The way back was heavy and solemn, despite Taltil’s best effort to keep my spirits high. I screamed Celerim’s name as I willed each step. Either Celerim was far away or choose to ignore my plea. Neither the ominous smoke rising by the burning crates nor the commotion outside, the combined effort of the various inhabitants of Sarenthill, putting aside their differences in their time of need, an otherwise feat to be marvelled at, did nothing to quell the sharp stinging pain that I felt.

A loud cheer issued from the men and women gathered outside. A motley crew of gate sentries, city guards and Viridian Dawn Rangers. I was their hero and yet their respect meant nothing. Their adoration could as well be an accusatory ignominy. A wet rag was passed around to me and Taltil. A good-natured attempt by some kind hearted city guard, to cleanse ourselves of the soot and grime, which I mechanically accepted. I let those hands rub away the dirt in my face. With my strength sapped, I accepted any help offered without any protest.

My lifeless eyes peered through every single face gathered around me. None of them belonged to the one I sought.

“Celerim, where is my Celerim?” I popped the question finally.

“The Justiciar left in urgency. He has reports to deliver and more organisational issues to consider,” issued a loud gravelly voice from a tall lanky man with a well-trimmed moustache. His insignia identified him as someone from the city guards but with a higher rank. A watch captain probably.

“I need to get to the Bastion, immediately. Could you spare me a horse?” I pleaded.

“My apologies, Lady Rylonvirah. We are grateful for your bravery and efforts but we need every resource at our hand to quell the fires,” He refused with a deliberately worded apology.

“I need to see him,” I pushed the issue again. My voice was a bit louder for all to hear, placing my hope on the fact that one of them would take pity on me.

“I am sorry, Lady Rylonvirah. My hands are tied, besides you are not in good health. You should be attended by a healer or a surgeon,” refused adamantly the watch captain and glanced towards one of the nearby men.

“I don’t think that would be necessary, “ I protested, “I have been through.....” The rest of the words were caught in my throat and only an agony fuelled howl escaped my lips.

“Just a dislocation, now. it is all done. Let me bind it for a bit.” cooed a Viridian Dawn ranger. A wood-elf who reached only to my neck.

“That was sudden. Don’t you, mud elves know even the concept of consent,” I cursed.

Befuddlement from the cold shoulders of Celerim and the sudden pain muddled my control over my words.

The wood-elf’s face was graced with the same altruistic smile as if the uncivil racial slur that came the uttered was the result of the addled mind of a madwoman.

“You know, cave-elf, normally that would have put a quiver full of arrows in you,” he chuckled and the rest joined, “but for the daring hero, a friendly banter is always forgiven.”

“Please, I am sorry. I did not mean it,” I bit my tongue and apologised for my blunder, “I have been through a lot and the pain numbed my self-control.”

“No, I am graced by the apology of a hero, an arrogant cave-elf at that too. The verdant green’s blessing is upon me this day.” he gave another chuckle and waved his hands.

Meanwhile, another wood-elf deftly worked with some straps of linen bandages to bind my shoulders.

“I should leave now. Thank you,” I said.

“Before you leave,” the watch captain interrupted, “the Justiciar informed us to collect those Justiciar brooches in your possessions. Since the case is sorted, the Justicar is expected to submit those brooches back to the vault. Your belongings will be sent back to a place of your choosing. Lady Rylonvirah, I will personally deliver them. I assure you that. It is the least the city guards can do for you.”

So Celerim intends to cut every tie with me. Without the brooch, the bastion of the Justiciar is a bolted door. A fact that Celerim is aware of.

*****

Relieved of our only easy means of entry to the Justiciar’s bastion, we stood waiting outside the heavily walled bastion while waiting for someone to respond to our calls. The same young high-elf who attended on us the first time peered his boyish face after a long-enduring moment.

“Lady Rylonvirah, childe Taltil, greetings. What can I assist you both with?” said the young elf with his hands folded across his chest.

“Celerim. where is the Justiciar? It is imperative that I should speak with him,” I responded.

“I am extremely sorry, Lady Rylonvirah. The Justiciar is preoccupied. Matters demands his attention. He is busy with debriefing,” replied the elf with a polite but stubborn tone.

“When can I meet the Justiciar then?” I prodded.

“I am sorry but I am not privy to the schedules of the Justiciar. I could not help you,” he denied again.

“In that case, I will wait here. Please inform the Justiciar. He can see me at his own convenience,” I lowered my shoulder and let my hands fall.

