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or whatever the appropriate creature type was.

Passing the building site where the Ziggurat was going up, passing the gates, passing the citadel doors… Juniper went right up to the meeting room in her quarters, then dispelled the illusion.

“Anevia,” she said, pleasantly. “We really need to discuss having someone who can see past invisibility illusions on the gates.”

Anevia whirled, staring at her for a moment, then readied her bow but didn’t draw it. “Commander?”

“Last I checked,” Juniper replied. “I assume you’ve had trouble with an imposter?”

Aivu came flying over the balcony before Anevia could respond, landed on the table and skidded a bit on some of the documents, then jumped into Juniper’s arms.

“You’re back!” the little havoc dragon said. “It was so terrible when you were missing! And then there was one of you but it was a fake you and it was terrible at it!”

She stuck her tongue out. “She even called me a useless menace! Can you believe it?”

“I did tell the doppleganger to say that,” Juniper replied, remembering that particular interrogation session with a wince. “It’s a good thing none of the demons saw through that.”

“I saw through the demon trick!” Aivu cheered, then visibly realized something and wriggled out of Juniper’s paws again. “But I need to check that you’re not a demon trick, too! If there was one, there could be more than one of them!”

She raised a claw to her chin, visibly thinking. “Umm… oh, I know! Who’s your favourite dragon?”

“That’s not a very good test, silly,” Juniper replied, tweaking Aivu’s chin. “The answer’s way too obvious!”

Aivu giggled.

“Then what is a good test?” she asked.

In reply, Juniper sang the Song of Elysium, and Aivu joined in, and by the time they were done Anevia had lowered her bow.

“Well, I think you’re back, Commander,” she said. “It’s good to have you… your double’s in the prison, in case you were wondering.”

She smiled. “And Irabeth’s doing a lot better already. I can tell just from her letters.”

Visiting the doppelganger in the Drezen prison was a… strange experience.

She didn’t even seem angry or offended by being caught. It was just business, apparently, or whatever term was correct for doppelgangers.

But looking into her own eyes, even a duplicate like that, was… unusual. And unsettling.

Faintly wrong, in a way that had a name, but Juniper couldn’t work it out.

“Make sure not to let her out, but don’t treat her badly otherwise,” she told the guards.

“Much obliged!” the doppelganger replied, waving six tails behind her, and Juniper swallowed down her first reaction.

Four days later, after a battle that cleared the tongue of high land of demonic blocking forces almost to the latitude of Kenabres, Juniper was in camp on the way south.

“I wonder…” she said, frowning. “Sosiel, could you do me a favour?”

“You’ve done a lot of good already, Commander,” the cleric replied, standing up from the altar he’d just consecrated. “Go ahead and ask.”

“I’d like you to do a painting of me,” Juniper explained. “A... private sitting, I think. Is that something you’re willing to do?”

“Oh… well,” Sosiel began. “I’m flattered, but I’m actually only interested in men. I’m seeing this engineer called Aron Kir-”

Juniper stifled a laugh.

“Sosiel, that wasn’t what I meant,” she said. “I actually would like you to do a painting of me, but don’t feel forced.”

Daeran made a sort of choking sound as he tried not to explode.

“Oh, my word,” he said, shaking his head. “I want to bottle that moment.”

“Well-” Sosiel said, looking dreadfully embarrassed. “I could certainly paint you, Commander. A full length picture?”

Juniper shook her head.

“Just my head would be enough,” she said. “I want to test something, though having the painting would be nice for its own merits as well.”

Aivu tilted her head slowly.

“Can I be in it?” she asked.

“You’d have to sit still,” Juniper pointed out.

“Oh, bleah,” Aivu said. “Well. Maybe? If someone tells me a story so I don’t get bored?”

The cleric looked through his paints, then picked one out.

“We’ll have to try that later, I think, Aivu,” he said. “When I’ve brought along more purple. You’re a very purple dragon.”

“Purple’s the best colour!” Aivu declared proudly.

Another two days south brought them to the location Graham had given them for the Extirpators’ camp, and Sosiel’s face fell as he looked out over the valley.

“...we’re too late,” he said.

It certainly looked like he was right.

There were weapons and armour strewn all over the place, along with the detritus of any normal army camp that hadn’t been cleared up, and signs of an intense battle – including several armoured bodies.

“I’m-” Juniper began, then cut herself off. “Wait a moment.”

“What?” Sosiel asked.

“One, two, three…” Juniper counted off under her breath. “There aren’t enough bodies there to be the full Extirpator force. We should check if your brother actually is among them, he might have survived.”

“If he deserted his post,” Regill muttered.

“Paralictor, I can think of at least two possibilities that would not require a survivor from the Extirpators to have deserted their post,” Falconeyes replied. “Would you care to suggest one for me?”

Regill considered.

“If he was away from the camp for a justifiable reason, and returned to find it in this condition,” the Hellknight said. “I suppose that would qualify.”

“Indeed,” Falconeyes confirmed. “He could also have left to carry word of the disaster, or been ordered to leave by his commander… and there could be other reasons, I don’t think I could come up with all the possibilities by myself right now.”

“This is why I hate dealing with Hellknights,” Sosiel said, hand clenched on his glaive. “You’re all so quick to assume the worst… indifferent to suffering, or sometimes it even seems you enjoy it. How does anyone tolerate having you in the Crusade?”

Regill regarded him levelly. “Perhaps your leaders want to win battles… at least, some of the time.”

“And that’s even worse,” Sosiel replied. “Can’t we win without help from such people? Shouldn’t good be strong enough to win, without making a deal with another evil?”

“Don’t bring metaphysics into this,” Regill dismissed. “You can’t blame your own incompetence on cosmic forces. Good isn’t weak. It’s specific decisions by your Crusade leaders that are the problem.”

He nodded to Juniper. “See for yourself. She’s doing all right.”

The ground trembled, prompting most of the group to ready their weapons, then a huge burrowing worm emerged from the ground to interrupt their philosophical debate.

“About… three weeks ago, I think,” Juniper said, once the fight was over.

She couldn’t have told you how she could tell, it was a skill from a facet of herself that wasn’t strong enough to have a name, but there were clues that she knew how to combine and put together into a timeline.

“Three weeks,” Sosiel repeated. “And my brother isn’t among the dead…”

He sat down with a clatter. “This is frustrating…”

“Wait,” Juniper frowned, looking up. “Regill, I just realized we’ve been missing something. That Hellknight we asked about after the battle of the chapel – the one who had Trever’s shield. When did she transfer into your unit?”

“Some weeks before the battle,” Regill replied. “I would need to check my records to be more precise, and I do not have them with me.”

“That’s fine,” Juniper said, getting up and pacing back and forth. “But, weeks ago… Graham might not be trustworthy, but he clearly knew Trever well enough to use his full name. So he was part of the order… and either Trever became a casualty before or after that Hellknight transferred from the Extirpators to the Godclaw. But if it was after, then… why would she have his shield?”

“I’m not sure I follow, Juniper,” Sosiel admitted.

“I think Graham used that name because he knew the real Trever wasn’t available,” she said. “And that means he knew this was a useless mission… and that he knows why the real Trever wasn’t available.”

She adjusted her bracers. “We should head back to Drezen as soon as possible.”

“Oh, delightful, another long walk,” Daeran sighed. “Do avoid taking me on the next one, I’ve got plans for a party.”

Going back to Drezen, and interrogating Graham in more detail, revealed that – yes – he’d known Trever had vanished before he left the Extirpators, though it wasn’t clear if Graham had also known about the destruction of the camp.

He also mentioned that three others had left – or, more correctly, had escaped , since they’d been slaves – at about the same time as him, and gave enough information to track the other escapees down. Fortunately it wasn’t nearly as far as the devastated camp, and Juniper left immediately to head back south to a campsite close to the Lost Chapel.

Only Lann, Seelah and Sosiel came this time, and Juniper took the lead in questioning the escapees – gradually drawing out more information about what had happened.

They confirmed that the Hellknight from the Chapel battle had been Trever’s betrothed, and that Trever had indeed been a Hellknight in his own right. Sosiel listened with an unreadable expression as the three deserters told the tale of how Trever had gone from an Armiger trainee to a fully qualified Hellknight, but that he’d also been more driven than most… and more compassionate, as well.

Graham had been about the worst member of the unit – a slave, like most of the support troops who weren’t Hellknights or Armigers – and the idea that Trever had even tolerated slavery was unsettling to his brother, but for all that it sounded like Trever had been driven above all else by his desire to keep Sosiel safe.

Even if that meant doing things for the sake of expediency.

The final part of the tale brought no closure, but it didn’t quash hope either. Trever had been taken prisoner during a demon attack, snatched away by a black-masked demon to an unknown fate, and when the deserters had finished Juniper thought hard.

“Demons don’t shy away from just killing,” she said. “I… think they must have been planning something with him.”

“Not that ‘something’ narrows it down much,” Lann added.

Finally, Sosiel introduced himself to the deserters, and pressed a purse on them to let them continue their escape.

“You don’t blame us?” the half-elf deserter asked, astonished. “But… we were right there when it happened!”

