A small knock, followed by a brief pause to allow the din in the common room to settle, and then the knock came again. All eyes darted towards the source, filled with unspoken questions. The fact that the guards were instructed to ensure the secrecy of the council, made it evident that the knock has to be replied immediately.

Razzia stood on the other side of the door, clad in a forest green cloak, trailed by a richly dressed and slightly dishevelled Silvaniel. They were a contrasting pair, even by their appearance. While Razzia still looked like a freshly picked flower, unhindered by the long arduous journey through the wilderness and the mountain trail, her companion, the quill worshipping High-elf, fared the worse. Almost as if Razzia, by some arcane magical means transferred her woes and fatigue to the poor hapless elf. His rich cerulean blue travel doublet gilded with silver threaded embroidery now glistened from sweat absorbed. His immaculately styled hair was unkept and stuck like debris to his scalp. The worst was his eyes, where it usually provided a reassuring albeit calculated professional smile, currently, those same eyes, devoid of their light, darted towards the table filled with tempting refreshments.

Silvaniel let himself fall on the offered chair with a huge thud. His legs, were extended and sprawled beneath the table while he gathered air with deep and erratic breathing.

Leaning with one elbow resting on top of the counter which served as the bar, Razzia simply shrugged proclaiming her innocence.

It could not have been Zelaphiel. The grand paladin would have sent missives through official channels. One of his decorated gryphon riders or Paladins would have delivered them. It certainly was not Antilorwe. The High-elf was too prudent to attempt such a preposterous method. A diplomat, through and through, she would have drafted letters, conveying heavily coded messages in plain words, twisted, yet mundane to any who read, only to be interpreted by the intended person.

There is very little immediate incentive for the law offices of Leyandur and associates to be directly involved in the middle-of-nowhere siege; unless a client wills it. With Antilorwe already involved in another capability to the war efforts, Silvaniel’s additional involvement would imply a conflict of interest. Despite, all the uncertainties revolving both their presence, one fact was evident. The immense tendrils of influence from the mysterious client of Leyandur and associates reaches far and deep.

Silvaniel wetted his throat with some warm peppermint tea. He ignored the offered gruel, settling instead for a plain leek and spinach salad. Aided by the warmth of the common room and the refreshing tea, his colour gradually returned to his face replenishing his vitality.

“Childe Taltil, good tidings,” he shouted from across the table astonishing us both with his ability to remember faces.

Pulling a chair and sitting close to the elf, I asked, “I take it that Zelaphiel is unaware of your presence here.”

Silvaniel stopped his meticulous examination of his salad, swallowed deep whatever morsel of breakfast that was lodged in his mouth and took the time to grab a clean handkerchief to wipe crumbs from his lips. All acts, done with deliberate delay to buy precious time enough to consider his answer.

“I assure you, clandestine as it might sound, our actions are never and will never be, against the interest of the Order of Latent Divinity. The interested parties merely wish to preserve their identity,” replied the elf.

“In case you did not realise, Fort Halcyon is not exactly forthcoming with their efforts,” I scoffed wiping the grin from my face.

“Give me a list of resources that you immediately need, and I will see to what we can procure,” assured Silvaniel.

“Procure them out of the goodness of their heart?” I taunted. My eyes narrowed with cynicism. Like a hawk, I circled around the elusive elf, hoping to see the deeply twisted hook before it was too late.

“Hard as it might come to believe, but there are parties genuinely interested in the stability of this region,” he assured smilingly.

Silvaniel, under an oath or not, will certainly not lie but he can be elusive and his truth, extremely intangible. Some extremely influential groups, most likely High-elves since he specifically swore that their interest does not collide with the Order of Latent Divinity, yet do not wish to directly oppose Zelaphiel, have extended their support.

“I am not gullible to owe favours to unknown shadowy parties. If gold is being thrown in bulk into my war, I need to know what I am fighting for?”

“It is not a prepayment for a service that you will render in the future. This much I can assure,” replied Silvaniel.

All eyes except, Lyria and Razzia’s glared daggers at me. Lyria smiled, another of her snow-melting warm smile, filled with hope and encouragement. Razzia did not care either way. Her role involves guiding Silvaniel and the coins that fill her pouch. The result of his engagement is of least relevance to her.

