Sarenthill, somehow seemed a bit dreary compared to the last time when the city received me. The hustle and bustle of the big multi-ethnic city felt forced and sullen. The otherwise cynical gate sentries soon scattered themselves before my presence. Only suppressed whispers followed my wake. Without any form of visible weapon on myself, bereft of a sword or even a tuck, I hooked my thumb into the leather belt. My action had more to do with keeping my fingers from fidgeting than expressing a brash gait.

I quickly filled the required grievance formality against Antilorwe. Silvaniel might have had some hidden pull, for the otherwise lengthy bureaucratic ordinances of the high-elves, a task which I expected to extend over a period of a week, completed itself in a day’s notice. A few bold members of the city hall greeted me with disciplined manners; polite and friendly but not jovial. The more audacious and ambitious of them even congratulated; praised my willingness to serve their glorious city. A small almost rotund halfling councilwoman revealed her intention to bring a notion at the next council meeting -- to have one of the entrance gates to the city named after me.

“Commander Rylonvirah, remember you have a friend in the city council,” she said in a very smooth flowing earnest voice without any stuttering or incoherence. She gave me, in a true halfling way, a wide hug before scurrying away to curry more favours from the citizens of Sarenthill.

With nothing of interest to hold my attention, the opulent city hall felt like a slithering pit of vipers. Motivated by an urge, part wanderlust and part need for urgent respite, my legs let me swiftly away from the city hall and soon I found myself at the entrance to “The Petals and Peduncle”.

Any impression one might form for a recreational place with a name like “The Petals and Peduncle,” would be inherently incorrect, in lieu of the fact that this particular bar was the hangout for registered mercenaries of Sarenthill. It was the place that bound sellswords with an honour codex. Enemies who crossed swords would willingly share tables with a mug of ale under the roof of “The Petals and peduncle.” It was only natural, to select such a location for meeting with Arlene and her mentor.

The low din of the drinking tavern settled to a whisperless silence as I stepped in. Every eye followed my progress. Mouths, that were busy tasting the ambrosia of courage, stopped; their heads involuntarily following my move. Even the sultry maid, with her, amply exposed breast leaving very little to the imagination, hissed wordlessly towards a table at the far corner, closer to the fireplace and between the kitchen and the barkeep. Undoubtedly, the best place in the tavern. The two burly drunks seated at the table flinched, but despite their drunken stupor, one menacing look from her, made them grab their mugs in trembling hands and soon vacated the place. Thanking the tavern maid gratefully, I took the emptied seat. Her almond eyes held an emotion, so surreal and out of place in a mercenary bar. Pity!

She quickly returned with a huge pitcher, filled to the brim, with more ale and less froth. Her fingers, probably slender and dainty in her younger years, now callous from years of carrying heavy trays with filled drinks, slowly rested on my shoulders, halting me as I reached for the coin pouch.

“Don’t bother, it is on the house,” she added. Her rough grating voice slowly split the silence.

“Nothing is free. What is your request?” I asked without touching the generously offered drink.

Her voice lowered to a whisper, “Please, do not recruit any mercenaries here. Most of them live from one day to another but there is no reason to throw that life to a fool’s errand.”

Fear and concern mingled in the clear pool that welled in her eyes as she wordlessly begged.

“Fear not, I do not intend to recruit anyone.”

My words drew a sigh of relief from her. Clutching the silver tray tightly in front of her, she slowly leaned forward. Despite the glowing embers in the fireplace, I was not prepared for her distinct warmth to slowly permeate, invading the space where I sat. Her breath wafted over, caressing my cheeks.

“We have a tradition,” she said coyly, “We usually do not offer this but we try to ease; provide the last bit of comfort and warmth for those marching towards certain death.”

She turned her head and where she indicated stood a young girl, another waitress with dark chestnut brown hair and alabaster skin. Cascading with shy untainted innocence, she looked with coy apprehension. As our eyes met, an eager smile marked her lips while a bright twinkle appeared in her cyan blue eyes when her eyelids rapidly fluttered.

