From my bed on the second floor, I entertained myself with the view outside. The tiny hamlet suddenly sprung into its mundane life with the break of dawn, shrugging its inert atmosphere of the night. A few carts meandered through the streets. While children, renewed from a good night's sleep, scurried through the streets, screaming chants and rhymes, much to the chagrin of the adults around, the rest of the residents moved in lassitude. Occasionally, a stray dog would bark, announcing its presence. At the distance, smoke rose in a spiral from the chimneys of Westerleygates, before disappearing into thick heavy clouds.

“Why are we here and not in Westerleygates?” I asked Arlene who occupied herself with slicing an apple. Her knife sharper than her wit, she soon sliced another apple before she could conjure a suitable excuse.

She broke out of stupor as the fae volunteered.

“You should give her a status report first, Valiant one,” She both coaxed and helped Arlene with the situation.

“Our numbers have swelled. We have forty men, mostly mercenaries or lads or some camp followers looking for quick coin and safety,” she reported, “and two hundred goblins, forty of them are warg riders. I trained them as you asked.”

“Two hundred?” I repeated the figure in disbelief.

“Word spread and some stragglers joined first and soon small clans approached,” explained Arlene as she wiped the knife with a clean linen cloth. She then admired her own reflection on the blade, in a futile attempt to avoid my gaze.

“Does not explain why we are here?” I asked.

“The good news is, we have been granted use of this Manor by the grace of the good Lady Jessbeth Wysteria,” chimed in Vitalia, in a tone that I had never known the fae to employ. Almost as if she contorted her words to sugarcoat a bitter and hard to swallow medicine.

“This manor has a history,” started Vitalia, knowing full well that a history lesson of some minor Manor was not on my list of agendas, “It was one of the Lords of Wysteria house, probably Lady Wysteria’s great-great-grandfather, who built this manor to meet with his mistresses, host lavish parties at night and that sort. Lady Jessbeth was not forthcoming with the exact details for obvious reasons.”

“Every Lord had such a manor, nothing exactly scandalous or even discreet about it,” I responded with my patient stretching thin.

“So when, her grandfather or maybe her great grandfather, decided to do away with such debauched practice, this part fell into an economic disarray,” the fae continued ignoring the fact that she was stepping on thin ice, “In lieu of recent events, it was difficult to maintain a patrol, so Jessbeth was more than happy for us to maintain a presence here.”

“It has two taverns, an abandoned forge, a few small farms, even a miller,“ added Arlene with forced enthusiasm.

“Wait,” I interrupted, “What recent events? Do you mean the breach in Asterlund?”

“Yes, the breach,” explained Vitalia as she fluttered around restlessly, “Captain Jorrell had to lead the relief force.”

Vitalia is the sort who will not provide a clear answer unless she wills it herself. Interrogations, being a futile venture with the fae around, I opted to address my main concern.

“I secured the alliances of the druids, but it would only last if we manage to secure a land in the wilderness,” I took the sliced apple that Arlene offered as a distraction for me but to her disappointment, continued, “I need to meet with Lady Jessbeth. Please arrange a meeting.”

“About that,” the half-elf fought with her hesitation for an agonising moment, before her courage won, “She is being held house-arrest.”

“Only figuratively,” added the fae.

“And also we are barred from entering Westerleygates,” Arlene continued.

“Not us in particular, almost all mercenaries are barred entry,” added Vitalia.

“The duke has sent more tutors and maids-in-waiting to educate Lady Wysteria on proper etiquettes. She cannot leave her chambers without their guidance,” scoffed Arlene and spat the last word as if it were poison.

“And the high-elven contingent, stood idly?” I asked.

“Those mounted gryphon riders are the only reason why the Duke hasn’t thrown her into a cellar,” explained Vitalia. She stopped her levitating and slowly touched the carpeted floor with her bare feet, exchanging a knowing glance with Arlene, urging her to deliver the rest.

“Captain Jorrell has his authorities limited and Sir Theodore cannot meet with Jessbeth,” Arlene continued delivering the grim news, without any further trepidation, “Razzia is our only contact inside.”

“Where is Master Proudwick?” I asked.

“In the tavern in Westerleygates, flinging coins and loosening a few drunk tongues,” said Arlene with evident and unconcealed disgust.

“Introduce him to Razzia and make them work in tandem,” I instructed, “and where is Rodo?”

“Out. Escorting Dar’s delivery with Maapu,” replied Arlene with relief. Most likely intended at the absence of Maapu.

