Next morning, Guelder slept in, which was one of the unpleasant side effects of resting in bear shape. She woke to Amiri shaking her (like most of the time lately), only this time it felt more like tickling. As she looked around with bleary eyes, she saw the fog was still there, whirling in the morning breeze. And, unsurprisingly, Linzi didn't show up.

"Harrim, by any chance, can you perform Sending?" asked Guelder. "If you could reach Linzi, she could tell us where to find her."

Harrim gloomily shook his head, and sneezed into his beard.

"I don't even know that spell. Why would I? Not that I have trouble summarising the gospel of my god in 25 words or less, mind you. It's just that I have nobody to keep in touch with."

He didn't even sound particularly bitter about it, and that made it all the more sad.

"This is going to change," said Guelder. "You are a member of a team now. That means already three people to keep in touch with, and this number will hopefully increase over time. Make sure to familiarise yourself with that spell as soon as your skills reach the appropriate level."

As things were, Guelder had to find another way to get to Linzi. However, she was out of ideas. She needed help. From Nature, from the spirits inhabiting the wilderness, from anyone or anything willing to hear her plea.

She walked out of camp, followed by Amiri's disapproving gaze. Just a few steps, and she was invisible. Alone with the fog. She slowed down her breathing, closed her eyes and emptied her mind, allowing the mists to fill her lungs, her body, her soul, her consciousness. She imagined Linzi, dripping with river water, clutching her lute case and twisting her magic ring around her finger, helpless and lonely. She channeled a wish into the vapour churning around her person. Help me find her.

She waited and waited. No answer came. Not from Nature, not from the fog, not even from the elusive, tormented spirit that had contacted her earlier. She opened her eyes and walked back to the others, quite certain that her little ritual hadn't made any difference.

"Finally!" grumbled Amiri, apparently relieved to see her again. "We can't sit here forever! What's next? Do we hike downstream to the Stag Lord's fort, or do we build some sort of boat?"

Harrim chuckled bitterly.

"And who will build that boat? The treehugger? Or the dwarf betrayed by the god of craftsmanship? Or do you plan to use Ginormous as a carpenter's axe?"

"First of all, we must find Linzi," said Guelder. "If I only knew how to go about that."

"Because the success of our endeavour depends on a pint-sized windbag," sneered Amiri. "Guelder, if you were fine with taking on the Stag Lord with a group of four, you can do it with a group of three just as well. Or you can leave it all to me. I can handle that scum on my own, along with all his gang."

Guelder suppressed a sigh. The last thing she needed was Amiri wanting to prove her mettle and getting into trouble.

"We leave no one behind, Amiri. If we want to stand a chance against our foes, we must look out for each other. You know, like a tribe. A normal, functional tribe, one that values and supports its members."

Amiri gave the matter some thought, then flashed a wide grin.

"I would love to be part of a tribe like that, for a change. And if that means we must postpone bashing skulls, I can live with that. Lead the way, then."

Harrim remained silent, immersed in contemplating the fog. Guelder followed his gaze and, to her surprise, saw that the fog was clearing up. Well, sort of. There was still a blanket of mist hovering above the river, but to the northwest, they could see further than anytime during the last day. Even the sounds of nature around them were sharper and clearer.

"Let us pack up!" suggested Guelder. "By the time we get ready, I reckon the fog will rise entirely."

However, her instincts failed her this time. The fog didn't disperse but gave way in one direction, opening a corridor northwest, as if it allowed them free passage, provided that they were ready to follow its guidance.

"I don't like this," grumbled Amiri. "This thing is trying to determine the path we take. And if we don't comply..."

Guelder, however, was more optimistic. Perhaps the fog had listened to her request, after all. Or perhaps the Guardian of the Bloom kept her word and cleared a path for them to safety, using up her last reserves of strength before succumbing to the deadly fog.

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

She attempted to unfold the old map she'd been using. The layers of moist paper stuck together, stubbornly resisting her. She inserted a careful claw in a crease to pry it open.

"Northwest... sod it." The map tore between her fingers. She put it away before she would ruin it completely. "I am not sure what awaits us there. But whatever it is, we will face it together, prepared for the worst and hoping for the best."