“Given your preferences for partners,” the maid spoke softly while her almond eyes darted between the younger waitress and me, “the girl is young and inexperienced but she is willing. Her shifts ends soon and she will wait for you upstairs.”

Donning a mask of congenial smile over my rising disgust -- not just due to the implied attempt to tarnish my oath, my bond to Lyria, but that girl in human years could not be any older than my own daughter -- I wrapped my arms around myself.

At the same time, amusement held both my cheeks, forcing me to laugh. It appears the whole of Sarenthill is hell-bent on treating me like a patient counting her days from a terminal uncurable illness. Next, before I know it, the undertaker and monumental mason would be walking in through the door with the design from the epitaph.

“Truth is, I intend to complete the engagement and rush into the arms of my future wife. We are getting married and she is not someone I dare to anger,” I replied.

*****

As the evening slowly slipped by and the night sneakily crept up, Arlene strode through the door. Her frame somewhat slender, even tiny compared to the wide entrance, still cast a long shadow. An unpleasant loud noise echoed from her steps as she stamped her way through. The rhythmic sway of her long braid, reaching below her waist turned a few heads but the ugly snarl in her face shattered all hopes of gaining her favour for the night. There were many ways to describe the expressions she wore but agreeable wasn’t one of them.

She dropped her body heavily on the chair across me and let a long sigh.

“You could have picked another place,” said the half-elf as she sunk further into the exquisitely upholstered chair. With nihilistic regard to the surroundings, she extended her legs and scraped the dirt and debris from the hard soles of her thigh boots.

I poured her a drink and slid it casually in her direction. Holding the mug deftly, with the same dexterity as when she spun a hunting knife, Arlene took a swig and complained.

“Can’t believe people pay for this. I want some clean refreshing water,” seeing my hand about to beckon the waitress she changed her mind, “Make it a wild berry tea.”

My hand went up, and Arlene interrupted again. A maelstrom of deliberations spun around the ranger.

“With some finely sliced fresh ginger, not the dried sort,” she added.

Filled with trepidations at her previous action, the young waitress with alabaster skin and dark chestnut hair approached. Her eyes flicked between the two of us, ever so slowly and eventually settled on Arlene. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt as Arlene met her gaze. Liberating herself free of the encroaching guilt, she slowly took the order.

“Also add some fresh mint leaves and some cloves,” snapped Arlene with hard steel in her voice.

The poor girl flinched at the ranger’s words, staggered and finally gave the half-elf an apologetic smile.

“Would you want some wild honey or rose hip syrup to go with it?” I asked with a kindling hope to clear the misunderstanding that our relationship -- this meeting -- is not romantic. In hindsight, that question and my tone made me sound like her mother. T’orrac, may you be cursed for suggesting something so precipitous.

“Agave nectar,” replied Arlene with discontent and scoffed at no one in particular.

“You want your wild berry ginger mint tea with cloves and agave nectar ?” I slowly repeated her weird and no doubt at-a-whim, and laced with rebellion, concoction. In doing so, I sounded even more like her mother. Drawing a deep breath to calm my own nerves, I turned my head towards the struggling girl.

Her eyes were filled with dread apprehension, intertwined with shame as Arlene sneered without any cause. The girl made another sorry attempt of an apologetic smile to Arlene before scuttling away, hiding in embarrassment.

“What was her problem?” spat Arlene, her eyes glued with cynicism on the back of the retreating waitress, “Why the grovelling face? not like she sunk her claws into a lad I fancied for long.”

Oh Arlene! you poor oblivious little thing. Your ignorance is as adorable as it is aggravating.

Arlene returned her attention to me. Anger radiated from her like a searing sun. Feigning a lack of interest, the young half-elf played with the dirt beneath her fingernails, her eager ears trained on my lips, hoping that I would splinter the silence. Under the pretext of draining the contents of my drink, I hid my grin. Had I not had Delyn before, I would have fallen for her ruse.

Eventually, receiving no acknowledgement from me, Arlene broke the tension herself.

“Vitalia just asked me to hide with the Viridian Dawn Rangers, Can you believe her gall?” scoffed the young ranger, followed by an angry unladylike snort. Indignation laced with hot temperament rolled in her words.