“It is way past harvest season, so Dar has been running odd errands between guilds,” she added.

I was certain that she clearly meant to stress the rise of the peddler within the guilds. Arlene always knew to provide me with the right information.

“Please arrange a meeting with Dar and Sir Theodore,” A wicked grin danced on my face, a grin that both the ranger and the fae knew well, “We are going to make a fool of the Duke and he will not know what hit him.”

In response, Arlene, motivated by the innate knowledge that I am brewing something surreptitious, cackled in mad glee.

Vitalia, her voice serene and calm but nevertheless contorted with mirth, said, “Why do I have a feeling that this involves doing dubious paperwork?”

For the first time since our departure, I lowered my guard and let myself enjoy the shared moment.

Soon Arlene and her mentor departed with instructions to find and send Nemeash.

Arlene did not close the door as she left. Her footsteps staggered a brief moment before resuming their rhythm. Someone was waiting on the other side. My question was answered soon as Taltil slowly strode in, trailed by Theko carrying freshly washed linen beddings.

She stood at the threshold. Trepidations halting her steps, she stared. Lacking the full ability to move, I adjusted myself, beaming a wide smile and beckoned her to come closer. Her sadness lifted and a warm glow highlighted her tiny features as she grinned.

*****

It was hard to refuse the sweet lull of a bed and a warm room after spending the past weeks in the wilderness. Soon, despite the warm sunshine peeping through the wide window, the strength to resist the embrace of a good sleep failed me and I drifted fast asleep till Taltil woke me up with a warm meaty broth for dinner.

The broth lacked the distinct smell of spice. Instead, something bland, which left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth replaced the spiciness. Taltil must have noticed my expression when I tasted the broth.

“Special food,” she said, “Only for Mistress, to get strong.”

I sniffed the broth once more and the memory of medications force-fed by the druids sprung from the depth of my mind.

“Arlene prepared this?” I asked.

“Special food, only she can make,” sulked Taltil, “Learned from wise men. Only she knows secret.”

That news did not surprise me since both Arlene and the druids, lived on the fringes of society and if anyone could communicate with the druids, it would be her. Besides her training as a ranger, she would have been the obvious choice for the druids to pass their healing methods.

Taltil’s big eyes darted around the room as if checking for invisible intruders and then she whispered, “Theko brings warm bread for Grand Mistress,”

“Where is he?” I asked.

Taltil shushed.

“Magic person tell her everything,” Taltil lowered her voice even further as if the very act of mentioning her name would summon Vitalia, “Theko hides from both. But Theko will bring Mistress warm bread.”

I gave a small laugh at their adorable attempts and continued my dinner.

Soon, Theko sneaked into the room, covered in a large cloak. He pushed aside the cloak, revealing a well-tailored grey linen shirt, breeches and feet covered in dull grey moccasins. In his hands, he held a loaf of still-warm steaming bread.

I was least interested in the fact that he was resourceful enough to procure fresh bread late in the evening, But it was astonishing to see him awakening to his heritage, holding the hot and fresh from oven bread, in bare hands without wincing.

Theko advanced slowly with light footwork, most likely attributed to Arlene’s rigorous training and held the bread like a peace offering worthy for a monarch.

Taltil sneered at his actions, an emotion that I thought the tiny goblin was incapable of.

With a condescending voice, she said to Theko, “Grand Mistress hurt. Only one hand good. Take small piece and offer.”

Theko grumbled at being rebuked in my presence but enthusiastically tore a piece of the warm bread and offered.

“Ask why Grand Mistress fly without Theko and Maapu,” continued Taltil in a lecturing tone, “No thinking. No flying.”

“How long has she rubbed it in their faces?” I wondered to myself.

Theko pouted at Taltil’s jeering comment but kept his hands busy by tearing and offering more pieces of bread. With his eyes downcast and lips curved towards the ground, he present a sorry figure, one I could not bear to see.

“Don’t worry. Next time I will take you to fly,” I made a very vague promise as I took the small piece from his hands, “that is if Ryleval does gobble you for an appetizer.” I left the last part unsaid.

“And if, I manage to rescue Celerim from wherever he is,” the grim thought rattled my mood.

With that, I bid my evening farewell and let the drug-induced sleep take over.

*****

The following morning, I woke up to the voice of the Druidess. She stood with glaring daggers at Taltil. Taltil, for her part, cocked her head sideways and pressed her hands together defiantly.