"Now we're talking!" exclaimed Amiri. "Let's be on our way, then!"

They walked for hours on end between walls of fog, in muffled silence, afraid to stop for a rest, lest the path would vanish from their sight, swallowed by the mists once again. Their clothes were still uncomfortably damp and smelled like wet dog hair, and their footsteps made sucking noises in the mud. Nobody bothered them anymore, except for a smelly old vagrant who seemed to know something of Tartuccio's shenanigans. Not that Guelder cared about him in the least. Whatever the gnome was up to, her team was in no shape to deal with that now. They had to rest, regroup and, if possible, recruit.

A small complex of buildings appeared at the end of the fog-free corridor, sprawling beside a wide, smooth-trodden road, closely resembling the South Rostland Road that led from Restov to the west. A makeshift palisade surrounded the settlement. Nothing moved. Only the gate creaked in the breeze, hanging lopsided from one hinge.

Guelder exchanged a glance with her companions. They flattened themselves against the outside of the palisade, waiting, listening.

"Bread," mouthed Amiri.

Indeed, the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread drifted from the main building. Guelder's keen ears picked up faint notes of music. Of course, that didn't mean everything was safe. Bandits had to eat, too, and many gangs employed bards for energising battle tunes and bawdy drinking songs. However, Guelder made up her mind. She walked up to the ruined gate, poised to throw herself to the side in case she would be greeted with arrows, and called out:

"Hello? Anyone here to help out a group of weary travellers?"

An upstairs window of the main building opened with a creak.

"Hey, Oleg, look! It's them! My companions!" piped a little voice.

Guelder stopped at the gate and waved her hand.

"Hey, Linzi! Good to see you alive!"

As Linzi ran out to meet her, she found herself laughing and hugging the little bard. The others were similarly happy and relieved. Amiri threw Linzi up into the air a few times, and even grumpy Harrim allowed himself a grudging smile.

"I already told the folks here about you!" explained Linzi, once safely back on the ground. "Come, let me introduce you to Oleg and Svetlana, the merchant couple who run this outpost. Now they won't have to worry about the Stag Lord anymore!"

"Of course not," said Guelder. "This is why we are here. And also for soft beds and good food."

A heavily built, middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, holding a loaded crossbow. He measured up Guelder from top to toe.

"Welcome to the trading post, travellers," he said. "Oleg Leveton, at your service. Linzi spoke very highly of you. However, you chose the worst time to visit. In fact, if you hold your lives dear, you might want to move on and find a better place to rest."

"How come?"

"You know, I'm kind of in arrears with protection money to the Stag Lord. They will come to collect before dusk." Oleg lowered his head, staring at the ground. "They will take Svetlana if I don't pay up."

The reality of the situation slowly sank in with Guelder. The safest spot in the Stolen Lands was a barely fortified trading post, regularly harassed by bandits, with a smashed-in gate dangling on one hinge. Well, she was here to change that.

"They will not take her, Oleg," she said. "I see you have a crossbow. Who else can you rally to defend the place?"

Oleg rubbed his chin.

"I have three apprentices, also able to use crossbows."

"Any other guests?"

"No."

"Not even a self-important, purple-haired gnome and his companions?"

"Ah, so you know him." Oleg turned aside and spat. "He stocked up on supplies, then went on south. A sly little bugger, that one. Wasn't eager to sit it out here until the bandits return. Our only guest is old Bokken, probably dozing off in the common room. He brought some concoction for my lower back."

"An alchemist?" Guelder's eyes twinkled in excitement. "Brilliant. We can make good use of his expertise. Now get your apprentices to remove that useless gate and repurpose it into a barricade. As to me and my companions, we need a little rest, a hot meal and dry clothes. Then we shall talk strategy."

It was hard to tell whether Oleg was terrified or enthusiastic, but he seemed inclined towards the latter.

"My lady, if you pull this off, you and your companions will be my guests for as long as you wish to stay. And if you don't... well, at least we won't go down without a fight."

He grabbed Guelder's hand and patted it thankfully, then returned to the house, calling for Svetlana to cater for the guests.