“That is not advisable. The Justiciar has a meeting with the regional Justiciars. Then another meeting with the city council to handle the aftermath of Silvaniel’s abduction. Then another briefing with the city guards and gate sentries. Another appointment with Viridian Dawn Rangers for assignment completion. Another meeting with the city council but with the city planners this time. And finally, the Justiciar received an immediate summon from Valteburg. So he will depart soon,” responded the young attendant without thinking, with the grace of a veteran actor who had his lines well memorized.

I bit my lower lip in frustration. Celerim really wants to avoid me by all means. Have I become such a repulsive abomination?

None of the above-mentioned parties that Celerim’s supposed schedule falls were familiar to me. Nor do I have any leverage with them. But there is one interested party, a party more than willing to help me, a party who can force Celerim to share the same table with me.

After giving a very tokenistic verbal show of my gratitude to the attendant for his co-operation, I set about to the officers of Leyandur and associates.

*****

A loud ovation worthy of a grand orchestral maestro thundered through the entrance hall of Leyandur and associates as I stepped in. Every head turned in my direction. Bright cheery smiles and eyes radiated gratitude as they followed my progress towards the receptionist. The blue-eyed girl flustered as I leaned over the counter, edging closer to her face. My action had more to do with balancing my weary aching bones than a sign of familiarity. But nonetheless, she flustered.

“I would require some help,” I worded silently.

“Yes. Madam Rylonvirah. We have been informed by Barrister Leyandur to provide you with every form of assistance. Besides we are all personally indebted to you. For Silvaniel,” replied the receptionist as she shifted her weight unnecessarily, reminding herself to breathe while she held herself by the arms

“The toil of the past few days are catching up with me. Probably age is catching up to me finally. Not young as I would like to be,” I clutched the edges of the ivory enamelled wooden counter and beamed a drained weary smile in her direction, “could you kindly please direct me to someplace where I could lay my head and rest for a bit?”

The receptionist looked around excitedly as she tried to process my request and the importance it carried.

“Madam Rylonvirah, I could reserve a room for you in the best inn in Sarenthill, if it is to you liking?” She asked.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you,” I expressed my gratitude while I took a step back

“I would also get a carriage for you,” she added, obviously after she guessed my present predicament.

“I thank you for your hospitality, again,” I responded.

Even Taltil, contrary to her oblivious nature to city etiquette, hopped and finally managed to speak.

“Thanks from Grand Mistress servant,”

An empty holstered chair invited my fatigued body, temptingly. An appeal that was hard to resist in my present mental state. Not wishing to intrude upon the receptionist’s precious time, without any further exchange I settled myself on the chair.

A small moment later, the clicking of the heels on the marbled floor resounded, heralding the arrival of someone.

“Lady Rylonvirah of Aberrant Irregulars?” A mature woman’s voice interrupted.

“That would be me,” I responded as I attempted to mask my irritation at being disturbed.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Antilorwe, at your service. I lead the Sarenthill branch of Leyandur and associates,” introduced the tall high-elf woman standing before me. She was taller even for a high-elf with dark hair as dark as the pitch blackness of the abyss. A trait only rivalled in dark-elves. Prominent high cheekbones, well-sculpted in proportion adorned her facial features. A pair of peachy lips with creases on the corners of the upper lips, a sign of holding tight-lipped facial expression for an extended duration, now bore an open smile at me.

“A pleasure, “ I gave the formal answer.

“It is a pity. I never got to make your acquaintance the last time we met,” she started with an apology.

“I believe someone of your calibre will have a lot more to worry about than meeting everyone who steps through the door,” I replied.

“True indeed, but now that I was informed about your presence, I could no longer ignore meeting you in person. Though in hindsight it is overzealous of me. You are clearly in need of rest.” Antilorwe adjusted the folds of her silk blouse and fiddled with the opal stone on her jabot.

“Please, no need to excuse yourself. Besides I have nothing else to do while I wait,” I answered as I forced my face to bore the best politician smile that I could muster. Antilorwe is not a wide-eyed helpless elven lady. Diplomacy is a familiar ballroom dance for her. One that she excels. She is someone who is used to evaluating people phenomenally. A tiny smirk at the wrong moment or an inappropriate twitch of the eyes would be all the signs she would need to suspect my latent motives. I shooked myself to alertness.

“In that case, we received some information. Particularly meant for you” started Antilorwe.

She saw that befuddled expression that settled on my face and took it as a sign to explain.

“We received a contractual clause from another law firm representing the interest of some merchants guild. Since we are not officially in the employment of The Aberrant Irregulars, we were informed to hold it until you make a decision. Furthermore, we were asked to inform you that in twelve to fifteen days, your company would arrive Sarenthill.”