“I am glad you decided to pay a visit,” I offered to break the tension in the room.

“Only for fifteen days,” she responded with ire, “and no need to thank me. No one else was willing to stay in a stone forest.”

Fifteen Days. My spirits lifted at her words and with joyous awe, I uttered, “So I will be back to full health in fifteen days?”

Her words sounded too good to be true and they were true indeed.

“No, in fifteen days you would be able to relieve yourself without a chambermaid.” I wondered if she knew any other expressions apart from sour.

“That is the time T’orrac decided to wait till Zurin and Ar’krak returned,” she added and then returned to the staring competition with Taltil.

So that was T’orrac’s diplomatic way of reminding me that I have a time limit to fulfil my side of the bargain.

I requested Taltil to provide us with some privacy, which she obliged without much contemplation.

“Don’t you dare eat any locusts,” she shouted after Taltil and once the tiny goblin was out of sight, she muttered under breath, “Filthy goblins,”

*****

The druidess proved to be as interesting conversational parter as a lich in a sealed phylactery. Most of her words were profoundly philosophical, decisive and lacking in utilitarian perspectives. As she continued to rattle about my recklessness, I soon prayed for salvation and salvation answered in the form of Zaehran. He presented me with cheap parchments and a quill.

At the sight of his gifts, a host of ideas surged, each more meticulous than the other. So it was a pleasant surprise, one that made my heart pulse excitedly into my ribs, when Zaehran handed over another neatly folded letter. Lyria’s letter to Delyn.

“It seemed important to you, so I preserved it,” explained the monk.

Despite my bedridden state, I had the urge to grab the monk’s hands, for words cannot reveal the extent of my gratitude.

Thanking him profusely, I started putting my plan in motion and that began with formulating a few well-coordinated letters to certain influential people.

*****

It was on the early afternoon of the third day when my lonely recuperating room was filled with the audacious bunch.

Vitalia traded her famed fae appearance to an elven woman with human features or a human woman with elven heritage. It was hard to differentiate, but her gaunt expression still lingered despite her altered appearance.

Arlene sat on the carpeted floor, with her back to the walls and legs stretched and crossed over one another. She knew that she had very little role to play in whatever plans I drafted but she was there for the exhilarating moment of revelation.

On the farthest corner, stood Razzia with her hawk-like gaze alternating between Vitalia and Zaehran. She wrapped herself tightly inside a cloak despite the warmth of the room.

The ascetic monk occupied the space directly opposite Razzia. Clashing with the vigilant nature of Razzia, the monk held a relaxed smile that spoke of assurance. In the brief span of a day, he had exchanged his travelling clothes to a dull blue shirt, dark grey work breeches and dull grey moccasins.

“Who has been delivering these moccasins?” I pondered silently before liberating myself of the distracting thought.

Dar, who was offered a simple chair, ignored and walked closer to my bed.

“Madame, I could not believe that I am seeing the Shattered Shield hurt,” said the concerned peddler, “I would talk with Ellie and bring three chambermaids. They would be more than happy to serve their saviour.”

“That will not be necessary, Dar,” I answered, “I will not remain here for long.”

Arlene’s eyes flickered for a knowing moment. Then she twiddled her fingers feigning disregard.

Sir Theodore sat uncomfortably on a high backed chair, fidgeting his cane. Even though his thoughts were occupied with the matter at hand, his skills honed at years of serving nobles warned him of another presence. He kept looking over his shoulders at T’orrac.

T’orrac simply declined the offered seat and choose to stand with his hands clasped behind his back and his predatory expression masqueraded by a benevolent smile. Despite his simple garb, it was evident, even to an untrained eye that he radiated power among the gathered.

Therrin Proudwick stirred, hidden behind the long shadow cast by T’orrac.

The only oblivious member of the bunch, who dared to wear a stupid oafish grin and greeted those who he could, was Nemeash. As if the events of the past days were a bad dream, from which he woke up, Nemeash pleasantly exchanged greetings with Dar and Razzia. Attempted friendly banter with Arlene and introduced himself to the rest. Finding that his efforts were in vain, with only Zaehran responding in kind, he found the company of the Monk comforting and stood close to Zaehran.

“Could you please shed some light?” I urged Sir Theodore to talk.

“She is held hostage. I am not allowed to visit her,” The man struggled with a strained voice, but still willed himself to continue, “The Duke’s staff have taken over the administration. Even our scribes are supervised. Captain Jorrell and his men are allowed to patrol outside but not inside.”