Sosiel nodded. “I don’t blame you,” he confirmed. “You’ve given me hope for my brother’s soul. Graham said he was a terrible man…”

“Trever tried to keep his heart pure, but he couldn’t,” Juniper mused. “It’s… a struggle to do that, in a war.”

Sosiel didn’t say anything, but his expression said he understood.

“What about you, Commander?” the human deserter said. “You’re letting us go?”

Caitrin smiled slightly. “While I’m sure Regill would protest if he was here, he’s not. I certainly didn’t order the Extirpators to that part of the Worldwound, so they must not have been under my command – and are, therefore, not my responsibility.”

She winked.

“I finished it, by the way,” Sosiel said, as they approached Keeper’s Canyon on the way back to Drezen. “Last night – I couldn’t sleep, and I already knew the touches I wanted to add.”

He reached into his pack, and brought out a canvas to pass to Juniper.

She unrolled it, glancing down at the path ahead to be sure it was smooth before focusing on the painting, and after a long moment she nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I think that’s proved it.”

“What has?” Seelah asked. “You looking for signs you’re secretly ugly, sister? Because I don’t know how a kitsune’s judged on that, but if it’s something to do with the tails then I don’t think a portrait’s going to help you tell.”

“Not that,” Juniper replied. “It’s… looking at my doppelganger, in the prison, it was unsettling. More than I was expecting, I mean. And I think it’s because normally, when I look at myself, I’m looking in a mirror.”

Her eyes glowed blue for a moment. “I must be looking deeper into myself, and when it’s not actually myself I’m looking at… that’s an odd experience.”

“Can I see the painting?” Aivu asked, then made an ooh noise. “That’s a really good painting! Can you paint me next?”

She fluttered her wings. “I know you said you need more purple, but maybe if I borrowed your paints and painted myself first that would help?”

Sosiel laughed, for the first time since they’d found the ravaged camp.

“If you painted yourself green, then I couldn’t paint you green,” he said. “Because all my green would be on you.”

Aivu frowned. “This painting thing is harder than I thought…”

Chapter Text

“If we fortify that location there…” Juniper said, pointing at the map. “Not far from the ritual site being used by that vrock… it’s the only point for mile where that escarpment is shallow enough to be used by a large army. That’s going to do a lot of the work of securing a whole area.”

She wrote out an order to do just that, sliding it into the to-do section, then looked up as the guards brought someone in.

He looked like he was in an absolute state . A Kellid man with yellowed eyes, messy hair, clothes that looked like they’d been slept in – possibly at the same time he was being dragged backwards through a hedge – and alcohol on his breath that she could smell from halfway across the room.

If Juniper was any judge, the man was fifty years old, which made him younger than his clothes. The sword at his belt was so rusted that it might be more effective as a club, perhaps because it had no scabbard, and she was vaguely impressed that he’d managed to get up the stairs.

“Greetings and hail to the Night Commansher… Knight… Commander,” he said, managing an approximation of standing to attention. “I am peti… pet… petishioning to be given my rightful dues.”

“And who are you?” Anevia asked. “Or perhaps I should be asking… what are you?”

“Thaberdine,” the drunk said, distinctly. “It’s a nice place you’ve got yourself here… solid, commendable… com-mendable… I think I’ll give you a medal for this!”

Juniper tilted her head, a little nonplussed. “A medal? That’s… kind. Can you give medals out?”

“Of course I can!” the man said, straightening with a groan of effort.

It was a very good approximation of a noble bearing, assuming you hadn’t actually seen one before.

“You will be pleased to know that I am Thaberdine Quintissimus Hierophantel, rightful heir to the throne of Iz and all of Sarkoris!”

Juniper frowned slightly, thinking.

She knew the politics of Old Sarkoris as well as any native, and there certainly hadn’t been any Hierophantel dynasty ruling Old Sarkoris. In fact, there hadn’t been any king of Sarkoris at all.

Ever.

In the entire thousand-year history of the country.

And, what was more, Iz hadn’t even been the capital of Old Sarkoris, because there hadn’t been a capital in the first place. The closest thing to a ruler of Old Sarkoris had been the spiritual power vested in a circle of hierophantic druids , meeting in an entirely different city called Dyinglight … or the council of clan chiefs that met, very occasionally, but who mostly each ruled their own clans.

“You realize that this claim is nonsense?” she asked. “No king has ever ruled over all of Sarkoris, and there was no throne in Iz.”

“How do you know?” Thaberdine demanded. “Have you been to Iz? Have you seen it with your own eyes? And if you haven’t, maybe there was one!”

“Oh, come on,” Anevia complained.

“My pops used to tell me all about the throne in the palace,” Thaberdine went on. “It was gold all over, and it was encrusted with… crusts… you know, like… topazes, and, diamands… fire ants…”

He mumbled to himself, then rallied. “Couldn’t take your eyes off it! That’s what kind of a throne it was! And it’s all mine by right!”

Caitrin tried not to giggle. “And… can you prove your claim to the throne?”

“Of course!” Thaberdine insisted. “We’re not just some swindlers, we have all the evidence. Here!”

Brandishing the hilt of his club, he showed an almost worn-smooth area of raised gold. With a bit of imagination it could be considered a crest, and if you accepted that you could almost admit that it looked a bit like an animal.

The animal in question was a possum who’d had a bad night out on the town, but that still had to count.

“See?” Thaberdine asked. “The royal smilodon is the ancient symbol of the rulers of Sarkoris! And… and I’ve got a wart on my chest. Crown shaped, of course, because I’m the heir to the throne!”

Caitrin covered her mouth with a paw.

“And if you don’t believe me, well, get lost!” Thaberdine added, quite hotly. “If you want proof, go to Pulura’s Fall, where all the kings of Sarkoris are buried! The whole family tree is written there in stone! Go and check for yourselves!”

“I may have to do that,” Caitrin said, stifling a giggle, and her paws began to tingle. Thaberdine looked almost panicked for a fraction of a second, then covered it very well.

“You’ll find all the dead Sarkorian kings there!” he insisted. “In mausoleums, and… obelisks, that’s right.”

“A king buried in an obelisk?” Anevia asked. “Aren’t they solid stone?”

Thaberdine sniffed, possibly because he was drunk. “I don’t concern myself with the specifics, of course! But by every law of the land, I’m king!”

“So… what do you feel you’re entitled to?” Caitrin asked, lacing her fingers together and stretching them out in front of her to try and quell the tingling, jangling energy thrumming in her every nerve.

The sense that this whole situation was irrepressibly funny .

“We’re simple folk!” Thaberdine said. “We don’t need much… I mean, no, that’s not what I meant! We aren’t simple folk at all! And we need a great deal, a whole kingdom, a throne, a palace… but all that can wait until you take back Iz and all the demons leave. For now… for now, a king’s residence in Drezen would be nice. A place to sleep, some hot food… a drink or two…”

Caitrin exchanged a glance with Anevia.

Anevia seemed to be silently mouthing the word ‘no’.

“Very well,” Caitrin said. “I will arrange a residence for you at once, Your Majesty.”

Thaberdine stared at her for at least ten seconds, mouth open, until it finally seemed to dawn on him that his scheme had actually been successful.

“Well, I… I see you were appointed commander for a reason! Your decisions are very wise. I’ll… yes, I’m staying at the tavern for now. The food isn’t bad. I’ll tell them you’re picking up the tab.”

He left, in a perhaps unroyal hurry, and Anevia waited until he’d gone before letting out a heartfelt groan.

“Why did you go and do that, Commander?” she asked. “I know where Pulura’s Fall is, but it’s impossible to reach without the help of a flying creature… and he was obviously lying.”

Her gaze was pleading. “You know that, right?”

Caitrin smirked. “Well, who’s to say? Old Sarkoris was hit very hard by the Worldwound, so little information survives that people back then would have known just as a matter of course. Things like a king.”

Anevia stared at her.

“Commander,” she said, slowly. “Ulbrig Olesk is a chief from Old Sarkoris. He is literally part of your team.”

“So little survives,” Caitrin mourned, ignoring Anevia’s comment. “Well, it’s not like this decision has any real disadvantages.”

“You just accepted the principle of a random drunkard being the heir to the throne of Sarkoris!” Anevia replied.

Caitrin’s smile was highly self-satisfied. “And if we actually have to give him Sarkoris after the war, then that is a problem I will be delighted to have.”

Anevia made to respond, then closed her mouth, and frowned as she thought about it.

“I take your point, Commander,” she said. “But still… this is going to make the Crusade into a laughingstock.”

Caitrin shrugged. “Do I care? I don’t mind people laughing at me, Anevia. If they write me off at a fool, they won’t expect me to do anything useful.”

She giggled. “Besides, did you see his face? It was hilarious!”

That evening, Juniper wasn’t laughing. The occasion didn’t call for it.

She finished climbing the one hundred stairs up the now-sheer sides of the hill that had been topped by a ziggurat, and the doors opened before her with a chilling silence.

“Student,” Zacharius said, without preamble. “Good, you have come.”

He stepped back. “I feel you have used your powers already, to benefit the Crusade.”

“They have been useful,” Yannet agreed. “In fact, I have to ask… if I do already have these powers, then is there a particular reason why I would need to be turned into a lich?”

