With only the bare minimal break to restore our stamina, we pushed through the next day and night. Though on multiple occasions, Merowyn placed his professional reputation as a consummate leader of the Rangers, the threat of the horde encroaching kept us motivated to move. We marched with the knowledge that a full proper rest awaited once we crossed Dawnmire under the watchful protection offered by Maapu and his stationed Ogre Rock Hurlers.

When finally we reached Maapu, the almost hobgoblin tapped the ground with his maul, eliciting a cheerful ovation from his Ogre Rock Hurlers, inciting a hero’s welcome for our tired bones. But his cheerfulness and bravado soon vanished, and his eyes darkened as he soon learned of Theko slaying a wyvern and mounting its head.

“If I were there, Virtos Bend would have never fallen.” Maapu’s eyes darkened further. “I would have slew ten wyverns.”

“I am sure you would have,” responded Taltil sarcastically, an emotion that was wasted on Maapu.

Theko only shrugged at the comment.

“Maapu,” I interjected, “I am sure you will get your chance to prove your valour soon.”

The hobgoblin leader only grumbled, mutely fearing my wrath.

After the night’s dinner, I summoned a small gathering. Under the pale moonlight, grim faces gathered around a small campfire, each awaiting my instructions.

“Captain Hilam,” I addressed the battle-weary man first, “once we reach the Hold, I want you to immediately organise a party to lead the wounded and civilians those who wish to depart till Fort Halcyon.”

“But the Fort is lost,” said Captain Hilam.

“And, your point being?” My response raised a few surprised eyebrows.

“Surely, we cannot abandon the wounded in the wilderness near Fort Halcyon,” said Captain Hilam.

“What else would you propose, Captain Hilam?” Frustration spilled into my voice. “Lead them till Sarentill. With the disappearance of Antilorwe, Sarenthill has closed its gates, both to the war effort and to refugees.”

Captain Hilam looked at his counterpart from Westerleygates, half-expectantly and half-apologetically, expecting the man to come to defense, but Captain Jorrel’s lips were tightly pursed.

“Lady Wysteria is almost a captive in her own city, so there would be no assistance in Westerleygates either.” I continued over the still silence. “Your own Baron Beoric is still recovering and I am sure no help would arrive from Ellisinore. Zelaphiel would have ensured that.”

“Perhaps, you could send a missive to the new Orc Overlord,” hesitantly spoke Captain Hilam. “leverage your good standing with her.”

“If Urganza wanted to rescue she would marched with her Ashen Bulwarks. If she is not at our doorsteps means she is not coming.”

Only a surreal mist, blanketed the still silence. Then the flapping of wings and the form stepped out, gliding across the hoarfrost-covered grounds.

Both Captain Hilam and Captain Jorrel’s eyes blanched, expressionless. Bright yet devoid of will.

Merowyn’s palms gripped his prized twin blades and still rooted as if encased in mold. His eyes darted fervently. Muscles twitched under his firm jaw. Throat struggled to push words, just for all his effort, he failed.

Only Taltil’s crossbow bolt sang through the permeating silence. Her efforts harmlessly passed through the mist where the form stood moments ago. Mist soon coalesced to form the figure.

“I only arrive as a messenger and as etiquette goes, please do not shoot the messenger, Scarlet Masquerade,” he spoke. The subtle charm of the blood drinker oozed in his words. “I come bearing the message of Sanguine Lord Volinaris.”

Ignoring his use of my other title, I responded, “Let me guess, Sanguine Lord Volinaris is the current commander of the One-Horned Warlord’s forces?”

“Indeed, my Lord leads the forces,” He slowly stepped in with a smirk. His twin fangs glistened in the moonlight. “I am just his humble steward tasked with an even humbler task.”

“A negotiation?”

“More,” he corrected, “Sanguine Lord Volinaris would extend an invitation for you to visit him.”

“Does the Cambion Warlord approve of this? What about The Sangunaris?” I prodded.

“Of course, it was the One-Horned Warlord’s intention,” said the Vampire, “As for The Sangunaris, such matters are beyond a simple steward to grasp.”

“And the terms?”

“Scarlet Masquerade,” hissed the vampire, “those are for my Lord to know, but be assured, contrary to popular opinions, Sanguine Lord Volinaris will not drain you dry. He only seeks to avoid needless futile conflicts. Besides, it is the wish of the One-Horned Warlord. He seeks only to make amends with you.”

“Amends for what?”

“Perhaps, these probing questions can be discussed with the comfort of the Sanguine Lord. It is the One-Horned Warlord’s wish that you be provided any demands you make during the negotiation.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Do you know why I was monikered the Scarlet Masquerade?” I asked tauntingly.

With a wide smile, the vampire responded, “Something tells me that the answer is not directly related to your question.”

“High-Crag Hold is under siege and the commander is attending a negotiation at a faraway place. Tell me, messenger.” I placed an extra intonation on the last word, letting a generous measure of my anger lace with it. “What better time to attack the hold?”

His grin never vanished. “Sanguine Lord Volinaris understands your concern and he has a proposition, to ease your heart. How about you invite Sanguine Lord Volinaris instead?”

Another laugh -- ancient like the winds that howl through the pass, bone-chilling and contortedly contemptuous -- cut through my own laugh. “Do you think she is gullible enough to invite a Vampire Lord into her keep?”

