Back at “The Plump Goose”, the first visitor who greeted me were the Justiciars. They are faster than I expected them to respond. My plan to leave Sarenthill before getting the attention needed some improvisation. The Justiciars were easy to spot. Their attitude and the grace with which they carried themselves was evident. They moved smoothly without any clinking noise that is associated with knights in heavy armour.

The two Justiciars have forgone to wear their official helmets but still retained their surcoats with the mark of the Justiciars over their plate armour. Their facial expression was every bit proud as the symbol that adorned their surcoat. Neither of them carried any sort of visible weapon. Who in their right mind would challenge a Justiciar in their own city? or at least in a city with their huge presence. The barkeep behind them gave an apprehensive look at me as if he had something important to say but did not want to be insolent in the presence of the Justiciars. Whatever important message he had to deliver, he decided that the business of the Justiciar took precedence.

“The leader of The Aberrant Irregular, I suppose.” spoke one of the Justiciars, though his words are more accusatory than interrogatory.

“Yes, That would be me.” I declared in a defiant tone. I did not bother associating a title with them since they did not bother introducing themselves.

“Could we have a moment of your time? We would appreciate your co-operation regarding certain recent events.” The tokenistic politeness of the Justiciars showed in their statement.

“Do you wish to talk here or somewhere more private?”

“The topic of our discussions are better not left for the ears of commoners. If you would be grateful enough to accompany us to our bastion, your effort would be appreciated.”

“I would be glad to assist you in any way,” I answered with a soft smile.

*****

The bastion was every bit high-rolling in design as one would have expected. Even the simple furniture like the chairs meant for visitors was padded with velvet cushions and elegant carvings. I was ushered into a smaller room with alcoves on the entrance and two well-decorated windows for ventilation on opposite sides. So this is not an interrogation room. That is a good sign.

“Your name? Just for formality.” Questioned the Justiciar before me. He opted not to wear the traditional plate armour of the Justiciars but rather he was dressed impeccably in the official court uniform of Justiciars.

The other person in the room was the scribe. Not an interrogation but whatever said in this room with be recorded in their proceedings.

“Rylonvirah” I gave my name in a monotonous tone.

“of?”

“Nothing, Just Rylonvirah.”

“No family, clan or house association?” He uttered with a sceptical look in his eyes.

“Shorned, if that helps.” I provided an explanation.

“ah, yes. Exiled isn’t it?”

The scribe who was silent till this point cleared his throat. As if taking a cue from the scribe, the Justiciar turned his attention again towards me.”

“But what was your name before?”

I bite my tongue. Why do high-elves insist on seeing the world through their own tinted prism? Everything needs to fall into the boxes of their own construct and when things do not fit rather than abandoning their perspective, they need to hammer it to fit their gilded boxes.

“That is not how shorning works.”

“But what were you before you were exiled? You were someone. right?”

I resigned myself from arguing with the Justiciar.

“If you must, Rylonvirah of shorned from the house unaligned.“

The scribe dedicatedly noted down as if those were the words of divination.

“Could you please tell us what transpired?”

“You will have to be precise.”

“Sorry, my mistake. This is not an interrogation. We are cross-checking facts. We were informed by a Mage, Syrune by name, that some organized individuals were holding slaves in the vicinity. Slavery is a detestable act and one which we do not tolerate. The mage mentioned that you might have some prior encounter and could shed more information.”

“Sadly, I cannot provide much information on where they are holding the slaves captive.”

“And the demons they summoned?” he persisted in his questioning.

“I was surprised as well. Never thought they would bring in demons.”

“Why were they attacking you?”

The nifty question has arrived. Silvaniel would not be pleased with Justiciar’s involvement.

“I am an exiled dark-elf. Do you need to make a guess on who would be after my head? If I have to provide a list, it would a really long one”

The scepticism was still vividly displayed on his face.

“But don’t your people usually send assassins? Summoning multiple outsiders seems too much of an effort.”

“Well, probably because no assassin was willing to go through with the contract.”

The Justiciar wrinkled his forehead and squinted his eyes. The tension in the air was palpable but only for a moment. Then we both burst into laughter.

“Very well. So your past is catching up with you. We will call it that then. In the future, make sure to seek assistance from any of the Justiciars. We seek to protect the world from the influence of outsiders. You will always find allies in Jusiticiars.”

He finally gave a jovial smile. That was my cue that the meeting was over. I thank them both profusely for their time and trailed my way back to the inn.

*****

Back at the inn, Arlene was the first one to greet me. I remembered that the barkeep had something for me. So I choose to keep our conversation short.

“The good news is that we have a new assignment. Could you please let your mentor know that her help is really needed? She is expected at the offices of Leyandur and associates. I am not accepting their terms without your mentor reviewing it again and she can be critical when reviewing terms and conditions.” We both laughed and Arlene waved to me as I took my leave from her.

The barkeep was as usual behind the counter. He reached out to grab something from below as he saw me approaching.

