Talus took one small step which was still a huge margin, considering his tall frame, then, knelt down, one knee bent and with fingers clenched, fists resting on the ground, head bowed, he presented himself in a manner as unthreatening as possible. If I were still the Matriarch, this would have been where I am expected to ceremoniously declare him as my champion.

A soft ethereal green glow filtered through the eye-slots of his helmet. Then, he spoke. His voice, undoubtedly masculine and highly formal, yet devoid of accents or even intonations propelled by a sliver of emotion, held the rich timbre of a vesper.

“I submit my greetings co....”

Lyria’s thunderous clap cut in, swamping his words, drawing attention from all and the silence of Talus.

“Just call her mother or mam,” teased Lyria beaming a subtle knowing smile aimed at me. If she meant to thaw my heart, she just succeeded.

All assembled eyes of High-Crag Hold, soldiers, goblins, pugilists, werewolves and druids, held me with utter mirthfulness further consolidating the enjoyment for Lyria.

Cast into a rumourous maelstrom swirling around, I did what anyone thrust suddenly with an adult son would do. I tried to ignore the huge metal-clad mountain perched in front of me. Subscribing to the wistful hope that steering clear of him, providing him with his own space is the optimal path to building a good rapport with him, I steered clear.

The glow behind his helmet swayed towards a dimmed uncertain orange and then flickered for a few quaint heartbeats, before returning to the brilliance of a dazzling green.

“I submit my greetings, gracious mother.”

With those words, his open acknowledgement laid bare, I could not prevent the awkwardness from surging inside. Why must he be so hasty? Normal people do not walk up to strangers, abandoning modesty and with the dearth of inhibition, call stranger their mother publicly.

Like the liberation of a dislodged wedge, all cogs suddenly fell into space. Chuckling maddeningly to myself, I said, “Well played Lyria. You really got me this time. It is Colby with whatever it is called, kinetic projection control and who is that brilliant ventriloquist that you sniffed out here?”

Hearing his name, Colby slowly slipped out from the iron grip of the druid crones. He held a smug grin, exposing a mouth with a few absent teeth -- courtesy of Inga. “I did design him but he is one of a kind. He thinks and decides for himself.”

“Right,” I uttered sarcastically, letting the cynicism guide my words, “so it is a simple directive you gave to the golem, but where is the ventriloquist?”

The lights in Talus’s eyes shimmered to a deep crimson colour of hurt. “Is a comparison to a Golem, the reasonable expectation of my existence?”

Not just a ventriloquist but one with an identity crisis.

“You have proven your worth,” I proclaimed in a loud voice for all, “now come out, Ventriloquist. I am impressed by your skill. Reveal yourself soon and I might be tempted to award you.”

“But, there is no ventriloquist.” Colby stamped his feet and kicked dirt in throngs of his usual temper tantrums. A few unfortunate splats sullied Inga, earning him, her dark glower. The courage of petulancy, at once abandoned Colby, forcing him to seek comfort behind the crowd of druids.

Setting aside my own misgivings about bringing a cane to a child, it was a relief to know that there are those who he feared.

“Colby was simple with his explanation,” Lyria spoke over the low din of the crowd. “Talus is self-aware. He is sentient.”

“You breathed consciousness into wheel and cogs?” The words spilled, unfiltered and fast. Only the subtle tightening of her jaw and the barely perceptible squint of her eyes gave any sign that I uttered something supposedly adverse.

“Arlene, show Talus around the Hold.” I wrenched my focus away from Lyria for an instant and set them upon the Ranger.

Talus remained motionlessly still. It was difficult to get a read on him.

“Merowyn, Rodo will see to the Viridian Dawn Rangers, settled. Merowyn, once you have rested sufficiently, find me. We have much to discuss.” With those words, I extracted myself to usher Lyria for a private conversation.

*****

Swiftly crossing the company of soldiers while responding to a few loud greetings and salutes, I finally found Lyria, leaning with her back against the well-abused wall of the inn.

“I suppose it falls on me to tell you how insensitive your comment was,” she began with a solemn voice, correcting and accusatory with every deliberate pause.

“Could we do this somewhere more private?”

Extending my hands, I gently tugged her in the direction of the inn, but her feet, firmly rooted to the ground, refused to budge.

“I have spent my time too long in solitude that I lack the ability to sense the needs of my partner. My acts, at times, are spontaneous and unbidden. I am sorry, Lyria.”

“Actually, you do have the prowess to read others, Rils.” Her voice stooped dangerously low, suppressed and contained. Only her phantasmal strength of will yoked her own emotions, swirling fumes from a boiling cauldron, from gushing forth.