“How could she expect me to turn my back cowardly while the rest fight to keep everyone alive? What am I to her? A weak petulant brat!” Under the constraints of her dark brown leather armour, her chest heaved, drawing a lung full of air to cool her burning rage.

“She is my guide, my mentor, not my guardian and I am not her dainty ward,” uttered Arlene as her hands unconsciously reached her blade, waited for a moment held by trepidation, and eventually settled to tugging her braid beside her.

“I might value her opinion but my decision is my own,” declared half-elf in a voice loud enough to fill the tavern. Her fingers curled around her braid, knuckles paled but her dazzling face flushed red in anger.

It took every shred of my willpower to hide the elation filling inside me. At last, Arlene has bared her fangs against Vitalia. Had the seat before me was not occupied by an irate Arlene, I would have merrily danced my way through the tavern. Two unyielding women working together in tandem aligned by a common cause, is a fairly generic romanticized notion, only existing in the utopian vacuum of reality. Two strong-willed women sharing the same room will invariably end up turning on one another. A simple undeniable fact of reality.

Vitalia, the fae, the professor, provost and the holder of many other illustrious titles, may have been many things in her life, but one thing she was not -- she was never the mother of a willful daughter. One cannot simply give instructions or provide a roadmap to girls her age. A tiny seed of the idea has to be planted inside her mind, nurture it and make her believe that the idea originated from her. Any other method will be met with severe rejection. That is how their rebellious hormonal brain works.

“Reminds me of the suggestion from T’orrac. He suggested sending you to request assistance from the Viridian Dawn Rangers.”

Arlene’s eyes slowly widened as she loosened her grip on her braid. Adjusting herself, leaning more towards me, her hands flopped lethargically by the side.

“I told him that you will be assisting the fortification of High-Crag Hold, followed by scouting the region,” I continued ignoring, disregarding the slowly twisting hard squint that scarred her pretty face.

“And you didn’t feel the need to discuss this with me?” questioned the half-elf with cynicism.

I ignored her question. Ignoring her is the best way to keep her engaged.

“You did not want to visit the Viridian Dawn Rangers anyway, so what I decided for you should be easy to follow,” I added, further to her dismay.

“I have been considering for a while to broaden my leadership and diplomacy skills,” uttered Arlene firmly with conviction.

“Of course, but you already possess the qualities of a good leader. You could calm thundertusks and almost any wild ferocious beast,” I replied calmly with a strong dose of encouraging smile.

“Besides I suspect that you would be uncomfortable in the company of wood-elves. You would gain nothing from this assignment. In my opinion, leading the scouting party is what you are proficient in, where you will hone your skills.”

Arlene flinched, twisting uncomfortably in her chair, her fingers slid down to the hilt of her long hunting knife with involuntary jerking movements. A solemn mask of calmness resided on her face hosting controlled anger behind her almond eyes. Her blood boiled and rushed through her veins like molten lava. Only a sharp sibilant hiss came as a response from her.

“But if you want to approach the Viridian Dawn Rangers as a representative of The Aberrant Irregulars, you should go for it. I support and respect your decision, even though I personally think that the path I choose for you would be the best, given your skills,” I completed calmly and then reached to fill my mug again.

“If I were to be a hero like what my Mentor envisions, I should place my mark in future history. Only fame and renown would make people know of my existence -- to trust me with solving their problems,” said Arlene as a sudden influx of rebellious assertiveness pushed her to the edge of her chair. Her controlled and steady breathing ejected warm breath occupying the intervening space between us, “I will visit the Viridian Dawn Rangers and promise to return with a contingent of the continent's best archers. Make it known that it was the unyielding arrow of Arlene that ended the bloody reign of the One-Horned Warlord.”

Compared to my own daughter, Arlene was fairly simple-minded. Delyn would have seen through my guise.

When the apologetic waitress girl returned, carrying a huge tray holding a steaming pot of exotic flavoured tea, she found the previous occupant of the chair gone, and me with a wide contented grin sipping cold ale from my mug.