And then she stepped out. A Dark Elf. Deep red armour draped over her ancient curved form. More creases on her face than I could count. Undaunted by the presence of the powerful Vampire, she stepped out from the fog. Her old bones, gnarled like an oaken root, creaked with each step she took.

Soon, more figures followed. All women. All dark elves, clad in makeshift armour dyed red.

Raising a spindly finger at the vampire, she pointed accusingly. “Bloodsucker, whatever insect you serve, instruct that creature that he is messing with forces he dared not to comprehend.”

My eyes darted from the vampire to the newcomer. Even at the distance, the allegiance was evident. The cult of Resh’ketu. The Dark Elven goddess of vengeance.

Insulted, the vampire hissed baring his fangs. “You are not associated with the Scarlet Masquerade, crone. The courtesy I extended to her people does not extend to you.”

“You are free to try, though I suspect you will succeed,” replied the crone of Resh’ketu. “Very few would dare to even raise their hand against the High-Preistess of Resh’ketu and you were insolent enough to bare your fangs.”

With baleful eyes, the vampire appraised the High Priestess.

“Away with you, pest,” shooed the High-Priestess, “I have more pressing matters to discuss with her.”

The vampire turned to me. “Take time to consider the offer. Perhaps, in five days’ time, I shall await your response.”

The High-Priestess of Resh’ketu shooed as the vampire turned to mist.

With his departure, the High-Priestess ignored the return of normality to my companions and took a step closer. “Turn to me child,” she said.

“Child?” I repeated. “I have never been called that. Not even former Matriarch Oryllndra had addressed me that way. Not even when I was little.”

“Ah Oryllndra,” said the High Priestess with contempt, waving her spindly arms, “You would find me difficult. Do not compare me to your other grandmother.”

“Considering the fact that she did cleanse the whole cult of Resh’ketu, I am obliged to disagree in the face of staggering evidence,” I taunted her.

Only another contemptous laugh came from her. “Did she? Did she manage to do it or attempted and failed? You see us standing before you. Don’t you, child?”

Both the Captains settled on the ground. Legs folded beneath and back slumped, they abandoned their failing grasp on reality and stared emptily at the High Priestess and then back at me.

Even Taltil dared not to release another arrow at the old dark elf.

“Tell me, what do you make of this offer?” she asked.

I pursed my lips, wondering how much I should reveal to a mysterious cult dedicated to a long-forgotten dark elf deity.

The High Priestess of Resh’ketu made a clicking sound, eliciting only suppressed smiles from the other members of her cult. “Please, I care not for the petty struggles of a fool riling an army. I have bigger concerns in seeking you.”

“At the assault in Virtos Bend, the incursions were moderate at night,” I slowly revealed. “A Vampire Lord staying low at night is counterintuitive.”

“So?” she prodded desperately for an answer. Though it felt she was more interested in my analysis than the real issue.

“Because he could not. He cannot enter because another holds claim over these lands,” I said. “Perhaps, another Sanguine Lord. That would explain why he could not enter.”

The High Priestess gave a toothy grin. “Oryllndra, despite her foolishness, spared no effort in educating you properly.”

“She takes no credit for my intelligence,” I responded, somewhat annoyed.

“Did you know, long before you were born, I approached her to officially accept my goddess,” she revealed, surprising me. “She responded by rooting out our belief.”

“Understandable. If you knew her, she would not have tolerated another power, another voice not under her control. She considered it a threat to her authority,” I scoffed.

“Oryllndra was a fool,” said the High-Priestess, “We dark elves rarely worshipped. All our verbal devotions were meant to placate those powerful than us to spare ourselves from their wrath.”

I could only nod in agreement with her assessment.

“But my goddess was one of the true gods. Divines. She was a mortal. One of us. Walked among us. Took part in our plight before spreading her divine essence across.”

“You will find it hard to induct me into your cult. I am immune to fervent religious beliefs.”

“’ Not to induct her in your cult’, she says,” chuckled the High-Priestess and more mocking chuckles followed.

“Why are you here?” I asked cutting their vicious mockery.

“Your daughter slew Sinvaintra.”

“So you fear she would come after the smaller cults,” I replied, “If you believe I could offer protection, you will find that she is her own person and I have very little sway over her emotions.”

“No,” said the High Priestess, “We fear that she could try to obtain the sacred relic of our goddess. “

“If you are offering me a mercenary contract to guard a divine relic, I am sorry to disappoint you but my services are temporarily unavailable.”

‘Stupid child. We do not know the location of the relic. It is lost to us,” hissed the High Priestess.

“And besides, your fears are unfounded.” I continued, enjoying the moment to repay their mockery. “Wasn’t there a legend that any who covets your goddess’s relic would suffer her divine wrath of vengeance?”

“She is not anyone. You should be aware of it by now,” replied the High Priestess. There was fear in her words when referred to Delyn. Not just fear. This was more than fear. A deep reverence.

I laughed. I laughed loud till my belly ached. “Delyn wielding a weapon. You have gone senile in your old age if you fear Delyn would covet a weapon of your goddess. She could hardly use a dinner knife.”

The High Priestess of Resh’Ketu stood still, considering me with a sorrowful gaze. Not the kind of response one would expect, especially from someone being mocked.

“You think you know it all?” she finally spoke. Sadness mingled with pity contorted around her voice.

“Of course, what kind of mother would I be, if I did not know my own daughter well,” I replied.

“But do you know about yourself well?” She asked.

At her words, I was left speechless. Only a cold shiver of foreboding doom crept up my spine.