The next day dawned, promising a much-awaited change. The fresh morning breeze greeted the three of us standing outside the Justiciar’s bastion. Celerim abandoned his official Justiciar’s standard for the field uniform of Justiciars. A drab grey light steel plate armour made of interlocked plates rather than a full plate and a scale armour long skirt, gleaned in the morning rays of the sun, providing Celerim with an austere appearance. The long obnoxious conical helmet of the Justicars, tucked firmly between his gauntleted arms and torso. The only exception was the choice of weapon. Celerim foregone the typical field weapon of Justiciar to his own private longsword. A long slender weapon fully sheathed and doubly wrapped in an additional layer of silk, like a precious ornament.

Contrary to the Justiciar, Taltil just fully cloaked herself. A dark brown sturdy leather doublet with matching trousers and suede boots was all that I required for what lay ahead for the day.

“So what is the word from the streets?” I quizzed.

“Well, Feador is enraged like a minotaur in heat,” Celerim allowed himself a chuckle, “the city guards, report that he has issued a call for arms, amassing his forces in the harbour district warehouse.”

“Time to pay our regards to the enraged Minotaur then,” I responded with a grin.

“Something has been brought to my attention, by the regional Justiciars,” hesitantly spoke Celerim.

I simply nodded, a silent request for the Justiciar to continue.

“I received an official worded request to exert my Justiciar rights sparingly during the investigation,” Celerim played with the knots holding the silk covers of his sheathed sword.

“Officially as in?” I questioned.

“Not from the Justiciar Superior. But from the regional Justiciars of Sarenthill. Apparently, Sarenthill is on shaky grounds. Racial tensions can flare easily and hence the request.”

Racial tensions, I scoffed at the mention of the word. Why am I not surprised?

“Celerim, just trust me on this. I promise to resolve all your worries at the end.”

“Great Aun.. eh. thanks, Lady Rylonvirah. You really are a problem solver,” gleefully uttered Celerim.

What was he about to call me? Maybe in due time, I will find out. I sense no malice from Celerim, so it is probably nothing ill-intended.

*****

Long determined strides guided my moves towards my target, a burly looking, bearded man with a cracked nose.

“Heard Feador needs help,” I shouted to the man.

“Yeah, but we don’t need your kind. Look elsewhere,” scoffed the bearded man, “and that is Lord Feador to you. Dark elf.”

“In that case,” a wide grin graced my lips stretching it from ear to ear, “please inform Lord Feador, that he needs to present his rear-end to me at once, or else I would be tempted to gift Lord Loshan’s head in a basket with a wreath of violet hyacinth if I am in a good mood”

“You,” he gnashed his yellow teeth, “whore.....” and a whole lot of interesting obscenities, something that only a drunken sailor can utter fluently followed. Knuckles paled as he tightened on a spiked club.

“If I die, Loshan’s head rolls and consequently yours too. May not be so fast as Loshan’s, probably in a very painful way. Let me remind you that You are not even the one pulling strings here. So be a good puppet and convey my message, my sweet page.”

He spat as a response to my verbal taunt and without a word, turned to march towards the warehouse.

The man who exited the warehouse could undisputedly be recognised as Feador. The same medium-toned muscle build, though the muscles of his younger years have been covered with a bit of fat leading to a bulging belly, slightly droopy eyes and loose flappy cheeks that hanged a bit. Feador represented an elderly version of Loshan.

“You are treading in dangerous waters,” cautioned Feador as he approached.

“Feador, I presume. Glad to make your acquaintance.” I delivered an exaggerated bow.

Thugs, with grim hardened eyes, converged on my position, encircling me. An attempt at intimidation or preparation to attack. Should a fight break out, I was certain that Taltil and Celerim, hidden away would nevertheless join.

“Speak,” commanded Feador, “Your pathetic life depends on it.”

“Please,” I pleaded, “no violence. I am here to do buisness. A beneficial one.”

“You knocked my son and took him hostage,” Anger seared in Feador’s eyes. “If ransoming is your business, you crossed the wrong man. This is Sarenthill. My turf.”

“Ransoming?” my eyebrows raised in a fake expression of surprise, “oh no, I am not here for financial motives. All I wish is an opportune transaction between two parties. You and me. Isn’t it not what people call a business, Sir Feador?”

In return, Feador just spat. The universal language of disagreement.

“Can we talk somewhere in private? It has been my experience that business deals that open up with a taste of hospitality are always the most fruitful.”

“You will not survive our hospitality. The only hospitality for you is the hospitality of the dead, in a sewer,” roared Feador.

“Thanks, Sir, but I am afraid such hospitality is wasted on humble me. All I require is a quiet place for us to finalise our deal.” My hands crossed in front of my chest and my lips bore a smile that failed to reach my ears.

*****

The “room” was fairly simple, with objects arranged in a practical manner, the decorations favoured practicality over aesthetics. Feador seated himself on the lone chair. So much for his hospitality. I simply leaned against a convenient wall. Not bothering myself to check for traps or eavesdroppers.

