“Barely dawn and already in business. It has changed a lot from the elven trading post I remember. Oh? No, but you used to come by here often to strike deals. And the small waymarket is gone as well; all…” the goddess observes her surroundings, “levers and machines now.”

The centre especially buzzes with activity. Crates and wrapped packages of varying sizes are raised by pulleys as workers on both ends move quickly to match the overall performance. High above the ground are other workstations, torches lighting up the midcanopy. As bridges connect tree to tree, the wooden planks barely supported by the nail-laid ropes wobble further under the weight of so much hustling. The knight looks up at them uneasily.

“Do not worry, Knight Diastre. If there is anything that did not change, it would be those rope bridges. Fine elven thread; sturdy and unbreakable.” Iacy follows his gaze. “Enjeine used to jump down from there, and midfall would throw a sealed spell onto the ground which would then slow and soften his landing. ‘Leap of faith’, he liked to say, and never has there been a less well-mannered elf. He doesn’t seem like that anymore, correct? Time is ever reinterpreting our existence. I didn’t want to inquire about his reasons for staying behind when his kin left; it seemed personal. He was avoiding any hint of the topic anyway.”

Greufard returns from the counter and gets up onto his horse. “Got a new trail. Another murder. This way.” There is a mix of frustration and confusion in his tone. “This one was just a few hours ago. Had the whole route closed down. Armed patrols are being mustered, finally; since this has gone on for too long. But…” He pauses as they pass a stand where a quarrel abruptly breaks out among a group of merchants. “Anyway, perhaps my Lady can ask to join the search. I suppose they wouldn’t turn away missionaries if you have a crest or some kind to prove. Hold on, how could that be? Ah, we’ll figure it out.”

They arrive at a crowd of onlookers huddling around something that sounds like a very heated argument. ‘I might understand, but we cannot!’ and ‘Then we’re all running out of choices!’ and ‘Sheathe your weapon, lady!’ are among the sentences thrown around. There is the whistling unsheathing of blades and then a loud exchange of warnings that declares each side’s finality in the escalating discussion.

Iacy nudges her mare forward. “Hail, good people! Dwarves and Yosetians, Men and Orcs and Varyaeyi alike. And Elf.” She glances at a guard that stands out from his peers with a striking difference of long golden hair and a conspicuously more ornamented outfit. “If you’d please allow us to pass. It’s much earlier than planned, but we are the missionary group that was scheduled to arrive at night. After receiving an escort? Though there’s no need for that. By the by, can anyone explain to me the situation here?”

The elf’s eyes widen, expressing his surprise, but he quickly shifts back into solemn formality. “An organised search is underway, but these two are insisting for us to make an exception yet we must still regrettably decline. And can you show…” but he is interrupted by the orc who raises her sword to his face, her muscles curled and flexed.

“I will waste a second no further. My son is out there. Refuse once more and my blade will do the next asking, oafy elf! Remove yourselves from our way, or I’ll cut you a flatter nose! Brother, you stay out of this,” she turns to the taller orc standing by her side, “Go back and heighten security. I’ll do this on my own.” But the elf extends his spear, blocking her way, and in that brief second, it truly feels as if conflict would break out with no turning back.

“Ours is an urgent request concerning the heavens and we must pass at once.” The goddess quickly interjects, sending another look at the elven guard and this time with a conspicuously hidden motive in her glare and her smile. “I believe this lady’s reasons are justified, so I’d like to offer her a spot in my party. A guide then, since I did just mention the role.” She stares down at the orcs, urging them to say no more, though who could with those sharp golden eyes piercing through their souls? “Now, if you may find the lady a mount and clear the way.” She faces back to the elf.

The elf looks at her questioningly, but he stops himself with a sigh. “As the priestess said.” He waves and his guards move aside as they allow the orc to get on her own mount, a riggirun with blue-painted horns and red-purple symbols on its fur, its snout blaring at anyone in its way. “Your request must also concern the Mankind killer on the loose. Beware, however, that you do not end up with more than you are looking for, no matter who you are. You may pass, and the Heavenness’ blessings upon you.”

Iacy nods at the elf – returning the formality – and then at the other guards, surveys the crowd with a polite smile and then finally turns to the orc, though she says nothing to the lady. Then she taps her reins and her horse trots up to a slow gallop and the journey continues with one more addition to the group.