Zacharius examined her, for a long moment.

“Immortality, of course,” he said. “And to strengthen your powers, by improving your connection with undeath. Both will make you personally more powerful, and both will benefit the Crusade… but, more importantly, both will fulfil my oath, and I will be released from it.”

He smiled, thinly. “That is, of course, the real reason.”

“As you say, Master,” Yannet nodded.

Another part of Juniper was objecting, but right now – in this place, at this time – it was Yannet’s cold logic which had the greatest influence.

It was just as Zacharius said… her powers becoming stronger would benefit the Crusade. They would allow the dead of Sarkoris to fight for the living.

And they would ensure that, no matter what happened, Pharasma the Lady of Graves could not snatch her away from Golarion with her task undone.

“Then we should continue… if you are ready, of course, Master,” Yannet added, softly.

“Of course I am ready,” Zacharius replied, dismissively. “One short ritual and my oath will be concluded. Come.”

He turned, leading her up the steps, and Yannet looked around at the ziggurat as she followed.

There were more than a dozen skeletal archers stationed at the top, with an excellent field of fire down the steps, and more waited in silent crypts to file out and join the defences. They could sweep the lone causeway up to the fortified black stone, fending off any attack in concert with the skeletal soldiers waiting to provide melee defence, and the stone itself was a defence of a kind – suffused with the energies of death in a recent ritual, they would drain the life from any who set foot on the ziggurat uninvited.

It was a fortress against the world, and Yannet was impressed – then focused her attention ahead, as Zacharius opened the door to the main sanctum.

“Here is where we will do the ritual,” he said, indicating a point on the floor. “Stand right there.”

Yannet complied, and Zacharius pointed at her left foot. “Forwards an inch. Slightly further apart… there. Now… hold still.”

Necromantic magic began to swirl around the century-old ex-crusader, and pillars set into the walls began to glow.

“This is the culmination of all my research,” Zacharius added, keeping the spell matrix under control as it spread out and out and out, further and further in fields of interlocking magic upon magic, seething and forming and creating an inverse spell matrix intended to collapse back down upon Yannet specifically. “The universal key to lichdom… a process that only I can perform, since it only exists in my memory.”

The baleful magic rose to a crescendo, then the whole matrix began to compress down. It folded from covering every wall and floor of the room into a ten-foot spell circle, then to a two-foot one, then flowed over Yannet’s body from head to toe.

She felt a twinge, like someone had flicked her in the chest with an index finger, and the magic dissipated.

“...hmm,” Zacharius said, the air of triumph gone from his voice and replaced with puzzlement. “That’s strange.”

“Did it work, Master?” Yannet asked.

“No, of course not,” Zacharius replied. “Do you feel dead? No, this is very strange… your soul is abnormally strong. I will have to think further on this.”

The lich turned, muttering to himself, and after at least twenty seconds Juniper raised her paw.

“May I go?” she asked. “Or will you need me again tonight?”

“No, go,” Zacharius said, waving his hand. “I will summon you when I have an idea.”

“It feels strange, to be going this way again,” Seelah said, as they splashed across Vilareth’s Ford. “Back to Kenabres, you know?”

“It feels strange to be going home, for me,” Lann admitted. “To recruit the Mongrels, too. Though we probably should have done it before now.”

“There’s arguments both ways,” Juniper said. “Personally, I think waiting this long was probably a reasonable decision… but a week one way or the other probably doesn’t matter.”

She shaded her eyes, looking south. “It’s going to be interesting to see Kenabres when it’s not being invaded by demons.”

“You haven’t seen it like that?” Lann asked. “I’d have thought…”

“Well, I saw it for a few minutes,” Juniper replied. “I just… everything’s vague, before I woke up being tended to by Hulrun and Terendelev.”

“Aye, I know the feeling,” Ulbrig said. “That’s how it is for me. Almost, at least.”

He frowned. “Actually, it’s more like I remember the early parts. Almost my whole life, in Currantglen. Then things get vague. And they stay vague until I crashed through the roof of that tavern.”

“Sounds like we have something in common,” Juniper observed. “If you’re all right with having something in common with a mage, that is.”

Ulbrig laughed. “Warchief, I told you already! You’ve done enough for Sarkoris already that I’m with you to the end. And even the more fae sides of your power have… upsides to them, sometimes.”

“You mean like me?” Aivu asked brightly. “Oh! While we’re in Kenabres, can we stop at that church I’ve heard about? I want to see what it’s like there!”

“I’d say we probably can,” Juniper answered, after a moment’s thought, then Aivu made a delighted squeak sound and she looked around to see what was going on.

Ulbrig had crouched down suddenly to pick the little dragon up, bouncing her in his hands, then threw her into the air with a huff of effort.

“Whee!” Aivu said, doing a flip, then spread her wings to slow herself down a bit. The big kellid man caught her again, chuckling, and patted her on the head.

“You’re better at flying than the little ones I used to do that to,” he said. That brought a cloud over his expression for a moment, but he shook his head to dismiss it.

“You used to throw people who couldn’t fly up in the air?” Aivu asked, twisting around and sounding seriously impressed. “You must be really good at catching them! Is that a griffin thing?”

“It’s a me thing,” Ulbrig replied, with a laugh. “I used to do it with barrels of mead, too… though I did drop one, once.”

“That must have been sticky,” Seelah said. “Did they let you keep doing it with children after that?”

“I’m lucky they let me do it with barrels of mead after that,” Ulbrig replied. “I had to prove it was a one-off!”

He tossed Aivu again, and this time she didn’t spread her wings. Ulbrig caught her easily, and she cheered.

“That was great!” she announced. “Hey, this time see how far you can throw me!”

Ulbrig clearly took that as a challenge , and he took a run-up before hurling her along the path.

“Wheeee!” Aivu cheered, then Ulbrig turned to Juniper.

“I did want to bring something up, though, warchief,” he said. “Didn’t find a good time to do it before now, but… did you really agree that man was King of Sarkoris? You know damn well we don’t have one, or you should.”

“I do know, Ulbrig,” Juniper replied. “But there’s more than one reason for it.”

She began ticking off on her paws. “The actual cost of doing it is, frankly, tiny at the moment. All it amounts to is paying off the man’s bar tab, and even with how much he’s been drinking that’s not a lot on the scale of an army… and we have more problems with manpower than with money, right now.”

Her gaze lifted. “That’s one reason I’m glad for your suggestion about the dog warriors.”

“They’ll do the trick,” Ulbrig nodded. “But the other reasons?”

He picked Aivu up again as she ran up, then threw her a second time at her urging, and Juniper watched.

“I think you beat your previous record,” she said. “But anyway – the second reason is, well, if we do end up having a problem with it, then it’s a great problem to have.”

“True enough,” Ulbrig admitted. “Even if it means Sarkoris will be different from how it was.”

“That’s inevitable, Ulbrig,” Juniper told him, her voice softening. “And that’s the third reason.”

She waved her paw to the west, towards the nearby West Sellen and the escarpment beyond… towards Sarkoris.

“If we win – and it’s not impossible,” she added. “So we should think about it, at least broadly. But if we win, what will Sarkoris be? Because if we don’t have an answer to it when that happens, I can tell you that other people already have an idea of what they think Sarkoris is going to be, and that includes the Mendevian crown.”

“The Queen, you mean,” Ulbrig said.

“And the crown as an institution,” Juniper clarified. “The people around Queen Galfrey who advise her and act on her behalf, and the pressures that anyone who wears that crown will feel. Without any other solution present there, they’ll naturally assume that a century of blood and treasure poured into fighting in the Worldwound means that they have a right to it… and once that assumption becomes a reality on the ground, it’s going to be nearly impossible to do anything else.”

Ulbrig looked moody.

“I don’t like it, but you’re right, warchief,” he said. “You’re right… feels wrong to have a king, especially one you picked out of the gutter like that, but if there’s to be a crown over Sarkoris at all then it may as well be a Sarkorian who wears it.”

He sighed. “And it’s not like the old druid’s council is still around. I hear they died defending Storasta, like so many of the best people of Sarkoris did.”

Juniper was silent for a while, as they walked along the road.

“Funny thing is, if you’d asked me without that happening, I’d almost have said you were a good choice,” Ulbrig added. “You’re foxkin and I don’t begin to know what that means, and you’ve said yourself you have no idea about your history, but half the time I’d swear you were a native of the land of oak and ash and hawthorn.”

Then Aivu came running up.

“Don’t get mad at me,” she began, “but I think some bees got mad at me? Can you help please, they really want their honey back and I’ve already eaten it so that would be really hard!”

On their way through Kenabres, the little group stopped off at the Desnan church in the market square.

There was no sign of Ramien, but another Desnan priest had taken over, and she said with a smile that Aranka, Ilkes and Thall had told her all about the vision that had happened there.

Juniper quite liked her. It helped that Aivu did as well, and kitsune and dragon both wished that they’d decided to bring Arueshalae on this expedition – but they hadn’t, and it was too late to change that now.

The journey through the market square was odd, as well. Thanks to effort from druids hired by the Mendevian crown, and other mages as well, the massive rifts left by Deskari’s scythe were completely gone… and Juniper paused for a moment, staring at the place where one of them had been.