“In your opinion, what is the next move that the Duke would make?” I asked.

“With her father dead, the rights to sanction her marriage falls on the Duke,” responded Razzia instead, “and if the gossip of the scullery maids is true, a suitor is on the way.”

“No man can marry her without the Duke’s blessing,“ added Sir Theodore, “and the Duke will not bless unless it is one of his puppets.”

“That can be stalled,” I assured the man before me, “Razzia, Master Proudwick, please work together, spread rumours about the suitor being a cultist or a member of Pruning Hands. Place some incriminating evidence in his suite. Anything that would let the potential suitor enjoy the hospitality of the Justiciars.”

“What if the Duke expels the Justiciars from Westerleygates?” asked Arlene.

“He can and he will but unlike Captain Jorrell, the Justiciars are not his subjects,” the fae donned the mantel of mentoring again, “But as with everything that the high-elves do, the Duke will have to approach this through proper channels, which will buy time.”

“And what when he is absolved of those accusations?” asked T’orrac.

“If the Justiciars carried out their meticulous investigations, it would be weeks or even months. We gained valuable time,” I responded.

“Time for what?” enquired Sir Theodore.

“Master Proudwick, could you please,” The halfling scurried around at my request and passed three sealed parchments to Nemeash, Vitalia and to Sir Theodore, who received it with shaking hands.

“Nemeash, please deliver the document to Archoness Lady Stormaire in Ellisinore,” The tanned man simply nodded at my instruction.

“And Dar, congrats on having your own company now,” At my words, befuddlement filled the peddler’s head and he slowly shook his head.

“Yes, you do,” I reiterated, “In fact, you found it a while ago, let me refresh your memory. It is based in Ellisinore. Even Archoness Lady Stormaire personally signed it.”

“Such a responsibility is too heavy for my humble shoulders, Madame,” replied Dar with his characteristic feigned modesty.

“I suppose, I would have to pay another visit to the offices of Leyandur and associates,” sulked Vitalia much to the schadenfreude of Arlene.

“Sir Theodore, what you hold are the initial request for land from Dar,” I explained, “ Please consult with T’orrac on suitable land. Preferably close to Baron Beoric’s borders and in the vicinity to Ellisiniore.”

Sir Theodore shook his head, not bothering to conceal his ill understanding of the scene that unfolded before him.

“The Duke will never allow a mercenary army to hold lands, especially not The Aberrant Irregulars,” I explained, “and the Order of Chimera will not bend knees to any Lord. So Dar’s trading company, which was established a while ago and based in Ellisinore, will rise very little suspicion, if he were to request land deeds, in the wilderness and close to Ellisiniore.”

Dar still trembled with the knowledge that he is pulled into conflicts, far beyond comprehension. Sir Theodore’s brows furrowed as he attempted to sit still and process the information that I provided. Only T’orrac, blessed by his foresightedness, smiled.

“As any trader, Dar is free to employ guards to protect his goods. Due to our shared history, the good peddler, sorry, the trader Dar, “my words contorted with mirth as I feigned a correction to a purposefully made mistake, “will employ The Aberrant Irregulars to guard the lands. The druids can settle and continue with their way of life.”

“Madame, this is too huge a responsibility for simple peddler,” pleaded Dar fearing for his neck. I was almost convinced that the poor peddler felt a noose tighten around his neck.

“Dar, all you know is that you charged The Aberrant Irregulars to protect a piece of land that you own,” Vitalia leaned and whispered in his ears, “Plausible deniability will save you.”

“Nemeash, could you please tell me the location of her?” I shouted to the man at the other end of the room, not bothering with the secrecy of my private life anymore.

“She is in Halcyon Hollow,” replied Nemeash, “in your state, it would take twenty to twenty-five days to reach,” he added almost as if he read my thoughts.

“Wait,” interrupted Arlene as she sprung up from the floor, “what is this about?”

“I have to correct a mistake,” I replied, “I am going to propose to her this time.”

“Her,” Arlene voice filled the room, “Her.... you mean like a woman,” her voice rose higher.

“You are one of those....” the half-elven ranger finally said in disbelief.

And with that, every pair of eyes in the room turned towards Arlene. Some of those eyes held pity for the oblivious ranger, while others held cruel jest, but two of those eyes had a different look. Vitalia and Razzia exchanged a brief glance at one another and turned towards Arlene again with a look that said one of us here is a moron.