She took a pause to blink a lonely tear drop away and continued. “You choose only to focus on parts that would further your own goals, in providing you a keen edge during negotiation or to manipulate others for your own nefarious ends.”

“Those words were uncalled for.” I felt my own ability to reign my sentiments, faltering. The relentless will that Lyria showed, I lacked. “I apologised to you. I am trying to better myself. You know me well enough to realise that accepting my own misgivings and acknowledging them before another is not easy for me. So you should know how difficult it was for me to cast aside those shackles to apologise to you.”

“I grew up as the princess of a great house and I wielded its power as a matriarch for too long. Humbly accepting my own mistakes was never in my blood. I am used to commanding people, to expect them to sense my mood. Yet, I am forcing myself because ....”

A heavily marked silence roamed between us, forming an impenetrable barrier to the cheers from the Hold Square.

“....because you are worth abandoning every former self of me. Of all my past perversions and of every bond from my previous life.” Perhaps, not Delyn or Savvas. Those bonds are interwoven with the very fibre of my existence.

Lyria stood staggered by my words, then her expression softened and the soft glow slowly returned to her eyes.

“Come Lyria,” I tugged her harder, “Love and faith alone cannot light the path of our relationship. We have both grown apart. Let alone for too long; to fester in our own misery. I never knew your past. Never prodded. Foolishly believed that your past mattered not before our mutual love.”

“So did I.” Lyria gave one of her pain-blanketing smiles, a thinly veiled attempt to comfort me. Or to comfort herself.

“We should have had this conversation, a while ago.”

Lyria still resisted my attempts to usher us to privacy. Her eyes darted like trapped swallows from me to Talus. “Need to keep an eye on him. Cannot leave him alone.”

“Arlene is my trusted lieutenant. In her hands, Talus is safe.” I said assuringly.

“She is a child herself.” Lyria noted and with a mirthful wager continued, “and with this attitude how did you manage to raise Delyn again?”

Even though Lyria’s comments were made with good spirits and intentions, her words did bear the burning sting of a scorpion. Probably, because, it was true. The recent closeness of Lyria awakened slumbering sentiments assumed long dead, and the drowning embrace gave birth to a new perspective.

I had abandoned Delyn. Even long before my exile. Emotionally unavailable, I unknowingly placed the burden on Savvas. Letting him be the sturdy wall for her tender emotional vine to grow. All the while, he was a child himself.

“Rils.” Lyria’s voice dragged from the bottomless pool of gloomy self-loathing.

Muttering silent gratitude to Lyria, I composed myself. “I mean, Arlene is fairly competent. She had seen her fair share of combat and together we have slaughtered a few hundred.”

Lyria laughed. A pearly white tendril of wispy smoke, almost magnificent and breathe taking, surrounded her with each instant.

“Tell me Rils, do you measure maturity on a mass-murdering scale?”

For once, Lyria was right. Well, she is always right.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Joining her in the shared moment, our eyes met and undiluted vulnerability roamed behind those bright silver-grey eyes, urging me to embrace her with all I have.

The moment would have been sublime, even defining for us, were it not for the lithe footsteps of a half-elf Ranger intruding brashly.

*****

“May I have a word with you?” As if her request was a disclosure, without a moment to spare, Arlene continued. “Merowyn’s presence here is detrimental.”

“Where is Talus? You were assigned to watch over him.”

The susceptible tenderness in Lyria’s expression was gone, replaced by spousal mischief. She rolled her eyes in an I-told-you-so way.

“I would not worry. Theko is with him.” The last syllable barely left her when Theko lazily strolled by -- alone.

“What did you do with Talus?” I shot him a burning glance.

Theko winced in shock but soon gained his orientation and shrugged, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Taltil is with him. Taltil has plans.”

I could only take solace in the fact that at least they have fulfilled the basic criteria required by officers. Delegation!

At the distance, Talus stood abjected, alone in the middle of a clearance made by the soldiers. Taltil hawked close by, shouting to the gathered. Her words were drowned in the din of the crowd, yet her vivid gestures painted the image clearly. With his eyes gleaming to mercantile prospect, Dar lingered a few paces behind, attention trained Taltil. They both found the opportunity to make coins, with betting matches.

Taltil moved around briskly, eluding taunting words promising glory and coins, yet, Talus’s impressive frame, crafted purely of alloy, with arcane energies for bloodlines, deterred even the impulsive of them all.

Arlene cleared her throat and held a thorny scorn at the direction of approaching Merowyn. “Merowyn, if you want to say something, please feel free to say it to the commander. Don’t let my presence bother you. Ignore me, as if I am not here.”

At her words, gloom evacuated the glow from Merowyn’s expression. Only the consummate training of a hardened warrior prevented him from sinking deeper into the swampy rejection in her callous words.