The one she’d fallen into.

“You all right, Juniper?” Lann asked.

“Just thinking,” Juniper replied, turning away from the vanished rift with a shrug. “I suspect that Areelu Vorlesh was around when Deskari attacked, and – thinking back, there might have been a Feather Fall spell on me when I woke up underground. Maybe that was her work… or maybe not.”

She examined her paw. “If I’d thought to check in greater detail at the time, maybe I’d know for sure. But who can tell.”

“I’m just happy to shoot what you tell me to shoot,” Lann shrugged. “I’ll leave things like that to you.”

“Excuse me, miss?” someone asked, hesitantly. “But… aren’t you the foxkin who saved Kenabres?”

“I helped save Kenabres,” Juniper stressed. “I have to admit, my part was bigger than most – but I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“I understand,” the man replied. “But at the same time – please, accept my thanks. Those days were more terrifying than I’ve ever experienced… thank you so much for what you did to save us.”

Pushing down her discomfort, Juniper/Mirala smiled.

“Helping people out is what matters,” she said. “The greatest achievement of anyone who fights to defend the innocent is when the fighting can stop, and there can be peace.”

“It’s still strange when you do that,” Lann said, as they emerged on the other side of the Shield Maze – not far from Neatholm itself. “I was thinking about it on the way down.”

He waved a hand, vaguely. “The way that sometimes you just… seem to turn into a completely different person. Or not a completely different person, but – a different person, let’s say.”

“I know what you mean,” Juniper agreed. “I’ve spoken about it before, right?”

“That there’s a lot of different people,” Lann confirmed. “I know you’ve said what’s happening, but that doesn’t make it any less weird when I’m expecting you to react one way and you go… another, completely different way.”

Juniper was silent for a while, trying to work out how to phrase it.

“It’s… hard to come up with an exact way to explain how it works,” she said. “I don’t think most people do something like I do, and I certainly didn’t intend for it to happen, but it’s more like… if you’re feeling particularly happy, then you might do things you wouldn’t do another time. Or if you’re hunting, you’d react differently to if you were relaxing and enjoying yourself.”

She glanced up at Seelah, as the closest person. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense to me!” Aivu said, before Seelah could respond, and the paladin just gave a reassuring nod instead.

Juniper chuckled. “Well, now I know to be worried.”

Aivu stuck her tongue out, giggling, and Juniper went on. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Lann,” she said. “And it is different, but… at the time, it makes sense, and so far it hasn’t led to anything too bad happening.”

She examined her paws. “I’d really like to know what’s causing it myself, though.”

“Right,” Lann agreed. “It’s just reminding me of Wenduag, sometimes. I thought I knew her really well, but then it turned out she was someone completely different. And I didn’t know her at all.”

“That’s… probably different,” Juniper said. “Sometimes it feels like I’m a mix of different people, dozens or hundreds of them, and giving them names is the only way I can focus. But…”

She sighed. “None of them is all of me, but I’m all of them. That’s the way I’ve been thinking about it.”

“It’s time, Chief Sull,” Lann said, slipping into the lead as he walked up to the chief of his tribe. “It’s time for the Mongrels to come to the surface.”

“Lann?” Sull asked, looking up. “Yesh… it’sh time. Or sho you say.”

He frowned as he returned his gaze to the ground, slurring his words. “But will the overlandersh accept ush?”

“I will,” Juniper told him, firmly, stepping forwards to stand alongside Lann. “And if you have trouble with anyone else, you can speak to me about it – I won’t tolerate anyone insulting you.”

Sull frowned, mulling it over.

“Perhapsh,” he said. “But we’re one tribe. That meansh we all go, or none of ush do.”

“...so?” Lann asked. “Are you going to say that I’m not part of the tribe, because I left?”

Sull shook his head.

“I undershtand what you did, Lann,” he said, making an effort to speak clearly. “You and the Commander… but it’sh… it’s Wenduag.”

“What about her?” Lann asked, defensively.

“She’s here,” Sull replied. “Waiting for you. Waiting for the Commander. She shaid… said… that she wasn’t leaving before she spoke to you. And… that she’d take it out on ush, if we left without her.”

Juniper closed her eyes, thinking.

“Where is she?” she asked.

“I know,” Lann replied, before Sull could respond. “It’s a place we found once… never showed anyone else. She’ll be there.”

Lann led them through the caves, minus Acemi who waited patiently in Neatholm, and Juniper watched as the archer squeezed through a gap.

“You’ll never fit through that,” Seelah told Ulbrig. “I don’t think I’d fit without taking off my armour.”

She eyed Juniper. “Will you fit, Juniper? Your tails have a lot of bulk.”

The kitsune nodded, then flowed into animal shape. That made it a lot easier, though her tails nearly got stuck in the gap, and she emerged on the other side with a chuff of relief before changing back to her base from.

“She’s here,” Lann warned, and Juniper looked up.

Wenduag was there, just as Lann had said, and her bow was lying on the ground in front of her. There was a quiver of arrows, as well, but it was facing away from her, and the ‘neather met her gaze before looking down again in a quick, instinctive-seeming motion.

“Wenduag,” Juniper said. “You wanted to speak.”

“I… yeah, I wanted to speak,” Wenduag agreed. “I was… I got to thinking about what you said. About strength, and-”

She bit the sentence off, leaving a silence hanging there for a long moment, then tried again.

“About strength,” she said. “And about what you mean when you say someone’s strong. And it sounded like such nonsense, but… you’d said it, and you were strong, and I tried to make it make sense and I couldn’t.”

“Wenduag-” Lann began, then stopped.

Not sure what to say, Juniper thought.

“How does it work?” Wenduag demanded, then. “How can you be someone who’s strong, and say that being strong is doing the same kind of thing you’d do if you were weak?”

“Because it’s not the same thing,” Juniper replied, quietly but firmly. “It’s different, and that’s the point.”

Wenduag looked blank. “I… don’t get it,” she said. “If you’re doing the same thing… isn’t that the same?”

“It’s different because it involves choices,” Juniper told her, then took Finnean off her hip. “Earth Breaker,” she requested, and he turned into a giant hammer.

Wenduag took a startled step back. “What is that?”

“It’s a hammer,” Finnean told her, which only made her look more nervous.

“You’ve got a talking weapon?” Wenduag said. “How does that even…”

She shook her head sharply, convulsively. “That’s not… okay, so why are you showing me a big hammer like that?”

“It’s heavy,” Juniper replied. “And… I said it was about choice, and this isn’t about choice, but it’s a way to think about it. Whether something is easy or hard affects what happens when you do things… if I gave this to a three-year-old child to lift, they couldn’t do it, but you could do it easily. Right?”

“I guess…” Wenduag admitted, sounding like she was wondering where the point was.

“Well, it’s like that, but the other way around,” Juniper continued, shifting Finnean back to shortsword with a wordless command and returning him to her belt. “It’s… if I could hurt someone, but I don’t, then that’s a choice I’m making. Just like hurting them would be a choice. And if hurting them would be the easy way out, then by not hurting them, I’m doing something harder.”

Wenduag now looked completely lost.

“I don’t get it,” she confessed. “I’m trying to see what you mean, but I don’t get it.”

“Not surprised,” Lann said, then went quiet when Juniper glanced at him.

Taking a steadying breath, Juniper put her other paw on Radiance’s hilt. The golden weapon shimmered with light as she channelled a little of Mirala’s power, slipping into the oracle’s mindset slowly and deliberately, and the blue-and-gold halo formed over her head.

“You got found and captured by Hosilla, correct?” Mirala asked, once she was in focus as herself. “And she and Savamelekh offered you a choice. Work for them or die.”

“Yeah,” Wenduag said, and it was hard to tell what the emotions were in her voice. “Yeah, that was the deal.”

“Why did you accept?” Mirala asked.

Wenduag was silent for a moment.

“I… wanted to be strong,” she said.

“No,” Mirala told her, shaking her head. “That’s not the real reason. That’s the reason you told yourself. What was the real reason?”

Another silence, longer this time.

“I was scared,” Wenduag said, her voice so soft that Mirala could barely hear it. “I didn’t want to die. They could have killed me.”

Her hands trembled. “Does that make me weak?”

“It makes what you did understandable,” Mirala answered. “What would you have been if you refused?”

“Dead,” Wenduag said. “I’d have been dead.”

“And would that have been an easy decision,” Mirala pressed. “Or a hard one?”

The ‘neather’s spider-legs twitched.

“I… is that what you’re trying to say?” Wenduag demanded, anger suddenly surging in her voice. “That I should have died, and then I’d be strong?”

“No, it’s not,” Mirala told her. “I’m trying to make you see that there are ways to think about this that aren’t the way you’ve been thinking.”

A pause, for both of them this time. Mirala could hear Seelah, sliding slowly through the passage behind them but trying not to make a noise. Lann, toying with the string of his bow. Aivu and Ulbrig, talking in whispers on the other side of the passage.

Lariel, his advice coming from the other half of her mind.

Wenduag, her breath catching in her throat.