“Nice warehouse, So how much revenue do you generate?” I kept the conversation casual.

“State your price,” Cut in Feador.

“A simple exchange, Lord Loshan, “ I stressed on the last two words, to let the criticality of the situation sink to the man before me, “for someone we need.”

“I know not,” voiced Feador.

“Have you ever been in large scale battle? or a citadel siege?” I asked.

“I did not invite you for idle talk,” answered Feador. His patience stretching thin.

“A good commander or general would tell you, an enemy outside the walls is better than an enemy inside the walls.”

“Why are you here, Dark elf?”

“About that,” I played along, “it was only four days ago. I was enjoying my meritous life in my own cavern, naturally in the netherworld. My own place, slaves and all. Then I was called. Not by one but by multiple parties. My employers if you prefer that term. You see, I would gladly ignore the summons, after all, I have slain a few High elves in my life. Have no love for them.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A deliberate pause and for a fleeting moment, Feador’s expression changed but only for that moment, then his face resumed its enraged form.

“So, I was called by certain interested parties. Parties, who I cannot refuse. People, who do not like to be rejected and here I am. In Sarenthill. as fast as I could arrive. Seeking to save the life of one High elf or was it a wood elf. Oh, it does not matter, let us say a non-dark elf. A solicitor. Surprising isn’t it? How politics works.”

“I have no knowledge of what you seek. You are wasting your time,” denied Feador, “I do not believe even a fraction of your lies. You want me to believe your dark elf houses have an interest in protecting some High elf. You should learn to lie better at least.”

“Exactly. See that is what I have been trying to tell you. We drows do not like High-elves. We both, you and me. Neither of us wants to be here. In this room. In this moment. Having this conversation.” I extended my hands did a grand gesture of turning around the room. “Yet, politics is a very finicky and complicated thing. Someone snatched some elven lawyer, for whatever ulterior reasons. Now some other interested parties would love the status quo. Have him where they can keep an eye on. Alive. You understand.”

Furrows appeared on Feador’s forehead as he considered my words. I took a few steps closer and leaned to see Feador eye to eye.

“The closest to a concise understanding that I could provide is this. Sometimes you do not remove your opponent's piece from a board even if you are tempted to. The said piece might be unwittingly manoeuvred to sit in a strategic position. An absence of the piece opens up the space for more powerful pieces to come onto the board. Pieces with illustrious names such as Justiciars, divine inquisition and such. We, do not like their presence in Sarenthill.”

Feador wriggled uncomfortably in the chair. A chair in which he sat pompously a few moments ago.

“Now, you see, why the disappearance of Silvaniel was such a nifty affair. Not that I am implying, an upstanding rightful citizen and a key figure for the local human community would be involved in anything nefarious. But someone as powerful and influential as you would certainly have heard of, maybe some whispers in the wind.“

“You demand of things that I have no influence over,” insisted Feador as he wiped the newly formed sweat from his forehead.

“Then let me bring a bird’s eye perspective. Nothing to do with our conversation here. Rumour has it that a bunch of heavily armed humans are holding a respectable high-elf in captive. Now, where would the poor innocent humans of Sarenthill turn to when a riot breaks out? Where will they seek comfort when their own neighbours start persecuting them? A racial bias? Naturally, they will gravitate to the most powerful person they could rely on. For safety. For protection. Someone influential and with enough muscle to back the influence. You Feador, you will be their saviour. Their hero.”

With his ego stroked, Feador became more receptive.

“Give me Silvaniel, his location and the turf war ends. I promise you peace. You will be the hero of Sarenthill.”

Feador licked his dry lips and swallowed saliva. After a brief pause of trepidation, he finally spoke.

“Let us say, It has come to my knowledge that a certain group of knights to whom I rented one of my warehouses are holding the said lawyer in custody. Does that information guarantee me the safe return of Loshan?”

“It is either Loshan along with the title of a hero or neither. They are like a twin deal. Sadly, that is how rigid things are right now.” I answered.

Feador’s eyes looked at the dirt-filled floor, thought wandering around the uncertain fate of his son and the devils with whom he cut a deal and the demon who stood in front of him, offering another. Tied between those two opposing forces, the life of his son.

“They are forty hardened Knights. Silvaniel is guarded every moment.” He slowly let it slip-on.

“What about entrances?”

“All heavily guarded.”

“Then the sewer entrance, the hidden trap door,” I grimaced.

Feador rubbed his fingers and inhaled a deep long breath.

“There is, but locked and guarded. That would be their escape route with the box, should things fail,” explained Feador.

They have the box and it is still in Sarenthill. I admonished myself. There are pieces of the puzzle still missing. I need to unravel more.

“Even with an army, you will not be able to rescue Silvaniel,” he gave a sad smile, “At the first sign of intrusion, Silvaniel’s life is forfeit and the box would be smuggled through the sewers.”

“Then why wait?”

Feador just gave a shrug.