“I was hoping to have a conversation with you, alone,” Merowyn spoke with gaze trained on Lyria, uncertain of the trust he should extend. “There is something else of importance to your ears, Commander.”

“There are no more secrets between Lyria and me. I will personally vow for Theko. As for Arlene, I leave it to your discretion.”

“There was a lone dark elf assassin in the fray, intending to take the Overlord’s life. I thought you should be made aware.” Merowyn shifted his weight from the flat of his foot to the tip, swaying uncomfortably. His demeanour was easy to read. His fear had more to do with the safety of Arlene than he would let on. At least not in her presence.

“The games of Dark Elf Houses,” I scoffed off his worries. “Urganza is a formidable opponent. A single Dark Elf Assassin is not something she cannot handle by herself.”

“There is a reason to be concerned,” countered Merowyn. “By all reports, the lone dark elf was fairly disturbing. The Overlord, despite the overwhelming number, forced the Paladin Herald on the defensive and even held her ground against the Grand Paladin Champion and the angels summoned. But the old Dark Elf was alone, and, yet forced her to stumble.”

“Exaggerated reports are what they are,” I noted dismissively over the concern oozing out of Merowyn, “Even my nephew Savvas, the greatest duellist of the Dark Elves, could only match Urganza on equal grounds. Forcing her is even beyond him.”

“You may choose not to believe me, but I cannot dismiss the witness of multiple origins. The Dark Elf’s skill with the twin-bladed scimitar was unparalleled.”

Altonarrak! No meddling Dark Elven Houses, but the involvement of ascendants is disquieting. That made everything a lot easier and far more complicated.

“Rils, Why would...”Lyria considered her next words with a slow deliberate pause, “...the Wraith of the Tempest Brigade involve himself in petty disputes. Was he unaware of Urganza’s alliance with us?”

“I know not, Lyria. Anything involving Alton is sinister and shadowy.”

“Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Now that he is here, seek him out. Explain and he will not turn you down.” Sensing her words failing to penetrate the stubborn barrier that I erected around myself, Lyria lowered her voice, pleadingly, and added. “I know how you feel about him, but he has been anything but just to me. Perhaps, this is a chance to start new.”

“And while we are at it, do you also want me to invite him to preside over our matrimonial vows?” I almost snarled, losing control of my anger again.

“Lyllanthras is bidding for his ascendancy and who better to counter him than an ascendant. What one seeks, the other already wields it. You could use a powerful ally.”

“Involving Alton will bring a whole new set of problems. Ascendants have their own game and I refuse to be roped into their petty struggles.”

Conveying the finality in my tone for Lyria to not prod the theme again, I prepared myself for the more demanding question. “Merowyn, if Alton targeted Urganza, I am interested to know how she survived?”

“She did not.” Merowyn felt a heavy stone lodged in his throat and he stumbled with words. “This is where every news contradicts one another. Some say, he willingly withdrew after commanding some powerful demon to spirit away the Overlord’s wives.”

“Unlikely. Only a fool would summon demons in the presence of Cyrene.”

Accepting my explanation without a shred of scrutiny, Merowyn continued. “Some say, he respected the valour of Overlord in holding against multiple opponents and retreated in honour”

“A romanticised version for poets and artists." I dismissed."Honour and Chivalry are meaningless sentiments to Alton.”

“There is another unpopular rumour that the Overlord cowardly withdrew to save her own life,” uttered Merowyn, staggered by his own words in disbelief.

“Urganza would never abandon. Those are lies spread by spineless charlatans to discredit the orcs,” uttered Lyria fiercely, openly sharing the opinion of Merowyn.

“Then there is one other report.” Merowyn wrestled against hesitation. Trepidation filled the pause between his words. “The human wife asked the Overlord to withdraw. Then she summoned a powerful demon to aid them. But others claim that the demon appeared to whisk both the Hearth Mistresses to a demon realm.”

“Where are Antilorwe and Cyrene, now?”

“No one knows. The Overlord is in grief at the loss of her wives. She had abandoned the undead threat and is now devoting her efforts to rescue them.”

At the far distance, in the square, amid loud cheers, Finn threw a heavy pouch, clanking with the jingling sounds of coins, towards Taltil as he stood to challenge Talus. The expression on the young noble’s face was anything but serious. It reminded me of the time when Savvas first saw a rock salamander -- full of amazement and wonder. More cheers erupted as Finn slowly reached out and touched Talus, the touch of a child receiving their favourite toy. Not that of a warrior facing an opponent.

In contrast, only dreary silence invaded our small group. The searing question, that bothered me for the greater part of the winter, of Cyrene’s absence, was now answered and only more perplexing facts stood in front of me.

