Taltil was caught in the grasp of primal fear as the majestic beast loomed over her. Her terrified eyes darted like swallows, seeking escape from the feather and fur-covered emissary of death. Justiciar Celerim’s breathing, by contrast, was rhythmic, almost too rhythmic compared to the panic-stricken Taltil.

“The key is not to show fear. She senses fear. And no aggression. She does not like to be dominated,” calmly uttered Justiciar Celerim.

“And this is a standard-issue Justiciar mount....” I scoffed at him.

He chuckled.

“Definitely not. Such a marvellous creature is loath to accept the burden.” He leaned closer towards the gryphon and ran his hands through the golden mane, “My family and our estate....we always lived in commune with the gryphons. She is part of our family.”

The gryphon shook itself and ruffled its feather while the elf struggled with the knots on one of the saddlebag. The predatory eyes of the gryphon stared down and finally settled on Taltil, scrutinizing her as if still uncertain on classifying her as a rider or a prey. The pudgy fingers of Taltil, grabbed onto my hands even more tightly. Her nails dug deeper into my wrist.

Only the voice of Justiciar Celerim broke the weird tension.

“Here,” urged the elf as he thrust a greyish-silver cloak towards us. Evidently, he came prepared.

“It gets a little chill,” he added, “the saddle is wide enough for the two of us to ride comfortably and if we squeeze three of us could manage it.”

After a moment of hesitation, I gave in to his hospitality and took the offered cloak.

“So, this is why the Justiciars in Ellisinore sent you as a special investigator to Sarenthill.” I exclaimed as I pointed to the gryphon. My statement, neither a question nor a fact but somewhere in between.

He beamed one of his brief cherubic smiles again, not the sort that lads give to a girl they fancy but the ones that students give when they are praised by their teachers.

“Call it a blessing and a curse. I was selected because I can reach Sarentill fast.” But his voice failed to hide his real emotion.

He immediately turned and strode towards the saddle. An action, clearly conveying, that there will not be any further discussion on the subject.

Justiciar Celerim seated himself first and extended his hands. Taltil still held her apprehension for the gryphon, and it took a bit of coaxing on my part to calm her. She finally accepted her fate and sat behind the high-elf. I finally hopped on the saddle behind the two of them.

At the command from the high-elf, Ryleval gave a loud screech and then there was a small shudder followed by a jerk. Her majestic wingspan extended and another minor jerk passed through as she kicked the ground with her powerful lower limbs. Terror flashed across Taltil’s face as she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, wishing for the nightmarish journey to stop. As Ryleval gained momentum in the air, I balanced my posture and leaned forward. An action that inadvertently brought me closer to the quivering Taltil. Bereft of any other activity, I did the only other action that was possible under circumstance. One of my arms wrapped around the hapless little creature in front of me, while I hummed a soft tune to calm her.

*****

The radiant sun, without any regard for the events unfolding below, began its descent from the midday sky. Ryleval soared higher and higher till the cold made Taltil’s teeth chatter. I leaned closer and held the shivering goblin, more as a measure to protect her from cold than anything. Justiciar Celerim muttered something aloud but the contents on his musings got muffled under the brutal onslaught of the chill winds. The gryphon flapped her gigantic wings and catapulted through the air. The sunlight reflected on the shiny feathers of her extended wings, giving them a glossy bronze hue as she glided towards Sarenthill.

The flight continued unhindered for a while till Justiciar Celerim nudged Ryleval to land on a fertile meadow below. Taltil immediately landed on her feet, happy to be on solid ground. A feeling that she did not bother to hide. The bright sun still lingered in the sky, its position still further above the horizon.

“Isn’t it too early to stop for the night?” I questioned earnestly.

“Certainly not. Just a small break. Ryleval has her own temperament. She is a gryphon after all. One is never truly a master of a gryphon.” elaborated Justiciar Celerim.

“oh, so how do you work with her?” I rubbed my arms and verbalised my thoughts.

“By building a companionship. I request her and she follows through at her own pace. That is how she is,” patiently answered the Justiciar, “and now she wants her rest.”

“But isn’t she a bird of prey” I stammered while my eyes lingered on her shark beak and her bright yellow predatory eyes.

“Partly,” corrected the Justiciar and indicated to the hind part of the gryphon with a grimace, “the other part is feline. If you know what I mean.”

Taltil already went about collecting berries from some nearby shrubs and returned with her hands full and looked expectantly at the Justiciar.

“No, she does not like berries, but if you stroke her underbelly while she rests, she might come to like you,” explained Celerim, an offer which Taltil obviously refused.

Freed from the shackles of a nerve-wracking flight, Taltil regained her vitality and restlessly sought relief for her freshly renewed energy. The prospect of gathering berries and herbs appealed to us and we set about foraging. When I returned, Celerim had already drifted to dreamland, safely nudged in the nook between the powerful forearms and neck of Ryleval. The gryphon snoozed with its head low and slightly resting on the Justiciar, as if to partly protect him and partly to cuddle. A strong breeze blew, tussled the falling locks of Celerim’s hair. In the light of the setting sun, he appeared more boyish than an adult elf and seemed a bit too young for the responsibility thrust on him.