“And what about after you’d accepted?” Mirala said, gently. “If you’d told the rest of the ‘neathers?”

“They would have hated me for what I’d done,” Wenduag protested. “I’d have been… exiled, if I was lucky. And Hosilla and Savamelekh would have killed me, if they’d caught me.”

“Maybe they would have understood,” Mirala demurred. “But can you guess the next question I’m going to ask, Wenduag?”

Whether she could or not, Wenduag didn’t answer immediately.

“Yes,” she breathed. “It would have been so hard to do that… and… and that means I’d have to be strong to do it?”

There was wonder in her voice, and Mirala stepped forwards.

“You offered to come with me, before,” she said. “I have to tell you right now… people wouldn’t trust you easily.”

“Yeah, for good reason,” Lann said quietly. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Mirala glanced at Lann, trying to signal that he should be quiet, then returned her attention to Wenduag.

“It’s up to you,” she said. “But I want to make something clear, Wenduag… this is an offer to try something new. It does not mean that everything that already happened will be forgotten. Try to take advantage of this offer and you will be lucky if you regret it.”

“I…” Wenduag began, then stopped. “I – yeah. I can… I can believe that. Commander.”

The journey back was quite awkward.

Wenduag didn’t seem to know how to present herself, and simply being out in the open under the sky was uncomfortable for her, but she refused to ask Lann about how to adapt to it.

Lann was busy anyway, explaining to the rest of the ‘neathers about the same thing, and Wenduag kept oscillating between looking in his direction and turned away. Then they marched through Kenabres, complete with stares from the population, and exited the city to turn north along the West Sellen.

A few hours into the journey, though, Wenduag’s curiosity finally got the better of her.

“So… explain me this,” she said. “...master? Commander? How do you want to be called?”

“What makes you comfortable?” Juniper asked her. “I’ve been called Juniper, or Commander for the most part. Goldentail or Goldeneyes, sometimes.”

“Commander,” Wenduag decided. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask about anyway…”

She waved her hand at Aivu. “Why do you have a baby dragon with you?”

“Hey, I’m not a baby dragon,” Aivu said, firmly. “I’m a little dragon. I’m five, that’s not a baby any more.”

“That’s when you go from being a wyrmling to very young, I think,” Juniper said, reaching down to pat the little purple dragon on the head, and Aivu made a pleased noise and leaned into the pat. “But she’s right, she’s just about not a baby. I’ve heard it’s very important.”

She looked up at Wenduag. “And she’s part of the power I have, now. Not all of it. Not even most of it.”

“The best bit, though,” Aivu said.

“It’s only been a month or so since we first met, right?” Wenduag asked. “And in that time you’ve… you’re running a whole crusade, you’ve got a dragon, you’ve now got six tails for… some reason… I don’t even know what to think.”

Juniper didn’t reply at first.

“Do you know, sometimes I don’t know what to think, either,” she said, eventually. “Events have just kept carrying on, and I’ve been doing my best to keep up… because I can do something about where all this ends, and I want to.”

“So…” Aivu began, after a few seconds. “Did you really live all your life in a cave?”

“What’s it to you?” Wenduag replied, scowling.

“I was thinking about what it’s like!” Aivu said. “You know, a lot of types of dragon have hoards, and they keep them in caves where they live. I don’t have much of a hoard yet, Juniper’s only got me a shiny necklace so far.”

“A necklace that makes your scales tougher,” Juniper provided.

“Yeah, but it’s shiny too, so that’s good,” Aivu continued, tapping it. “But if I do get a hoard in future I might need to keep it in a cave, if it’s too big to carry… hmm… but I guess maybe I could carry it with me…”

She shook her head. “Anyway, the other bit is that if you’ve lived all your life in a cave, then being outside must be amazing! It’s seeing all these trees and grass and the sky and storms and everything for the first time! Like going to a new place but everywhere is a new place.”

Then Aivu made a face. “But, oh yeah, that stupid Worldwound place looks a lot worse than this, so you’d better enjoy it while you can.”

Wenduag didn’t seem sure how to take that.

“What’s a storm?” she asked, eventually. “I know about the other things, because… because Lann told me.”

“A storm is a kind of weather,” Juniper told her. “It’s when clouds come in, and it rains, and there’s strong wind, and often there’s lightning as well. Aivu’s used to the kinds of storms there are in Elysium, where it’s very dramatic, but here on Golarion it’s a bit more dreary.”

She looked up at the sky. “I don’t think we’ll have one for the next couple of days… probably a good thing.”

Wenduag looked like she was about to say something, then stopped.

“And… what about him, then?” she asked instead, pointing at Ulbrig.

“He’s a Sarkorian,” Juniper explained. “He was stuck in a statue for a hundred years, before being freed again…”

“What are you going to have the mongrels do?” Lann asked, in camp about halfway back to Drezen. “In the army, that is.”

“Neathers, Lann,” Wenduag retorted. “Don’t call us mongrels.”

“Why?” Lann said. “That’s what everyone else calls us anyway. And it’s what they think when they see us, even if they don’t say it.”

“Because if they hear you doing it, they take it as proof they’re right,” Juniper interjected.

Wenduag looked up at Juniper in slight surprise.

“It’s not going to change their mind if we do or don’t,” Lann said. “I don’t see a reason why we should put in all that effort when it won’t actually achieve anything.”

“Because the people who are saying it aren’t the same people whose minds you’re going to change,” Juniper told him. “Not at first, anyway.”

She shrugged, and checked on the croissants baking over the fire.

“It’s something people forget,” she said, sitting back again in satisfaction. “A group of people isn’t a monolithic group… it’s a large number of individuals. Even if they’re all behaving the same way, they’re all doing it for a cloud of overlapping reasons and some of them might do something else with a small push – even if for others they’ll never change their mind.”

“How can you think like that?” Wenduag asked.

“I think that’s part of why she’s the leader of the Fifth Crusade,” Seelah suggested, from where she was working on Acemi’s tack.

“It could be,” Juniper replied. “I know half the time I feel like I’m a large group of individuals. But it’s more… you can’t think about everyone’s motivations individually, not if you’re working on a large enough scale. It’s simply too complicated. And thinking about people as groups means you can actually do it… but you have to remember that it’s more like a fuzzy cloud than a single firm group.”

She nodded at Lann. “Which is why my answer for what to do with the ‘neathers is that it depends on them. From what I’ve seen, they’re mostly hunters and skirmishers, so where possible I’d like to add them to the archer contingents of the armies… but that won’t work for everyone. Right?”

“Yeah,” Wenduag said, frowning. “Yeah… and even the ones who do fight as archers, they’d be pretty good in close quarters, too. They could help defend your soft uplander archers!”

“We’ll probably want to see if the ones who want to fight in the front line can fight with the dog soldiers,” Juniper decided. “Integrated units are worth a try, at least…”

Upon the return to Drezen, there was an impromptu little parade as the ‘neathers – or Underground Crusaders, to give them their formal title – marched into the fortress, not in the neat lines of drill but not quite as a gaggle either.

The mix-and-match semi-mutations that made each ‘neather different were a real hindrance to drill, but they were making an effort and that was more than enough.

Juniper made enough time to sort out billeting, and for the training organization to begin integrating the ‘neathers with the other recruits coming in from Mendev and points further afield, but after that she simply had to go to the main meeting room to catch up on what had happened.

Sendings were what let her leave Drezen for days at a time, but they weren’t nearly as effective as being there in person.

Chapter Text

“We’ve got a problem,” Anevia said, without preamble, as soon as Juniper entered the meeting room. “If you didn’t get back today I was going to include it in the update, but it’s escalated from a minor problem to a big problem just in the last couple of days.”

“Report,” Juniper instructed, moving to rest her crossed arms on the back of a chair. Her vision blurred slightly as Falconeyes and Caitrin both tried to take focus at exactly the same time and bounced off one another, leaving her with a headache, then Anevia began moving the counters around on the map board.

The main armies were already in place, and so were the weighted counters that marked their garrisoned forts, and at a glance there were already significant parts of the Worldwound outskirts that were cleared and under Crusade control. Demon armies lurked deeper into the corrupted wastelands, but Juniper couldn’t see the problem at first – until she saw the exact kinds of tokens that Anevia was placing.

Wagons.

“Attacks on supply convoys here,” the spymaster explained. “Here. And here, here and here – the last three all hitting supplies for Evenmist’s forces. Wanted to confirm with you before pulling them back, but-”

“No, pull them back,” Juniper agreed readily. “I’ll send the orders myself if I’m still around in an hour, but if not tell Evenmist to pull back to an area where she can sustain her forces long-term. Once she’s there, she can accumulate wagoned stockpiles from forage as well as what we can get her, and if the demons try to take advantage then Evenmist can manoeuvre for long enough to give them a bloody nose.”

Anevia nodded. “Right, but that’s not actually the problem. The problem is , we got a report from one of the supply convoys that got attacked. A larger one, the attacker didn’t get all the escorts.”

Juniper’s ears flicked, and she looked back at the map.

“It’s the dragon, isn’t it,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Right in one, Commander,” Anevia said. “Occasional raids were one thing, but I understand we had other priorities. But right now that one dragon’s crippling everything we’re trying to do… only good news is we got a sketch from one of the survivors.”