“There is something I would like to request from someone of your standing. Pardon me for this insolent request and you can always refuse. A lawyer of your standing would be bogged with such impertinent requests. So I can comprehend your stance should you choose to refuse.” I uttered feebly, leaning forward and looked apprehensively at the tall elf before me. My hands, which bore cuts and minor burn marks from the recent adventure, rested palms down on my lap.

“I am sure any reasonable request can be accommodated for you,” she chirped.

“You may not be aware but we are working under Valteburg protocol as of now. I would like for us to become official.” I hesitantly stated.

Her forehead furrowed, the wrinkles made deep creases across her otherwise smooth skin. After a brief moment of rumination, a small smile accompanied by a smirk crossed her face.

“We could organise something for that. I hope you are well aware that there is a significant monetary requirement, should you choose to register your company in Sarenthill. There is additionally a requirement for an aristocrat of certain high standing to vouch,” explained Antilorwe with the patience of a mother explaining to a toddler the ill-effects of playing with sharp objects,

“The notarization with an oathreeve, we will handle those formalities. Should the oathreeve choose to challenge the standing or the pre-formation of the company, we can deal with that. All things considered, I am not sure, why you would want to register with Sarenthill. There is very little economic incentive. You lose a lot in the long run,” completed Antilorwe, her most professional but somewhat biased assessment.

“As you well know, we landed a good contract and with the rescuing of Silvaniel, I will not hide, but Lady Wysteria pledged a great deal of her personal capital. So registration fee will not be a hindrance. “

“Did she?” said Antilorwe with a neutral tone that betrayed any cynicism.

“Provost Vitalia will stand before the oathreeve vouching for The Aberrant Irregulars,”

“Ah yes,” a mixture of excitement and dread danced in the words, “the good professor will stand for you.”

“Professor? I take it that you are personally acquainted with the Provost?” I tested the waters with the hope to find some means to strengthen a bond with her.

“I did have the privilege of attending morality and ethics disclosure under professor Vitalia. One of the few fortunate enough to study under the Professor. A remarkable experience.” She added.

“But not an enjoyable experience?” I said with a grimace.

“If I said yes, would you believe me?” She responded with a playful smirk.

“Definitely not,” I replied and we both laughed at our very own private jest. The sounds of her pearl-like laughter, smooth and polished echoed across the waiting hall. A laugher, that I needed for my plan to succeed. With the shared moment that we have, she would be more inclined to agree to my next suggestion.

“Could I trouble you with another personal request of mine? Normally, I would handle such affairs well on my own. But I am forced to seek help in my current condition,” I gingerly leaned back and rubbed my knuckles.

“A private request?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Yes. I was informed that the good special Investigator, Justiciar Celerim was urgently summoned to Valteburg. I was hoping, as a sign of gratitude, we could organise a small dinner for the Justiciar.” I phrased my words carefully.

“It is a wonderful idea,” she brightened, “I would send a formal invitation soon.”

“Please no formal invitations. I would prefer if it were a surprise.”

“Then a surprise event it would be,” she agreed with a twinkle in her eyes.

Our friendly banter got interrupted by the arrival of a man in a maroon red shirt and a silver-lined white vest.

“I think your coach is ready, Lady Rylonvirah. I hope the inn we selected is to your liking.” completed Antilorwe.

*****

Bewilderment accompanied by dread of isolation seared through Taltil as she realised what the inn-receptionist, a boyish youth with an amicable smile, explained. Taltil played with the knots of her belts and tilted her around, a futile attempt at delaying the inevitable while she tried to summon her courage. A stern look from me and all her bottled up courage evaporated.

“Please send someone to her room and help her with settling down,” I requested.

“I will see to it, My Lady,” politely answered the inn receptionist.

“I would also require a healer, no, a herbalist or an alchemist would do. Just some minor cuts and burns,” I added.

“I will see to it, My Lady,” responded the young man and after considering my state, he continued, “ I will also send some fresh linen bandage.”

“Much appreciated. Also don’t cut out on the services of whoever you send. Leyandur and associates will bear all expenses.”

The young man, again politely acknowledged my instructions.

Summoned by the chiming of a small silver bell, a muscular well-dressed groom appeared. A look of disappointment fell on the groom’s face when he realised that we travelled with no accidental luggage denying the need for his services.

“I will lead you to your room, Please, “ beckoned the newcomer.

We strode through the marbled limestone stairs, lined with gold-trimmed inlaid, a clear and overt display of high-elven style. Our steps clicked through the well-polished floor and died down silently giving away to the much-preferred comfort of solitude. Taltil bore a wide happy smile and toyed around with her face which reflected on the floor.

The lock of the well-enamelled door with golden inlays adorning the corners made a small precise tick sound as the groom unlocked the door. Taltil, much to her chagrin was ushered into the large room. Her trepidation to step inside soon overcame the moment she notice a huge painting of comically deformed men, elves and mythical creatures.

