Cheers, loud cheers that rose, echoing down the desolate pass, erupted from High-Crag Hold as we entered. Some tore their throat in jubilation. Others struck weapons on shields. A few decided on banging on the walls with their open palms as an appropriate ovation to welcome us.

The winter receded, and in the dampness caused by the melted snow, Talus’ heavy footsteps left a deep impact. Every step. Every advance left an undeniable impression. Lyria’s son led, undoubtedly, with every natural trait of a hero.

“The slayer of ten prime demons,” voices shouted in chorus, the adoration of the mob continued. Ten! I suppose rumours do have a way of spreading.

“Ten, aye.” Inga tilted her head upwards. A host of emotions flowed in her look, but mischievous mirth overwhelmed all.

“Inform the Innkeeper that I have sanctioned a barrel of the finest from his cellar -- for your brave efforts.”

“Two.” Inga bargained, strong arms crossed across her chest.

“Fine. Just keep your lips tight.”

“Aye,” replied Inga and added in a low sibilant whisper, “tighter than a halfling's coinpurse.”

Then, she sashayed away -- towards the inn.

Stifling a scoff, my gaze wandered through all the faces cheering Talus. One among them is the rat I seek. Or is it more than one?

Trust is scarce and I needed someone trustworthy to carry the task. To identify.

Thoughts wandered towards Taltil and Theko. Both held unquestionable loyalty, yet, the assignment required an analytical ability to reason. To question. Theko would accept facts as presented and Taltil might excel in collecting information but would fail short in analysis.

Maapu would bash skulls better than ask questions.

Subtlety for Arlene meant putting an arrow in someone’s neck from afar. The half-elven ranger held lofty ideals of utopian construct -- still. To dance among enemies, while wielding a smile outwardly and wielding an envenomed dagger hidden, is a skill yet to be mastered. Arlene would fail the quest.

Rodo never gave a reason to doubt his loyalty -- till now. But the alpha werewolf lacked the ironclad integrity of Arlene. I cannot place my blind trust in Rodo.

And Zaehran would miss the obvious.

That left me with the miss-begotten halfling of a spymaster for a first choice. Coins held his primary interest. While the Cambion Warlord might promise power, a harem of slaves, the ability to lord over victims, to revel in depravity without inhibitions, wealth in the form of coins was one, the High-elves had in abundance. Therrin Proudwick would rather sell his services to the High-elves than the Cambion-Warlord.

On the off-chance that should Therrin be another turncoat, there is indeed a countermeasure. Vitalia!

The fae, with her natural affinity with wind, would extract every festering secret in High-Crag Hold. She would be the ideal choice for the task.

A strong tug on my arm dragged me.

“Dark Mistress, should I prepare your room?,” asked Taltil softly.

“Lead me to Master Dar, please.”

Taltil’s eyebrows shot skywards but her lips posed no question. Then, she darted ahead and I followed.

*****

“Madame, you humble me by visiting,” said Dar, nervous smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“Glad to see you have made yourself comfortable here, Quartermaster Dar.” I ignored the offered seat. Instead opted to hoist myself over a supply crate.

“You could have summoned me. I only live to serve.” The uneasiness in his gait agitated, flaring with every moment.

The smell of salted dried meat mingled with leather and stacked wool wafted across my nostrils. The dampness in the air festered upon my skin, slowly oozing through the fabric, soaking them. Raising my thighs, I undid the crisscrossing knots holding my boots. As the boots fell with a heavy thud, my liberated feet wriggled, partaking in the offered freedom.

Dar eyed the boots for a brief moment. “Madame, I am sure there are more cozy places in High-Crag Hold for you to rest and relax.”

“Oh, I am just here for a new pair of boots and who else to request than our efficient Quartermaster,” I uttered, contortion evident in each word.

“That is high praise. I am just a simple peddlar with a minor fortune.” Dar recoiled at the hard squint and the disapproving hook formed at the corner of my lips. “Of course, all gifts of your blessing Madame.”

“So do you have a new pair of boots, Dar?”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Why do I have the distinct feeling that you did not come here for new pair of boots?”

“How about a new pair of gloves to go with it then?”

Dar wiped the sweat from his forehead. The dampness in the storage had nothing to do with his sweat. Tilting his head slightly, ever so slightly, he cast a barely noticeable glance at the pile of crates assembled behind him.

“If you could spare me a few moments, I will see if I could find anything worthy of your station, Madame.”

With the swiftness of a hunted hare seeking burrows, Dar moved quickly -- away from me. For the peddler-turned-Quartermaster, the prospect of being caged with a starved mountain lion seemed appealing at the moment.

“So Dar, tell me, what is news from the rest of the world?” I asked while my fingers drummed on the crate to no rhythm in particular.

“Madame, you jest.” The nervous laugh -- the sort that failed to reach the ears -- appeared again on Dar’s face. “My duties as the Quartermaster leaves very little time for such frivolities.”

“Must be hard missing your soul friend, Therrin?” I clicked my tongue in an exaggerated show of pity.

“A simple misunderstanding, Madame. We have been through this,” pleaded Dar. A light shiver passed through his frame. “We have only exchanged a few ales on occasions.”

Rummaging through a few crates, Dar licked his dry lips and cursed silently under his breath.

“Dar, have you decided where your loyalties lie?”

“Madame, why must you test me?” Dar gave up all pretext of combing and faced me with stone-melting innocence. “He is your spymaster. He reports to you.”