Silvaniel cleared his throat, his formal voice, trusty and authoritative, honed from years of professional life, spilled.

“War is not always beneficial, not just for those involved. Some ventures prosper while others are not so lucky. The High-elven society revolves around permits, regulations, guidelines and bureaucratic hurdles. That is why the interested parties prefer a good working relationship with stable neighbours,” said Silvaniel.

Wiping his lips with his silken handkerchief, he considered all who gathered, his gaze lingered on Lyria for a bit longer than needed before he swallowed a heavy lump lodged in his throat and continued.

“The grand alliance that Duke Lothmar and Grand Paladin Champion Mirnovian Ellandor forged is a farce. For the Grand Paladin is approaching this as a pawn in a piece of political machinery, to further his pace towards his mysterious end goal. As for the Duke, this is as much as about fuelling his political aspirations as undermining Prince Cassadan’s authority.”

“Prince Cassadan,” spat Captain Jorrell the name as if it was vitriolic acid festering on the tip of his tongue, “did not intervene on behalf of Lady Wysteria when she needed, even after claiming her father as a sworn brother.”

Silvaniel drained the last of his peppermint tea down his throat and signalled for a refill. Tilting his head towards Captain Jorrell, in a vague nod of his head that could be interpreted as both acknowledgement and dismissal of the man’s opinion, the elf clasped his hands before returning his attention towards me.

“Irrespective of the issue involving Prince Cassadan, House Wysteria and Duke Lothmar, His Most Excellency has openly proclaimed to accept your claim to the region should you succeed and that My Lady,” said Silvaniel in the most orotound and eloquent of terms in his elven tongue, “pits you in the power struggle. You would need all the allies you could amass.”

“Why that still does not explain why those peace-loving Altruistic folks do not send their support directly to Fort Halcyon?” I quizzed.

Silvaniel, undoubtedly did his research, or rather his mysterious patrons have further insight into the situation and I would extract as much information that the elf knows.

“Simply because if High-Crag Hold fails, Fort Halcyon will fail,” he completed drawing the undivided attention of all present at the table.

“Even defeated the remnants of his forces will scatter. Some would succeed in crossing the High-Crag Pass but most will not since resources along the pass and on the other side are scarce. With Arlond being mostly abandoned, it will serve as an attractive option for the fleeing army to regroup and mount an attack on Ellisinore.”

Lyria’s knuckles paled and grim darkness settled on her face at the mention of the High-Elven City. Part of her worried for her the safety of High-Archoness and part of her felt safe for sending Celerim away. We exchanged unspoken glances. Her silvery grey eyes pleaded, holding back the clear well of tears.

“The orcs are already hard-pressed with the raising undead threat. With a two-pronged attack from the remnant of the horde, their lands will be razed. Asterlund without assistance from Ellisinore and faced with marching threats from the Orc lands will fall into instability. Even Westerleygates will not be spared. And Sarenthill, though the conflict will not reach, will be forced to support the mass of refugees outside its walls.”

Silvaniel knew that he now had the ears of everyone. Allowing himself another brief pause for his words to settle, he slowly observed the grim expression migrating on everyone’s faces.

“And thus, even if Fort Halcyon stands, it still fails its primary purpose,” he concluded.

Silvaniel did not just appear on our doorsteps with a simple offer but he also brought an irrefutable argument to back his claim. Before his evidence, it was hard to deny the indomitable truth that stared at our faces.

Hastily, I scribbled the list of resources that were plaguing my mind and tossed it over to Silvaniel. Without as much as a glance over the contents of the slip, he simply shoved it into his breast pocket but leaned forward with his neck thrust towards me, asking me to approach him for a very discrete request.

“There is something that was discovered to be missing in Arlond. There are reasons to believe that it is in the possession of a certain Half-Elf. My client would like possession of it.”

Karlienne! and the ledger that I haphazardly obtained for her from the bank in Arlornd. If my unknown benefactor is him, then a lot of things fall into their place.

Beaming an immaculate smile, almost devoid of any maliciousness, I asked,” Does my mysterious benefactor, Waerondil need the ledger or does he need the ledger back?”

Silvaniel stifled a chuckle and replied, “Let us just agree, like civilized people to respect the wishes for anonymity of my client. Does it really play a role? The details could be a slight inconvenience in the wrong hands.”