She passed it to her commander, and Juniper unfolded it to have a look.

It was a crude drawing, but the sketch and annotations combined to give her the important information. Red dragon, spines on the back of the hea d, fire breathing … no visible eyes.

“Woundwyrm,” she said. “I was worried about that… they’re heavily corrupted by the abyssal energies that saturate the area of the Worldwound, which means that we’re probably not going to be able to reason with this dragon even if we tried.”

Juniper looked out the window for a moment, thinking about a purple dragon and a silver one, then shook her head. “And, honestly, I’m not inclined to try. Several supply convoys raided and the guards killed… this would be a military operation, except that trying to catch this dragon with an army would be impractical and impossible.”

Returning her gaze to the map, Juniper thought for a long moment.

“Any other urgent business?” she asked.

“Nope,” Anevia replied. “Well, there was a priest who showed up after being struck by a prophetic dream, but Arueshalae convinced him that he’d misinterpreted the dream and now he’s working in the hospitals… so not really.”

“Right,” Juniper said. “In that case, I’m going to the tavern.”

Greybor looked up as Falconeyes sat down opposite him.

“You look like a woman on a mission,” he said. “Something up?”

“You could say that,” the Inquisitor replied. “I’d like to hire you for a job.”

Greybor considered her.

“Interesting,” he said, eventually. “I hope you realize that this had better not be one of the same kind of job from the siege.”

“Not at all,” Falconeyes confirmed. “I wouldn’t want to hire you for a task you didn’t think you could achieve, given all the information ahead of time… it’s a waste of money and the task ends up being left undone. And I want this task done.”

Greybor nodded. “All right,” he said. “So, what’s the job?”

Falconeyes put the sketch down in front of him.

“A dragon’s been raiding supply convoys,” she said. “A Woundwyrm, if you’re familiar with the classification. If you’re not, then based on the reports you can treat it like a red dragon for most purposes.”

Greybor looked at the sketch.

“Hmm,” he said. “Interesting. A dragon’s a tricky one… I could do it solo, but it would cost heavily to get the equipment.”

“How would it change your price if you weren’t doing it solo?” Falconeyes asked. “I’m thinking in terms of hiring you for tracking, expertise and to take part in combat, but not to do the whole task by yourself.”

“Now, that’s a bit more… affordable,” Greybor said, nodding. “You’re right, the price does come down. Considerably.”

He lit his pipe, considering.

“Let’s lay out a few assumptions,” he said. “I appreciate that you’ll be in charge in general, but I’m not responsible for the consequences if you ignore my advice, and I can tolerate it but if that happens too much then I’ll terminate the contract without prejudice.”

Falconeyes nodded. “Acceptable.”

“In addition, this is a contract for a specific task,” Greybor went on. “I won’t insist that you do nothing else, tracking a dragon and setting up a kill could take days and other things could happen, but the same ground rules apply – if you’re wasting time doing other things instead, then I’ll treat it as a violation of the contract. With…”

He tapped the table. “Let’s say, a three-day warning before that’s what I do.”

“Reasonable,” Falconeyes decided. “I take it that you’re thinking in terms of a fixed-price contract, rather than a flexible one with pay over time?”

Greybor nodded. “The bit about wasting time is to cover me against all eventualities,” he said. “Based on what I’ve heard, I think you’re going to try and deal with this target quickly . So I want a reasonable payout for a quick job… and that’s why I’ve laid out my exit clauses, so my reputation won’t suffer if I do leave. For those reasons, of course. ”

He waited for Falconeyes to show her understanding, then put his pipe down. “ Two and a half thousand.”

“Done,” Falconeyes agreed, after a moment’s quick thought. “We can sort that out now, then I’ll show you the reports to work out the next step.”

G reybor spent the first day of his new contract poring over information and maps, then reported to Juniper early the next morning.

“I’ve got a plan,” he said, putting a map down in front of her. “We don’t know where that dragon’s laired, but we do know enough about her behaviour… she attacks both moving targets and stationary ones, but the stationary targets she hits towards evening and over a wider area. She’s going for cooking fires.”

He circled a patch of forest, up north of the Worldwound proper, in the forests known as the Petrified Library that still largely survived. “So we can set up our own stationary target… there should do. Nice and out of the way, close enough that it’s within the area she scouts out.”

“Her?” Juniper asked.

“Interviewed the survivors,” Greybor explained. “Those who were in Drezen, anyway… I’m about seventy-five, eighty percent sure we’re dealing with a female. Good enough to be going on with, but I won’t plan anything based on that.”

He looked up at Juniper. “So. Who else is coming?”

“Lann, Wenduag, Arueshalae,” Juniper answered, promptly. “They’re all archers, which might be essential… Ulbrig, he’s the only one who can fight the dragon in the air if he has to, though I wouldn’t rely on it… Nenio with fire resistance scrolls and contingencies… Seelah, though she might need to leave Acemi behind for a while depending on where we go. If we have enough warning, one of her spells makes those nearby immune to fear. Including dragonfear.”

She frowned. “And either Sosiel or Daeran, for healing, which… probably means Sosiel. I know what Daeran would say if I told him we were going out dragon hunting.”

“So nine, plus a horse,” Greybor mused. “Doable, I think. Well, we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Ten, plus a horse,” Juniper corrected. “Or nine, plus a horse and a young dragon.”

“Oh, that one,” Greybor said. “Makes sense, so long as she won’t cause problems.”

“I don’t like the way that Greybor looks at me,” Aivu half-whispered to Juniper, as they travelled towards the southwestern tip of the Lake Lost To The Sun. “It’s like he’s measuring me.”

“I think he does that to a lot of people,” Juniper replied, but she was frowning. “It’s probably just how he is… but I’ll watch out for it.”

She looked around, and inhaled – then winced.

“I hate when that happens,” she said. “I got some of the scent of abyssal corruption on the wind… until I did that I could almost pretend we weren’t in the Worldwound at all.”

“Is there anywhere it reminds you of instead?” Arueshalae asked. “I… don’t know much about where you’re from.”

“I don’t know much about where I’m from,” Juniper replied. “But the smell on the air without the corruption, it reminds me of… home, somehow.”

She shook her head. “But I don’t know which home. There’s so many places that feel like home. Brevoy, Andoran, Mendev… and whenever I try to work out which one it should be, it feels like something’s not quite right.”

“I can’t imagine how that would be,” the succubus replied, then stilled.

“Look,” she said, pointing.

Wenduag tensed as well, a little further ahead.

“Is that the dragon?” she asked.

“That’s the dragon,” Greybor agreed. “Or a dragon, anyway. Spread out!”

“Count off by twos, even numbers right!” Caitrin snapped, coming to the fore for a moment, and everyone went either left or right according to where they were in the march column.

The reddish-dark woundwyrm swooped low overhead, banking around and landing right next to them, and a sudden surge of fear flashed through Juniper that threatened to force her to stay right where she was.

Or run.

Dragonfear . It was dragonfear, the inherent terror that dragons could control and use as a weapon, and Juniper wasn’t immune to it. None of them were except Seelah, and this dragon was skilled at using it – and even Acemi wasn’t immune to the powerful current of fear washing off the landing dragon, which meant Seelah was working hard just to stop her horse from bolting.

“It’s good when food comes to me!” the dragon said, gloating.

Across the path, Juniper saw movement.

Nenio had just stood up, but she didn’t have a scroll or a crossbow in her paws – she had a notebook in one and a pencil in the other.

“Excuse me, miss dragon!” she said, in a clear voice. “It is miss dragon, right? I think the pattern of spines is diagnostic, but I have not met a woundwyrm before and would like to be corrected if I am wrong!”

Everyone stared at her.

Even the dragon.

“...shouldn’t you be terrified?” the dragon asked, sounding as if things had suddenly gone badly off script.

“I don’t remember it,” Nenio replied, vaguely. “It might have happened, but if it did then it would be irrelevant because dragonfear is a known quantity and no further research is required on it. But since I have the opportunity to interview a dragon, I would like to take advantage, starting with your name!”

She made a few notes. “You would get an entry in my encyclopedia as the type specimen of the woundwyrm dragon, which is surprisingly poorly studied.”

“...Devarra,” the dragon said, after a long moment, as her smouldering inherent heat began to light the undergrowth around her on fire. “And… yes, my spines are quite well appreciated by – look, I came down here to kill and eat you!”

“Yes, yes, that can come later,” Nenio replied, sounding distracted as she wrote that down. “Obviously the interview has to come first because it’s actually possible to do things that way around, I couldn’t interview you after I’ve been killed and eaten. Now, are you descended from red dragons, or do you actually come from a draconic stock that is either metallic in nature, not originally fire elemental, or both? The answer is important for our understanding of draconic biology and how it is impacted by external stressors!”

N enio smiled, toothily but earnestly. “You will be making a significant impact on science for generations to come!”

“...what is this nonsense?” Devarra demanded. “Enough of this! I’m going to set you all on fire!”

Sosiel chanted a spell, spreading out an aura of elemental protection that absorbed most of Devarra’s jet of intense fire-breath, then Aivu nudged Juniper’s paw and whispered something.