“Why still hold Silvaniel and the box in the same location. The city is on high alert, So they wait on smuggling Silvaniel out. But why wait for the box to be smuggled out. Should have been an easy task,” I pondered loudly,” unless, they are amassing outside the city walls.”

Feador shift uncomfortably, he stared expectantly towards the only door, serving as his means of relief.

“So when is it?”

“Tomorrow, that is when they are planning to get the box out. Something in their plan changed. They wanted to get the box out of the city the moment they procured it. But something happened, their forces got butchered. Now they are holed up, waiting for their reinforcements.”

“Ah yes, potentially got butchered in a bog, if memory serves me right,” I commented much to the surprise of Feador.

“Here is what you are going to do, my good man,” I instructed while my fingers twitched along with the handles of the dirk and tuck, “You will go in and open the trap door to the sewers. The rest is, how do I put it, not your concern.”

“I cannot, they do not trust. I would be watched. I cannot step foot in.” stammered Feador.

“Which district is the warehouse located in?”

“Tanners quarters.”

“Then claim that you have to inspect the cellar for some sewage blockage. The neighbours have been complaining and if you cannot placate them, they will inform the city council. Expect a visit from a surveyor of the city council with city guards in tow.”

Feador, bereft of any alternative, sighed in resignation.

*****

“We have bigger troubles coming our way.”

My voice conveyed my urgency.

Justiciar Celerim and Taltil, stood to attention from their hiding place the moment they saw me rush.

“Why? what did you find?” Celerim asked, glad to be rid of the boredom of waiting while I was away on gathering information.

“We need to rescue Silvaniel today. Tomorrow,” I bit my tongue, not to reveal the smuggling plan for the box, “might be a bit too complicated. They are expecting some reinforcements.”

“So where are we raiding? I will assemble the gate sentries and the city guards,” enthusiastically said Celerim.

“This requires a touch of subtlety. You rush in and Silvaniel gets his throat slit. I convinced Feador, to open the trap door, Taltil and I will infiltrate first. Once we secured Silvaniel, you can come with the guards.”

“There must be more than one guarding Silvaniel?” voice Celerim with concern.

“Forty, if the estimate of Feador, tallies.”

“Too many for you to handle. I will join you,” volunteered Justiciar Celerim.

“Trust me you will have your fair share of action. Once I secure Silvaniel, they would try to break through me, to overwhelm us. It would be a matter of moments, even I cannot survive such a torrent of attacks. You have the bigger responsibility. Rush in fast or else you will find our corpse.”

Celerim seems mortified by my casual explanation involving my own demise. I gave the young elf a knowing smile.

“Now you know what is at stake and why I need you with the guards.”

Celerim, in response, stretched his legs, warmed himself and made a simple hand to chest salute, the highest form of acknowledgement of authority that a high-elf would ever show to a non-high-elf.

“Good, Silvaniel is being held at Feador’s Tanner’s quarters warehouse. Assemble and wait for my signal outside.”

“What would that be?” questioned Celerim.

“Just anything out of the ordinary. You will know it. I leave the call to you.” saying that I urged Taltil to move.

*****

The pungent odour and the filth barely deterred the resolution that Taltil bore as she marched through the sewers. Filth, in various stages of decay, drifted leisurely through, unchallenged by their surroundings. Sewer rats the size of a small dog, with blood-red gleaming eyes considered us for a while before scraming away. One of the advantages of being a drow, I needed no help from a fire source inside the sewers. My eyes saw everything clearly. Taltil, though stumbled, could still find her way around the dark. Might have something to do with the goblin physiology since their ancestors were mostly cave dwellers.

Twice, we were accosted by dire rats. The size of a small pony. Taltil withdrew to a safe distance at the sight of the monstrosity. With twin blades in hand, I spun to action. The dire rats were used to hunt smaller creatures. Not used to fighting intelligently. A few blows were exchanged and then the first blood was drawn. Not my own. A few more meetings of steel against the claws and one fortunate slash found its mark. Another deep slash across the front limbs. Sensing their imminent defeat and the futility of the fight, the dire rats retreated.

Our final destination, a small wooden door protected with metal frames awaited. Taltil stood her ground, indicating that we have reached our target. Big beady eyes looked at me expectantly with apprehension.

“Taltil, you will wait here. wait for my return,” I ordered.

“Mistress, you will return this way?” she quipped.

“That is the plan. For, if things go according to how I planned. Once I get to Silvaniel, they will try to get past me and when they realise they could not, they would try to escape through the tunnels with the box. Do not engage. Once Silvaniel is safe with Celerim, I will pursue them here. Celerim has only one interest. Silvaniel. We have two priorities. Silvaniel and the dwarven puzzle box.”

If the goblin had any reservation about the plans, she kept her opinions to herself and nodded her big head in agreement.

After an enduring long moment, the door nudged open for a tiny fraction and then stood still. Feador has kept the first part of his bargain. Now to see if he betrayed me or not.