“Aunt Rillie,” stammered Savvas, “Delyn, she led a contingent of Sequestered Conciliators and brought back Celerim.”
“She led what?” I could not conceal the sudden surprise.
“A bunch of new bloods. No one knows who they are,” stated Savvas apologetically.
Of course, no one will know who they are. That is the point of a Sequestered Conciliator. Their grim faces, hidden behind their priced ebony helmets. It is this element of unfamiliarity and alienation that makes them effective and scrupulous.
“And they follow her diligently?” My curiosity was piqued and I would have it sated. After all, Celerim is back. I could focus on other priorities.
“How did she procure their services?” I continued with my barrage of questions.
“I care not,” snapped back Savvas with ire,” Look Aunt Rillie, I do not care if she promised them the whole world or made them swear fealty to her. Cel, I worried about his safety and he is back. I would have gladly signed a contract with any Arch Fiend if it meant bringing him back safely.”
So, that is how it went. No Arch Fiend, just Delyn.
“What did you swear in return?” I asked.
“She could not possibly lead the Sequestered Conciliators for a nobody,” defended Savvas with a fervour which dropped gradually till he struggled to articulate, “So she made me swear.”
“And?” I kept my arms crossed in front of me. With Delyn there is always more.
Her claim was logical and expected. With my exile, Savvas is her only immediate family. She could command the Sequestered Conciliators if there was a threat to her immediate family.
“She convinced the High Archoness to disown and disavow him. Instead, Delyn announced our engagement,” explained Savvas, “I am not sure how but she even managed to convince Celerim to renounce his position as a Justiciar.”
“What leverage did she have on him?” I could think of one, but I don’t think Delyn will stoop so low to use Savvas as a bargaining piece.
“She can be persuasive,” answered Savvas with a shattered voice.
His concern Celerim eclipse all other events.
“He shrivels under my touch as if a thousand poisonous centipedes crawled under his skin. When I hold him, he is emotionlessly stiff. It is Cel but he is wearing new face. Face that I never fell in love with.”
A cold evening wind blew. Not the cool, calming sort, but a harsh one. The sort that made children grind their teeth in sleep.
“I could no longer bear it, so I suggested that he come to the surface. The sun, the blue sky, the wind while riding Ryleval. I thought it would bring his spirits back. Unfortunately, he is still lost. Then I heard about the hunt and I knew that you survived Arlond. You would have either evaded them or would forge alliances to breakthrough. That is how I came to knock on the doorstep of these Orcs. Urganza was more than willing to help.”
Orcs may be all about repaying debt, but if my memory serves me right, the last two times we met, I did not do anything to earn such an honour. She has her own motives then. Her help is anything but altruistic. In due time, she will reveal her needs. They always do.
“Is he here then?” asked Lyria.
“He blames the drows, he blames our house and most of all he blames you, Aunt Rillie. Despite my begging, he left promising to meet me in two days,”
“Rils, take the time to recuperate. Celerim tells me stuff that even Arylinwe has no knowledge of. Let me go and talk with him,” offered Lyria.
I was more worried about Savvas to ask who Arylinwe is. Savvas grabbed every opportunity to work his charm and guile on those who he meet. For him, to ignore Lyria meant that something drastically altered within Celerim.
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Was Celerim merely seeking solitude from the horrors that he witnessed? or was there more to his behaviour?
“Rils,” Lyria’s voice brought me back from my thoughts.
“We should pay our respect to Urganza first,” she said pointing to the still silent and waiting Tharkas.
With the promise of meeting with Savvas at dinner, I extracted myself from his company. However, I left the goblins with Savvas. He seemed to be in distress and they could provide some distraction.
*****
Tharkas led the way through a freshly erected wooden palisade. Inside, a bunch of large communal tents sprung without any particular order. Communal tents might even be a misnomer for they were just large layers of thick leather, stretched over wooden poles. At some places, haphazardly cut rocks were piled to form a column, providing additional support. Considering the terrain the orcs found themselves in, I could only marvel at their feat to procure wood.