Ryleval, alerted by an unseen feline or avian ability, sensed my approach and lazily lifted her head in my direction. Once the gryphon decided that I posed no threat, she nudged the sleeping Celerim with her beak. The young Justiciar mumbled something and refused to abandon whatever heroic adventure that he was dreaming about. The gryphon was stubborn and persisted in nudging. After a few feeble attempts at waking the Justiciar, Ryleval straightened herself and gave a low screech. Justiciar Celerim, guided by experience, paid heed to the gryphon’s call and woke up.

“Not my intention to wake you up,” I stooped low.

“Why?” he questioned.

“You were so relaxed and youthful when you slept. I wanted to let you rest a bit more.” I uttered and offered him some of the berries that we collected as a peace offering.

He accepted the offered berries without a second thought and greedily gobbled a few.

“You know,” I said with an amused tone, “you are really very amenable for a High-elf. Most people would suspect the berries to be poisoned.”

“I am not most people,” he said with a smug smile,” Besides, I trust drows.”

The young high-elf before me continued to amaze me with every passing chance.

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He clapped his hands, more as a sign of warming himself than gaining our attention.

“Let us continue then. Ryleval can find her orientation even through the night. I promise before midnight we will be in Sarenthill.”

*****

The bastion of the Justiciars was built to be practical as well as exquisite. The impressive structure was situated in an isolated but prime district of Sarenthill. A reminder of its status as a stalwart defender of Sarenthill while simultaneously also excluded from the city that it protected. Its limestone structure, very much its own fortress, appropriately earning the name, bastion. White outer walls, now greyed due to time, surrounded the bastion. The inner courtyard, lined with tulips, roses and dahlias of various colours provided a stark contrast to the dull outer walls. A lone isolated tower, like a proud warrior, stood imposing within the walls of the bastion and thus served as the landing spot for Ryleval.

As we climbed down the winding stairs, Justiciar Celerim broke the silence finally.

“I suggest we call a meeting of all parties involved and propose a joint task force,” suggested Celerim.

“All parties?” I kept my expression neutral but raised my eyebrows at his suggestion.

“Yes, Justiciars, City guards and the gate sentries. Surely, you are not thinking that we, Justiciars, hold sole power and authority within Sarenthill. We are too few in number for such a feat.”

“City guards and gate sentries? There are two different authorities?” I was perplexed.

“They are the same and yet different. They both answer to the city council but work under different offices. The gate sentries usually work under the House of External Affairs and the Chamber of Commerce, while the city guards are directly under the city watch, which is again under the city council,” explained a patient Celerim while he still failed to notice the frown on my face.

Typical high-elven bureaucracy at its finest, I sighed.

“Justiciar Celerim, how do you intend to proceed, once you call for a joint task force?” With my arms crossed in front of me, I took a deep breath and focused on what the Justiciar had in mind. Time to infer, how much of leadership quality, that the young high-elf possesses.

“Now that we know about The Pruning Hands, the identity of the unknown, it is far less mysterious. The Justiciars are few in number but we have a far wider reach. The records from the gate sentries can be used to narrow down some of the possible scenarios and the city guards will have to follow the tracks.” He firmly placed his feet as he stepped down from the last step and his hands were extremely animated as he went through with his proposal.

He stepped out through the alcove into the main courtyard and then turned towards me again.

“But the fact still remains that we are uncertain as to Silvaniel’s fate and how he was smuggled out of Sarenthill. Maybe the gate sentries noticed something odd.” He pondered but to no one in particular.

“Silvaniel is alive, that much I am certain,” I articulated my opinions at last, “For all that we know about The Pruning Hands, they have gotten cautious since their last two failures. They would never resort to a hasty decision to dispose of Silvaniel or the dwarven puzzle box. They would probably want to get their hands on the contents.”

“ah, so you already know the identity of them......” His voice took a more jovial turn as if he were addressing a friendly relative but soon Celerim composed himself. Something about the way Celerim behaved around me, just a hunch, but something about his attitude towards me, gave a delicate sense of wanting to get closer to me and definitely not to curry favours. Something different.

“That is a far-fetched statement.” I looked around my shoulders as I walked ahead to keep up with Celerim, “but I do have a theory as to who they could be. The first option, they could be just a bunch of well-funded xenophobics who apparently sworn to deny and hide the crimes of their ancestors.”

“Your first speculative option does not help much with our current investigation, if I may say, “ concluded Celerim and he was right.

“The second possibility is that they are a coalition of the local lords, who seek to protect their lands.” The Justiciar’s eye widened and he stopped halfway through his tracks.

“Then how does House Wysteria fall in this scenario? Is Lady Wysteria being deceived or do they seek to isolate themselves? or the worse, they seek to outsmart us?” The Justiciar shot his volley of questions.