“Sing!” she said, urgently.

Sings-Brightly snapped into place so fast it almost left her dizzy, and she raised her muzzle in a wordless, lyrical paean to courage and bravery and heroism.

The magical music rolled out, touching everyone, and the fear-driven paralysis shattered all at once. Greybor immediately melted out of the smouldering undergrowth to hit Devarra in the side with an axe, then Lann, Wenduag and Arueshalae began loosing arrows, and Ulbrig ran in to start punching the reddish-dull dragon .

Devarra lashed out with claws and wings, using a bite accompanied by another jet of flame to drive Ulbrig away with force as much as the actual fire, then snarled and spread her wings. “I prefer easier prey!” she shouted, taking off in a whirl of flames and embers, and vanished behind a nearby hill.

When she appeared again, she was far too high to hit by magic or arrows.

“Well,” Wenduag said. “That could have gone better.”

“It could have gone worse, too,” Juniper demurred. “Greybor?”

“I was aiming to hit her hard enough to weaken her, and leave a trail,” the dwarf replied, inspecting his axe. “Didn’t quite do it, but my plan should still work if we can set a proper ambush.”

He shrugged. “At least I was right, that is a female dragon.”

Miles further west and towards the evening of the next day, Greybor stopped and nodded.

“This should do,” he said.

“Why here, exactly?” Lann asked.

“That, there,” Greybor explained, nodding to a nearby rock formation. “That cleft will hide us from every direction except straight up, and it’s shallow enough that it doesn’t block the fires we’ll be setting.”

“Because… right,” Lann realized. “The fire will be visible from miles away, because it’s so open, and she’ll come and look.”

Greybor nodded shortly. “I’ve got the supplies,” he said. “Two wagons in a bag of holding. Secured them in Drezen… no actual horses, but we can make it look like the people camping here cut the traces and fled, if we use that paladin companion horse to make the gallop marks.”

“If that’s all you need from us, we can do it, but I’m guessing there’s more,” Seelah said. “So how about you explain the whole plan now, so we can be impressed with how smart you are?”

The dwarf glanced up at her, considering, then gave a little nod as confirmation.

“What we want is something that looks like a campsite from a long way away, has enough to attract her in, and has enough when she’s actually there that it takes her a few seconds to realize it’s a trap,” he said, double-checking the distance from the cleft to a point he’d picked out. “Maybe… ten, twenty seconds should be enough.”

He turned to Arueshalae. “Hunt us a deer or something, we can truss it like it had been caught as food. That should help distract her. Then… I’ve got some scents that are unusual enough to interest her as well…”

Fortunately for everyone, there had been enough warning of the nature of the plan that they’d cooked an extra day’s food at the previous campsite.

It meant eating cold food while they waited, but that was better than being ambushed by Devarra while using the fire themselves. Then it was a wait, as night slowly fell and delicious smells wafted into the air from the bait site.

The exact order of spellcasting had taken a bit of time to work out, but Juniper was fairly sure they had it all ready. Nenio’s scroll collection would provide both the protection from fire and a general boost to the strength of all concerned, while Arueshalae would give them all the ability to move over the awkward terrain around the cleft as if it were solid ground.

Seelah was ready this time, and would negate Devarra’s dragonfear, while Sosiel would empower them all with a touch of holy might and Juniper would provide speed with a spell of Haste .

“Any idea which way it might come from?” Wenduag asked, quietly.

“Not really, that’s the thing about being out in the open,” Lann replied. “There’s not routes between caverns, it’s all open, so-”

“I know,” Wenduag half-growled. “I know it’s harder to tell. I wanted to know if there was any clue at all.”

“Maybe from the south, but she’s been roaming all around this area,” Juniper said.

She turned, herself, looking around slowly as she spoke.

Greybor really had picked a good spot. The cleft meant they weren’t skylining themselves, and the configuration of the trees around the rock formation gave a wide view without making it obvious that that was what was going on. It looked like it was just a place picked to be more easily defensible.

“Quiet,” Greybor warned. “I just saw her. Halfway up from the horizon, to the east.”

Juniper looked out of the corner of her eye, and saw the moving shape against the deep, dark blue of the sky.

“Seelah,” she said. “You first, but not yet. Everyone else wait.”

Devarra flew closer for another minute, then dropped out of sight, and Juniper signalled to Seelah.

The paladin muttered a prayer to Iomedae, and her divine aura of courage amplified. There was very little light to accompany that particular spell, but there was some , and she wanted to avoid anything that might alert Devarra.

Then the dragon landed, and Juniper was impressed all over again. The longest final approach path was one that went right near the cleft, but didn’t actually give a good view down it, and that meant that as she began investigating the campsite Devarra’s line of sight was away from them.

“Spells,” she whispered, casting her own Haste spell, then swallowed and focused.

Thought about how angry she’d been when the dragon had got away.

Bloodrage flashed into her veins, moving like liquid fire as the other spells all pulsed out at once. Then she was bursting out of cover, and so was Greybor, and Finnean blurred and changed as she reached for him. He became a massive greatsword, and Olivie vanished-reappeared with a vicious double crack/crack before hitting Devarra from the side.

The big dragon flinched, then roared in pain as Greybor drove his axe in with both hands. Wings flared open, knocking Olivie away despite her best efforts, and an iron tang filled her mouth as she dug claws into the ground to brake her slide.

Greybor had gone over onto his back from the other wing, but the others were attacking as well. Volleys of arrows from the trio of archers struck hom e, aiming for the dragon’s throat and the soft parts of her wing roots, and Seelah charged in on Acemi’s back. Her sword hit with a flash and a cloud of sparks as the enchantment making it stronger tried to bite through Devarra’s scales, then a blur of movement announced that Ulbrig had finished changing.

He soared into the air, rolled and turned, and came down like a thunderbolt on Devarra’s back as Juniper charged back in. The blow struck deep welts against her scales, sending blood spattering everywhere, then she roared something incomprehensible and pulled her wings in before rolling over.

Aivu and Sosiel were in the way as Devarra tried frantically to get Ulbrig off her, with Devarra’s tail knocking the little dragon backwards so she bowled Sosiel over, but the real reason for her convulsive motion actually worked – she half-crushed Ulbrig’s griffin form between herself and the rock formation, leaving him dazed, then unfurled her wings again as she rolled upright and took off with a powerful flap and a screech of pain.

A jet of flame scorched the fake campsite, stressing their fire protection enchantment but not burning through it entirely, and then Devarra was flying back west.

“Good work,” Greybor said, picking himself up. “That went well.”

“It did?” Sosiel asked, sounding winded. “I didn’t notice.”

“She got away,” Arueshalae said. “I… would like to hope that that will end her threat, but I don’t think it will.”

Juniper had been trying to manage her bloodrage, and shook herself out as Finnean returned to the much smaller form he normally used. “I think I know what you mean,” she said.

Greybor looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he said. “It’s not just speech, you really can change how you fight in a very complete way. I’m impressed… so, what do you think is going on?”

“I know,” Wenduag volunteered. “May I explain, mis – Commander?”

“Go ahead,” Juniper invited her.

“We didn’t finish her off, but we wounded her,” Wenduag said. “Badly. So now it’s a hunt, and we can track her.”

The ‘neather nodded at the ground. “Those splatters… they’re blood, she’s bleeding. We can follow her trail back to her lair.”

“Not bad,” Greybor declared. “She’s heading east… we won’t track her well in the darkness, but we can get some distance there. I doubt she’ll be going much faster than us, and at dawn we can send the fliers up to look for evidence.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wenduag said. “I can see well enough to track in the dark.”

“Why do you think she’s going to be slower?” Aivu asked, as Sosiel went to check on Ulbrig. “I know you hit her a lot, but her wings seemed okay.”

She flared her own wings, looking at them, then made a face. “They’re not like mine, and I don’t like the idea of my wings being hurt, but they can carry her or she wouldn’t have got here in the first place.”

Ulbrig muttered something, then arched his back as Sosiel healed what looked like a broken foreleg.

“I hit her chest,” Greybor explained. “She’ll have trouble breathing hard enough for normal flight, so it’ll burn up energy much faster than normal. She’ll have to land and rest often, eat more if she can find it… might even end up crashing if she works herself too hard. And it’ll be worse if she flies high.”

“Then let’s get moving as soon as we can,” Juniper decided. “Light is a risk, but it’ll let us move faster overnight…”

T he night march was a thing of dark skies and aching limbs, as Juniper and her companions pushed east back towards Drezen.

Nobody said much of anything, focused on getting further in the light of their various illumination cantrips. Greybor bore the movement stoically, using potions to improve his march speed to make up for how he’d otherwise set a slower pace, but nobody handled it very well given how long they’d been awake for.

Juniper had a trick ready – Mirala knew a spell to sweep away fatigue and could cast it enough times in succession to clear the heads and restore the strength of the entire party, at the cost of not being able to do much else – but that would have to wait until they had a target, because it wouldn’t last long. It wasn’t the equivalent of a good night’s sleep, and it would be expensive as well.

Really, there were good reasons why armies didn’t make forced-marches for long periods of time without rest. But not being able to strike Devarra while she was weak w ould be bad, so they kept going.