Certain that Taltil would enjoy her stay, I urged the groom to lead. I slipped a few coins in the groom’s hand, despite the non-existent need for his services. An action that brought profound gratitude to the humble man’s face. I ignored his words and sought comfort into the dark velvet tapestried room with a deep wine-red carpet. A huge bed for two to sleep in comfortably stood solemnly at the centre of the room, sending a silent invitation. The jade green silk blanket gleamed with a warm comforting glow in the crystal irradiated room, quietly promising me to ease my pain.

I stripped off my tattered leather armour and immediately let myself collapse into the soothing embrace of the solitary bed.

Then the pent of tears burst through the dam of self-control and I sobbed uncontrollably. Again.

*****

My memory rolled back to the dreadful day. To a long distant past, denying all my plea, resisting and breaking free of every restraint that I placed against revisiting the certain event. An event that changed me. An event, that showed me that I, too, am vulnerable and I could be weakened. I could be hurt and that I too could be reduced to a bundle of blabbering mess.

It was another campaign that demanded my attention. The attention of a house matriarch. The duergar and gnomes squabbled and my presence was expected, to maintain peace, at least is what the scribes wrote. Those who were present on that day would paint a different picture. A picture more closer but not the complete truth. I was there to bully. To twist their arms with the superior army of the drows. To protect our own interest. To force the duergar and gnomes into signing a peace manifesto. A contract that boasted a mutually assured benefit for both the parties involved and reaped profits for the peacekeepers.

Earlier, a messenger with my house arrived with my personal signet. The only one personally endorsed by a Matron to move unhindered. To approach and speak to me directly. No matter where I am.

My infant daughter has fallen ill again. Her constitution, still weak and slipping. She had been a sickly baby since her birth. I expanded my house staff to three midwives and their supporting staff. A fully commissioned herbalist garden on the surface world and two alchemist labs to support my daughters failing health. Hearing my daughter’s condition, Vangere who accompanied me in the campaign, departed mid-campaign. He had always taken a personal interest in my daughter’s health and it eased me to know that the grand alchemist is on his way to treat her. Vangere might not be a healer, and as competent as an alchemist that he is, but the biggest consolation was that Lyria was with my daughter. With our daughter.

With the illness of my daughter, the pull of motherhood was stronger than any restraining shackles cast by my otherwise enviable title. The thought of my tender baby, struggling to slumber peacefully, her tiny fingers clumsily attempting to hold, her heartbreaking cries to me, to take away her pain, to do away with whatever ailment that troubled her.

I departed mid-campaign. I did not have it in me, what it takes to resist.

I knew what to do once I reach. I would make the announcement. We will be married. Not a consort or a concubine. She would be my wife. The wife of the Matron of a Great House. She would be able to command my household, issue decrees in my name. The only living being to impose their will independently with my name. The other houses are free to try, to make her an unwilling pawn in their great games. I will face them all. For she is worth. She has proven her love for me a million times and over. I needed her. Our daughter needed her.

With the official title, even in my absence, or should I fail, or should I meet with unexpected misfortune, Lyria can still raise our daughter. Our daughter will have her mother. Someone to rely on, lean on, a guiding hand to lead her. Deep inside, purging the inner jealous demon, I knew that Lyria had a far greater bond with my daughter, one which made my own pale in comparison. For all that, she held me through, carried me through, no amount of appreciation could compensate Lyria. The power I wield as a Matriarch is all but a tiny speck of dust when compared to Lyria’s love for us.

Upon reaching my citadel, I rushed towards my daughter’s crib first. My daughter slept peacefully. A faint glowing angelic aura graced her sleeping form. Her dark locks of hair grew even darker in my absence. I slightly brushed the falling locks of hair and she woke, disturbed by my action. Her eyes held intelligence that betrayed to stay true to her age. She peered with those bright intelligent eyes. Seeking a familiar comforting presence. Finding none she settled on my face. I lifted my daughter in arms and crooned to her. She responded with a loud cry and clumsily tried to push my face away with those tiny dark tulip bud arms.

I tried in vain and failed to calm her until her wetnurse came and snatched her from my arms.

In the future, I resolved to avoid involving myself in campaigns. The dreaded knowledge that one day my own daughter might forget my face, a failure to build a bond with her, horrified me.

I sheepishly thanked the wetnurse and went out to find Lyria. To propose to her. Except Lyria vanished into thin air.

Despite my best efforts, threats at other houses, deploying all the resources that a Matriarch could, a proclamation of huge rewards for any information, Lyria was nowhere to be found.