“He was supposed to report to me.” The tempered steel of a commander coated my words. “Supposed to, Dar. Supposed is the operational word here.”

“Perhaps, if you permit, I would personally venture out and seek your spymaster,” added Dar reassuringly.

“How would you track a rogue who doesn’t want to be found, Dar?”

“I do have some contacts from my days as a peddler, Madame,” replied Dar.

Wielding a wolfish smile, I licked the corner of my lips. “Then you could pass the word to your contacts on the outside. Therrin needs to be here.”

“I will immediately depart then.”

With the agility of a prowling panther, I jumped down. My fingers clasped his shoulders tightly in a vice grip, preventing him from leaving. “No need to leave. Just pass the word that his little sleight of hand is forgiven and his services are needed. He knows the consequences. He will rush.”

“Madame, I assure you, my contacts will require my personal presence as motivation.”

Sounds of approaching footsteps drew nearer. Multiple footsteps. Knowing the privacy of our conversation is almost at the end, I pulled Dar closer.

“I grow tired of this farce.” My finger slowly dug into his shoulders. Watching him wince, I pressed a bit -- making a statement. “I know you both have common contacts. Send word.”

Satisfied, I wore my boots and strode out.

*****

Merowyn extracted himself from Captain Hilam’s presence and purposefully walked towards me.

“Commander, I thought I would wait until your conversation with the Quartermaster is finished,” said Merowyn. “Arlene has not returned. Perhaps, I should seek her.”

“She is a consummate ranger. Besides Baernis and Eddyrn are with her to keep her out of trouble.”

“But she could use the extra pair of hands.” Under different circumstances, I would have found his persistence adorable. Now, it was annoying.

“You are not going to win her heart by shoving your face in front of her.”

“I understand that you have adopted her, so perhaps, can I ask your permission?”

“She is a feisty one.”

His amber eyes glowed brilliantly at the mention of Arlene’s charm. For a brief moment, I was struck by its opulence -- almost similar to Urganza’s.

“Do you think she would appreciate it if she knew that someone else brokered her hand for courtship? Or the fact that you asked someone else, apart from her for permission to court her?”

Merowyn forehead furrowed with more lines than the calluses in his palms. The rough fingers of his hands pressed against one another, kneading imaginary dough. “Perhaps, the best course is to wait for her,” acknowledged Merowyn.

Liberated from the somewhat suffocating presence of Merowyn’s obnoxiousness, I ran into Finn who waited outside Lyria’s forge. Loitered might be a better description.

“Dame Rylonvirah, a moment of your time please.”

“Could you make it quick?”

“Could I request to accompany you with your next sortie?” Finn’s youthful naivety still filled him with visions of glory while blinding him to the reality of war.

“Have you made Merowyn’s acquaintance?” I asked with my wicked grin concealed and continued. “He is the almost-champion of Asterlund’s Tourneys. A contingent of Viridian Dawn Rangers willingly follows him.”

Finn leaned closer. Filled with buoyant vigour to the brim, he asked anticipatingly, “Would he agree to train me?”

“That depends on you. Follow him, nag him incessantly. You have my support.”

Watching Finn slowly stalk towards Merowyn with determination, I wiped the smugness spilling from my face. Assured that my action will earn Arlene, her respite from Merowyn, I opened the door to Lyria’s residence.

*****

In the warm comfort of her temporary abode, soaking in the soothing scent of Lyria, I let my mind sink into the calming waters of alacrity to follow the pivotal thread of reasoning.

Talus!

Assuming, the absolute veracity in the claims of Ar’Krak and Zurin carried a simple implication. Talus did indeed sabotage the plague samples. Only two people could command Talus. Lyria, as his mother and Colby with his ability to override his directives.

Lyria would never work against my interest. However incongruent and improbable as it might be, the logical conclusion led to Colby, but there was no incentive for Colby to act -- not on his own.

The thread of deduction split into two diverging paths.

Cyrene is the only person who could convince Colby -- with moderate success. The fact that she is lost, possibly spirited away to a demonic realm, swayed towards a staggering conclusion. Cyrene is coerced by demons to indirectly manipulate the events. A probable and yet unlikely theory since Cyrene was unaware of the plan to unleash the plague.

The alternate path implied someone within High-Crag Hold, gaining Colby’s trust. Manipulating him to unknowingly act counter to my strategy.

“Rils,” said Lyria apprehensively, yanking my attention back. Her silvery-grey eyes held back a well of tears with the sheer force of will. Covered in a gloomy pall of trepidation, she stood, trembling.

It was surreal. Lyria -- who made demons cower by her very presence and Prime Demon retreat in fear -- now stood weak. Almost as if an ephemeral coil of dread shackled her, enthralling her to fear.

“We need to talk,” I said with concern. The revelation of Phaedra Cindercrest roamed horridly in the dark corners of my mind.

“You met Phaedra, isn’t it? I know. Talus informed me,” said Lyria with voice quivering, tears suppressed. “But there is something you should know before.”

I reached out, extending my hand to comfort her, but Lyria recoiled in anxiety. My touch might as well have been the kiss of a slithering serpent.

Her arms wrapped around herself tightly. Holding herself. Steadying herself. She drew a deep breath in a vague attempt to summon the courage and looked deep into my eyes.

Then she added in a solemn voice, “I instructed Talus to neutralize the plague.”

I felt everything shatter.