“A well-dressed noble was looking for you. Since you were unavailable they asked me to pass on this note for you.” He spoke softly as he extended a small note.

The handwriting was elegant and the contents were short and precise. The note was from one Theodore who requested my presence at “The Gilded Curtain” in the harbour district regarding employing our services.

There was nothing suspicious about the message itself, except that we are fairly new at Sarenthill and to the mercenary business. Someone seeking out our specific presence seemed curious in itself. But since I had nothing planned for the day, rather than idling my time, it seemed a good alternative to pay a visit to the mentioned restaurant.

I took directions from the barkeep and made my way towards the harbour district.

The restaurant was not difficult to find. It was located on the main street of the harbour district. If this were an ambush, surely the location would have been some seedy dark alley bar and not a restaurant in the prime location. I still listened to the cautionary voice and loitered around the restaurant while mentally grasping the layout of the place. I made note of the two exits on the rear side, most likely a service entrance. The restaurant caters to the needs of the upper society. Most of the patrons who I observed entering and exiting the restaurant had their own carriage or were able to rent the services of one. Hardly the kind of place for an ambush.

Once I was satisfied with my surveillance, I entered the restaurant and mentioned my name to the attentive Maitre d’. After waiting for a few moments, I was politely lead to an empty table which was well isolated from the rest with a room divider. The other tables were separated far enough that we could have our conversation in private at the same time the dividers offered a measure of privacy. Theodore arrived a few moments later.

Theodore was an elder gentleman with mostly grey hair which has almost started turning pure white except for certain patches on his head. He dressed appropriately for a restaurant of such calibre yet conservative in measure. No bright colours on any piece of clothing. Most of his attire was of some shade of grey and brown. Even though he carried a cane, from his gait and structure, I was certain that he carried the cane as a fashion accessory than as a support.

“Lady Rylonvirah, please allow me to thank you for accepting my invitation,” he spoke while bearing a wide smile on his face.

“You are Sir Theodore, I presume. It would be impolite to ignore such a request.” I answered with a calm demeanour.

He took a seat opposite to me and slowly straightened himself.

“Please allow me to formally introduce myself. I am head steward for Lady Jessbeth Wysteria. Normally, my lady would have personally met with you but unfortunately, the circumstances were not optimal.” He took a pause and observed my reaction.

“So what can a humble mercenary do for such an illustrious employer?”

“I am aware that you already refused the request from our agent. But I am at liberty to delve further into details. Hopefully, you will then reconsider your decision.” As he spoke, his eyes widened and he seemed to pay attention to every action of mine.

“So Wysteria is the family that Razzia mentioned. She also mentioned that you have fallen on hard times.”

“Sadly, a true fact. With the unfortunate demise of the previous lord, the young heiress is thrust into a role too big for her age. She is barely seventeen years of age and she has to navigate the political situation. And the sharks smell the blood.” His knuckled tightened while he spoke.

“But from what I saw in Westerleygates, your Lady seemed fairly competent and you don’t seem to have any difficulties.”

“Lady Jessbeth is fairly competent but so far she has only managed to keep our heads above the water but if the situation continues we cannot survive for long,” completed Theodore.

“So what is the deal with dwarves and high-elves?”

“We are uncertain about the exact terms, but it was something that Lord Bevan Wysteria made. That was way before our times. Now, all we know is most of our assets are held. The only revenue we have is from the local lands.”

“Assets are frozen as in, for an indefinite period?”

“Not just frozen but drained to some mysterious cause. “ Theodore licked his dry lips and leaned forward.

“But Lord Bevan lived, if memory serves me right, around a hundred years ago. If he made a mistake in a deal, could it not be voided, somehow?” Now I was genuinely curious.

“Only Lady Jessbeth seems to be aware of the terms and even she is not privy to all the details. Somehow the deal with whoever he made seemed hardened legally. If there were any options, we would have tried them.” He answered with desperation clearly reflected in his voice.

I sensed that the conversation failed to make any progress.

“As you might know, We are a mercenary unit. Where exactly do our services fall here?”

“We feel that the whole deal was a charade and that our assets are not used for what they are reported as. If we could have some information that the funds were mishandled, we would push that to our advantage. We only need proof.”

“So basically an observation and reporting mission?”

Theodore nodded.

“Then why us? We are just mercenaries. We could do reconnaissance but what you suggested requires a finer touch. Let me rephrase it, your funds are being diverted to some high-elves searching for dwarven relics due to some age-old deal and you need my help to monitor and report, discretely. Do you realise how vague the request is?”

“But not uncertain.” he worded feebly.

“I will keep an eye out. That is the best I could provide. This is not official binding. Just so you know.”

I wanted to refuse Theodore's request but something held me back from giving a negative reply. I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that Lady Jessbeth, in elven years, would be of the same age as my daughter and the thought of her alone shouldering the responsibilities tugged at my heart.