“House Wysteria plays no part in this. I am certain.” I declared, “Sir Theodore and Captain Jorrel would not have rushed to our aid. The Pruning Hands, did not have any supply wagon with them. The logistics of moving a large army through any terrain requires some amount of support.”

The Justiciar’s eyes dropped and his forehead furrowed. Even then he did not stop his stride and led us through the courtyard towards another alcove with a wide arch and a well-burning brazier.

“The local merchants of Westerleygates did not provide any sort of support. Otherwise, they would not have approached The Aberrant Irregulars with a regular contract offer. By joining hands with The Aberrant Irregulars, they would risk their standing with their client and someone like The Pruning Hands, “ I scoffed, “they are not the sort you would want to cross. So the merchants guild did not provide any support.”

“So neither Lady Wysteria nor the merchants of Westerleygates had any dealing with The Pruning Hands,” tiny crease appeared under his grey eyes as he tilted his head toward my direction and he shrugged.

“You stated yourself, they did not have any supply line, so there was no need for them to seek support or supplies,” he continued. He exercised control over his voice and did not let his vexation guide his words.

“That is the fact. You cannot deploy a whole army at short notice without having some sort of support or supply readily available somewhere close by. They should have received support from Westerleygates and yet neither the local Lord, Lady Wysteria nor the merchants knew anything.”

“And how is that probable? A supply of that quantity, if it were from any of the traders, it would not have escaped the scrutiny of the town guards. Since the town guards have no knowledge, the plausible explanation for that is when House Wysteria ordered the supplies but Lady Jessbeth and her staff, as you put your faith in them, so shall I and presume their uninvolvement. Unless “ his face brightened and his voice rose a pitch higher, “someone spoke in the name of House Wysteria and yet do not belong to House Wysteria. Lord T’Fyrestok.”

I bared my teeth in a wide grin.

“Who else could have proxied for Lady Jessbeth yet owing allegiance to another master and with that we come to the third speculation that I promised. Duke Lothmar is either involved with The Pruning Hands or at least sponsoring them. In the worst case, The Pruning Hands might be his own personal hit squad.,“ I finished just as we entered a well-lit room.

“But the Justiticars are not in a position to get involved in an open conflict with a Duke.” He stammered as the real nature of his opponent stared at his face, almost taunting, belittling him.

“In fact, if Duke Lothmar is, in any capacity, involved, then it makes matters a lot simpler. He would ensure that Silvaniel remains alive, to infer further information, to gain control over the contents of the dwarven puzzle box, to gain control over Lady Jessbeth.” I elaborated while gazing at the well-detailed ornate furniture in the room.

“How do you propose to confront such a powerful figure, alone?” The Justiciar faltered his word as he tremblingly settled himself on one of the upholstered chairs with delicately engraved armrests.

“Tell me, Justiciar, How do you slay a deep-hydra?” I leisurely sat on a grand high-backed chair opposite Celerim and asked.

“Never fought one, or even saw one but you cut all its head with one swing. Isn’t it how you kill a deep-hydra?” His grey eyes now focussed on me, eagerly awaiting my next words.

“That is the typical high-elven heroic approach. Not bad. There is another alternative. One that I pioneered myself, the dark-elves prefer this method. You first slay one head and wait.” I paused to allow the young High-elf to process and form his questions.

He leaned forward and asked, “But don’t deep-hydra regenerate fast. Another head will grow, replacing the lost one.”

“Yes, and when that grows, you cut the head off before it fully forms and then wait and repeat. Cut the newly growing head and leave the rest. Annoy the beast enough and some of the heads will continue to attack the newly forming head while some other heads will try to protect the new head. The multiple heads of the deep-hydra will usually kill themselves and in case, when any single head still manages to emerge victorious, the deep-hydra would be far weakened. Slay the final remaining head and you have slain a deep-hydra.”

“So which head are you going to slay?” He asked with a grin that stretched across his face.

I stooped low, dropped my voice and explained, “I have an idea on where we could start. Until now what we speculated about the enemy were just speculation without any evidence, but here is what we know for a fact. When they attacked in the bog, they hired a lot of local thugs, mercenaries and brigands. They would rather let others do the dirty work if the work carried even a tiny fraction of risk. Kidnapping SIlvaniel inside Sarenthill is an extremely risky venture. I am certain they would have hired one of the local crime gangs or underworld guilds to carry it out for them.”

“But that is still a lot to cover. Can you narrow it down further?” By now Celerim had moved from his comfortable chair and came close and bend low enough for his warm minty breath to nudge my cheek.

I let my shoulders drop and slowly shifted my weight to one side, letting my back rest against the softly padded back of the chair.

“The Pruning Hands are a xenophobic group. They won’t trust most other races. To find the guild or group which is predominantly or even solely filled with men. They would be the one most likely holding Silvaniel.”

He surprised me suddenly by giving me a peck on the cheek as I finished explaining.

“I will collect the information you need, immediately,” uttering those words, he approached an engraved silver bell that sat solemnly on an immense table.

That kiss would have earned him an early grave, had he not been so innocent about it.