“Urganza did not just marry those two, she, in fact, made them her Hearth Mistresses.” Ignoring the confused glare that everyone cast, Lyria continued, drawing from her vast experience of living with the orcs. “The Overlord may command the Ashen Bulwarks and Dusk Reavers but the Hearth Mistresses have their own domain of authority. By making them Hearth Mistresses, Urganza ensured their protection by the orcs.”

“If you put it that way, whatever those three stumbled upon during the negotiation, forced them for further investigation. Sensing the dire threats that lay in ambush, Urganza took them as her wives as a measure of protection.”

“As surreal and far-fetched as it might sound,” Arlene finally spoke, with determination, “the fact that those high-nosed elves attempted to corner them, makes your conclusion all the more plausible.”

An eerie scream, followed by roughly strewn words of repute that would make a working whore blush, reverberated through the thick walls. Lying sprawled on the ground, Maapu slowly lifted himself. While most avoided the luring bet of surviving Talus for a set period of time and a few risky souls who tried and failed, only Maapu thought that he could win. Humiliated, the hobgoblin screamed profanities, urging whoever hiding inside the armour to come out and decide the outcome, flesh on flesh.

“Since Antilorwe is no longer working for Lord fancy-titles-none-asked-for, the support of Sarenthill will fall through. So, do we will still have any incentive to guard these crumbling walls?” asked Arlene.

“Where else could we hide?” I retorted forcing Arlene to wince away. I felt the Ranger curse herself for even probing the issue. “There is no Fort Halcyon. The humans and the High Elves are on the precipice of an all-out war. The orcs are in disarray. If the horde breaks through, even the Sea Elves would be forced to bring their Armada to Valteburg.”

“The Cambion Warlord, surely cannot raze everything from here till the kaeril desert. There are others who will resist him.” The wistfulness in Arlene soon gave way to desperation saturating her tone.

The dwarven shieldmaiden cheered jubilantly, soon joined by the pugilist and then the werewolves. Inga finally succeeded, where others failed -- by challenging Talus to a drinking competition. Talus acceded to defeat, obviously lacking an intake orifice. His own definition, not mine.

“Now would be the optimal time for the Cambion Warlord to attack.” I slowly added, with my steady gaze still transfixed on the shining frame of Talus. “The Lands beyond Narris Ford is scorched. So, his vanguard would be undead, commanded by a very powerful Arch-lich.”

Lyria gave me another of her immaculate smile and teasingly complimenting me, completed the rest. “And, our son is fully immune to necrotic spells.”

“I will take Talus and a select few with me to prepare an ambush at Narris Ford.” Turning to Arlene, I took a moment to collect my thoughts. “You are free to select your own unit to scout the situation in Fort Halcyon.”

“Why?” asked Arlene defiantly. Her mood, sullen from being excluded from the centre of the action, made her annoyed.

“Should it come to retreat, that would be our closest option to fall back. So I need to know the state of Fort Halcyon.”

*****

With our tasks defined, the time came for our small group to scatter for preparations, Lyria called to Arlene.

“Should you, by chance, meet the Wraith of the Tempest brigade, do not attempt bravado,” cautioned Lyria.

Arlene pouted. Her overtly projected sense of self, almost bruised from underestimation, would not accept humility. “I am more than capable with a blade myself.”

“No, you are not. Not against him.” Lyria’s expression was one of soft warmth and care, ignoring the callous words of the Half-elf with incredible patience. “I hope not, but if you are targeted by him, do not fight.”

“Am I supposed to just low down my bow and accept death?”

Lyria ignored the venomous strike of Arlene’s retort and with the patience of an ancient mountain, replied. “Should it come to that, appeal to him. Just mention that you are as close as a daughter to us; that your death will fill Rils with grief and bring her uncontrolled wrath upon him.”

“This sounds like a childish solution like my father can beat your father,” Arlene grumbled under her breath but yet made it audible enough to be heard. Eventually, realising that she would not win against the firm resoluteness of Lyria, Arlene left with heavy stamping steps.

*****

Watching her lithe form disappear swiftly among the crowd, Lyria looked around cautiously to ensure that our tiny pocket of privacy remained undisturbed. “Rils, do you think your father would target Arlene?”

“I doubt that, but I can only guess Alton’s motivations. But Lyria,” I finally allowed my tired voice to seep through, and revealing my vulnerable form to her, I proceeded further. “Angels, demons and Ascendants all in the same fight. Those three found themselves in the locus of some converging events and it is only going to get worse.”

Lyria remained silent. Her lips pressed ambiguously in response.

“I can only hope that claiming her as an adopted daughter would provide her with ample protection.” Though, deep down in the dark recess of my heart, the terrible knowledge that our thinly veiled attempt would only elicit its own threat, lurked stealthily.