My initial assumption of a makeshift refugee camp dissipated away as Tharkas led us further. More structures made of stone sprung up. A forge, an animal pen and even something that appeared to be an infirmary loomed. Occasionally, a shout or greeting of familiarity was directed at Lyria who simply returned the gesture in kind.
Lyria whispered to Tharkas who simply nodded and walked a few paces ahead of us.
“I cannot believe Arylinwe disowned Celerim,” Lyria openly voiced her opinion once Tharkas was out of earshot.
“In the absence of Celerim, having his own family disinherit him and announcing his engagement was the optimal solution to make him a part of her family,” I defended despite my rising concern, “though I must insist, it was rather ruthless of her to convince parents to disown their son.”
“Abandoning their own children, huh?” Lyria clicked her tongue with venomous spite, “Delyn did learn well under the wisest tactician.”
Her usage of the word wisest was not in its intended form.
I sighed in submission. Now, Lyria has one more reason to be angry with me.
“Is family just a temporary alliance for you?” accused Lyria, “Only to be bound and dissolved as the situation dictates.”
Her words were like a heavy punch to the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. With my mouth clenched, I walked in silence offering no explanation. There was none to provide.
An awkward silence permeated between us. The sort of silence that made me wish that I could exchange it for the jabs of a thousand enemies.
The sounds of clashing weapons and controlled shouts nearby broke the palpable tension between us. We were in an open field with a host of armoured Orcs. In their centre, with her arms clasped firmly behind her back and neck thrust forward, stood Urganza observing the exercise.
As we approached, her eyes held a hard squint and then she jogged towards us.
In a voice, full of excitement, she uttered, “You have once again resisted the lullaby of the grave.”
“Forge Marm, I welcome your presence,” she turned towards Lyria and greeted her in a polite composed tone.
Urganza, wordlessly questioned by raising her eyebrows.
We exchanged troubled glances with one another. She wants to know about our relationship.
Are we acquaintances? Friends? Lovers? A family?
“She is someone I met when I was young,” answered Lyria after much deliberation.
Is that how she wants to define us now?
Her words uttered without any malice but with indifference, cut deep.
Oblivious to the implication of Lyria’s words, Urganza violently yanked a cord around her neck, snapped the cord and held the content. White ivory teeth, covered on the broad end by a silvery enamel dangled from one end of the cord.
“An oath upon the tusks of my brother. Honour it and I will repay the debt,” declared Urganza.
Her eyes shifted between the tusk and my face. She wants me to take it. A sign of our covenant.
“What do you need of me?” I asked.
“The Storm Lord bends a knee to the One-Horned Warlord. Wise, maybe the council of his shamans, but that is not our way.”
Lyria stirred uncomfortably. The talk of war further darkened her sour mood.
“The Storm Lord hopes to lead the stone-cleavers through treacherous times but the One-Horned Warlord has other plans. Even as the Storm Lord swore fealty, the Warlord’s vile necromancers still defile. The bones of our forefathers should rest in peace, not wield a weapon again, not fight a war that is not their own. In order to save the present, the Storm Lord doomed our future and our past.”
"If it is the future of your clan that you were worried about, here is what you should do,” I stated, “Separate your clan into two factions, one led by the Storm Lord and another by you. That way irrespective of the outcome one of the factions will survive”
Lyria coughed under her breath mockingly.
“Not agreeable,” Urganza slapped the back of her hand on her palm signalling her unwavering resolve, “That is a fate worse than death, worse than being raised by those vile necromancers. Fighting your siblings in the opposite camp, in a war that is not your own. That is not a fate I would condemn my clan to. I will travel north, meet with the Storm Lord and challenge him. Help me win the duel and I owe you a debt of a lifetime.”
Should I have Theko point a mirror, blinding the Storm Lord during his duel?
Or perhaps a slow paralysis poison, the night before?
Even hold his consort hostage?
The possibilities are limitless.
“Rylonvirah, help me win this duel,” Urganza then added the impossible clause, “honourably.”
No one is more adamant than an orc and no orc is more adamant than Urganza.