Aivu, at least, got some sleep – curled up on Acemi’s back, while Seelah walked beside her companion – and that was planned, as well, because the dragon was one of their flying scouts and would be important to look for Devarra once morning came. And Juniper could fend off the fatigue, a little, by drifting in and out of different facets to let them share the mental load, at least.

But it was going to remain in her memory for a long time.

Two hours before dawn, Juniper called a halt, and everyone got a bit of sleep – and, as they woke up, a party of scouts dispatched from the Keeper’s Canyon fort linked up with them, to share prepared rations so they could eat on the move. Then they were off again, with Aivu ranging out in front of the party to spot signs of Devarra.

The first definite sign came somewhere that Juniper thought was roughly southwest of the Lost Chapel. Blood and a crash site, from where the dragon had overstrained herself, and Greybor examined it for about twenty seconds before nodding sharply.

“Blood is about three hours old,” he said. “She’d have been here not long after dawn. Probably other crash scars from here back to the ambush site.”

He pointed. “And here – look. Her claw marks on takeoff are pointing… that way. That’s different to the crash scar.”

Falling silent, he glanced up at Juniper.

“She was banking around,” Juniper reasoned, trying to think through the fatigue. “Changing course to head… south, maybe southwest, but she couldn’t quite handle it. Maybe she thought she was used to how her wound was affecting her, but the extra strain made her light-headed… maybe she was turning later than she should, if she was already light-headed and lost track of how far east she was.”

“Not a bad theory,” Greybor judged.

“Hypothesis,” Nenio corrected. “Unless you have published something about it and successfully defended your view.”

Juniper checked the map. “ If she’s heading for something to the south and southwest of us, then she’s going to be either ending up in this tongue of land, or down… here . But we’d have seen her if she was near there, so it must be around here.”

She tapped the map.

“It’s likely, though it’s not certain,” Greybor hedged. “But we’ve got to make a decision, or we’d just end up standing around waiting for more information. Can that dragon of yours help?”

“I think so,” Juniper replied. “Aivu – you know to stay out of sight as much as possible when looking for Devarra, right?”

“Yeah!” Aivu agreed. “But, um, if she does spot me then I’ll head straight back towards you, because she’s way bigger than me!”

It was nearing noon as they approached what Juniper’s map said was an old tower landmark, right where one of the rifts in the land had opened up.

They had confirmation from Aivu that Deverra was there, which meant it was nearly time, and Juniper focused for a minute or so to bring herself into Mirala’s mindset before using a Restoration spell on each member of the group – aside from Acemi, who simply couldn’t come.

Then it was moving along a narrow path, climbing down the treacherous cliffs, and they nearly fell before Lann managed to pick off the leader of a group of birds mobbing them. That was enough to make the birds think again, though, and after several minutes – and Ulbrig’s help – they were down on a wooden scaffold that had been added to the side of the tower in times past.

Greybor held up his hand for quiet, as Nenio read off another fire-resistance scroll . “I hear voices,” he said. “Commander, can you give us invisibility? Let’s see what’s going on… everyone else, stay back.”

He glared at Nenio. “Especially you.”

Nenio looked like she wanted to contest that, but – amazingly enough – didn’t.

Then Juniper touched first Greybor and then herself with one of her tails, making them both fade into transparency, and they crept up to see what was going on.

Her first impression, as she peered around a stone wall, was that the tower was an absolute treasure trove. Whatever it had been for in the past – and it had been ravaged by the opening of the huge seismic rift that had accompanie d the Worldwound – the floor they were looking in on was an enormous library, ripped open and exposed to the elements but with at least some power left in the spells protecting the books from wind and rain.

There were pages scattered across the stone floor, but some of the bookshelves still had books and scrolls in them. Juniper got a tiny sense of the age of the protection spells, and it was so enormous as to make her think she’d somehow misread the magic, but the rest of what was going on distracted her.

Devarra was here, all right – just as Aivu had said. But so was a familiar robed elf, unmistakeably old and blind and looking just as he’d been when Juniper had last seen him not far from Kenabres – the Storyteller.

Talking to Devarra, as she threatened to kill him, and he brought out a ring he was carrying.

“This is perfect,” Greybor said, quietly. “We can get close enough to attack while he’s distracting her.”

Juniper slipped into her full-fox form, already preparing to creep closer and attack, but as she began to slowly move over the stones she noticed what the Storyteller was actually talking about.

He was using a signet ring, and telling the story of its wearer. And she… Caitrin… recognized the story.

It had happened in the Stolen Lands a few years ago. The ring’s owner must have been the gnome Tartuccio… and it sounded almost right, though Caitrin had never been clear exactly why Tartuccio had acted the way he did, as she hadn’t been there.

“And… what happened next?” Devarra asked, sounding engrossed.

“Sweet dreams,” Greybor said, his voice as silent as a breath, and hit Devarra in the side with his waraxe again.

This time it was on her right side, not her left, but while he couldn’t exploit the wound he’d caused before it just meant that now both of Deverra’s lungs were badly injured.

“Aagh!” the dragon protested, as Greybor’s illusion fell away, whirling and knocking one of the bookshelves over with her tail. “Annoying insects!”

Caitrin darted forwards as soon as Devarra turned, running up her wing, and the dragon twitched it violently. The sudden motion launched Caitrin ten feet into the air, and she returned to her base form in mid-air with a spell glowing on her left paw.

The Haste spell she fired off didn’t help with her situation directly, but it gave her just a bit more time to react, and she drew Finnean with her right paw at the same time.

“Dueling Sword!” she ordered, reversing her grip, and stabbed Finnean into Devarra’s side. Instinct and training combined to drive the blow into the gap between two scales, prompting the dragon to roar – then scream, as her attempt to shake Caitrin off just drove the blade deeper.

“Don’t let her take off!” the Storyteller called urgently. “She can’t be allowed to burn the library!”

“I’ll destroy it to spite you, you morsel!” Devarra shouted. She inhaled, trying to aim for one of the nearby bookshelves and the rest of Caitrin’s companions as they rushed to help, then Nenio intervened – reading out a Cone of Cold scroll with astonishing speed, hitting Devarra in the face with a wave of freezing energy that knocked her muzzle high and sent her fire breath harmlessly into the air.

Ulbrig lunged through the dissipating cloud of frost, hitting Devarra like a runaway cart, and grabbed onto her neck to keep her muzzle up and away from everyone else. His muscles stood out as he strained to hold her, helped by her distraction and the wounds she was suffering from, and Devarra twisted to try and bite at him or breathe flame.

Her wings beat irregularly, trying to build up the strength to take off, and Falconeyes turned her insightful gaze on the wings… not just identifying weak spots, but spotting the imperfections and ways that those weaknesses could be amplified... then pulled Finnean out, shifted him to a handaxe, and struck.

The wound made Devarra screech, mouth open, then all three archers hit her at once. The woundwyrm convulsed, let out one last snarl, then collapsed.

It took a few minutes to go through the tower at the Storyteller’s behest, looking for the same kind of ancient pages that Juniper had found for him before, then once she’d identified them he suggested they meet up in Drezen.

As they prepared to leave, though, Greybor signalled for her attention.

“I think I’ll be leaving, now,” he said. “My contract is complete, though I’d… appreciate getting the confirmation from you.”

Juniper nodded, then frowned as she considered something.

“I have no problem marking your current contract as complete,” she said, stressing the word slightly. “But I’ve been impressed with your work so far. I certainly wouldn’t want to see your skill used against me, and I’d… appreciate having it on my side on a longer term basis.”

Greybor thought about that.

“Hmm,” he said. “Well, I’ll agree that it’s worked out well so far. You’re not afraid to share the risks, which is a factor… means I’m much less likely to be given a difficult to impossible task, like Willodus did. And there’s compensating factors as well, I’ve already noticed the increase in my own strength that’s come from yours.”

He got out his pipe. “As against that, there’s that it’s a longer contract… open ended, though it does mean guaranteed work. And this one was set up in case it took months to deal with the problem, instead of days… and being part of this will improve my reputation…”

Falconeyes waited, as Greybor calculated something out.

“Twelve and a half thousand up front,” he said, eventually. “That’s for two hundred days, then another sixty a day past that. Same terms as the last one, except that it’s an open ended contract rather than one with a specific target.”

Falconeyes began rummaging in her bag. “ For obvious reasons, it will make it easier if you accept approved gemstones… I assume this is an acceptable lump sum payment format?”

“Of course,” Greybor confirmed.

Thus satisfied, Falconeyes took out five etched emeralds.

“Twenty-five thousand,” she summarized. “For an initial contract length of three hundred days. In my opinion, you’re worth the extra up front and the extended duration.”

G reybor chuckled. “I’m not sure if you understand how negotiating works,” he said. “But I’ll take it.”

“Is it okay that I don’t know how to feel about that?” Aivu asked, at camp an hour or so later.

The burst of vitality Juniper had given everyone as Mirala had worn off, leading to an urgent need to get some sleep despite it being the middle of the day, but Juniper rolled over to look at the little dragon anyway.

“About Devarra?” she asked, softly.