A plan formulated within the throngs of despair. Holding Lady Stormaire’s hands, I pleaded.

“Could you please make Celerim promise not to participate in the tourney no matter what? You are his mother. He will abide by your wishes,” I asked.

“Lady Rylonvirah,” The Archon Lady’s motherly nature overwhelmed her stately composure and a threatening aura filled the space between us, “if my son is in mortal danger, I have every right to know.”

“I have fought beside Celerim. He commands remarkable swordsmanship but this is not an honour-bound arena. I have seen how Lord Korvanor’s men fight. Celerim, if I may state openly, is naive. This is not a duel in an arena, rather a brawl where swords are allowed.”

Lady Stormaire gave my hand a tight grasp. A mellowy warmth spread from her touch.

“I thank you for worrying about Celerim, but your fears are unfounded. Sure Lord Korvanor’s men are just thugs with noble’s backing but not Merrick or Jarryd. Had the pleasure of making his acquaintance in the last three tournaments. I will personally attest to the conduct of Merrick.”

Lady Stormaire gave a reassuring glance and indicated that it was time to reach our designated seats.

My eyes sought Syrune and Therrin as I pondered. There are only a few options available. The easiest of them was to slip away silently should I succeed in convincing Celerim to withdraw from the tournament. Should I fail, I need to enter the tourney personally and strike Merrick before the fated match between him and Celerim. Should both the options fail, I would slit Merrick’s throat outside. I scoffed at the irony of my plan since a few days back Arlene was reprimanded for suggesting the same.

“You learn something new every time,” Lady Stormaire stopped midstep in her march, with an amused expression at Syrune.

Syrune, ignorant of the surroundings, engaged with the half-elven girl verbally while the scholar’s body mirrored the inner desire. The flat of the mage’s feet pointed in the direction of Celerim and a long-drawn breath every time those emerald eyes settled on the Justiciar made the mage’s intention evident. The mage lightly fingered a loose tendril of hair on the shoulder, each moment the Justiciar smiled. A hidden inner yearning that failed to escape the scrutiny of Lady Stormaire.

This is too painful to watch. I cringed inside.

Syrune, if you are going to oogle your crush, at least exercise subtlety and most importantly, do not get caught by your crush’s mother.

“I would have sworn that mage had an interest in Celerim, the private sort,” she drew two breaths in quick succession, “See those herbs and that midwife. Guess he has a woman waiting for him at home.”

“what? how? why?” I stammered trying to process the newly provided information.

“That girl is the herbalist and also a midwife and the herbs that she is selling, human and dwarven women use it for regulating their cycle. I am neither a herbalist nor an expert in human physiology so cannot answer how the preparation is done or in what quantity, but if he is buying it, he is doing it out of his devotion for his wife.”

“Are you certain? I mean having a wife does not mean a lack of interest in men?” I pondered openly.

Lady Stormaire gave a look that made me eat my own words.

“Most men would consider it as below their dignity to talk about cycles. If he is willing to shed that and openly meet with a midwife and purchase it for her, I would say he is dedicated to her. There is no other explanation.”

“Maybe the mage is buying it for an experiment?” I countered.

“No,” The gem-studded barrette in her hair glinted as she shook her head, “A planar mage taking help from a herbalist. Not even if their life depends on it. They consider themselves the epitome of scholarly pursuit. They would not even willingly partake in alchemy. This is definitely for a girl he loves.”

I interrupted Syrune after escorting Lady Stormaire to her regal chair on the dais. The mage acted with trepidation upon my approach.

“This is Karlienne,” he pointed to the half-elven girl in a beige and brown dress.

“Rylonvirah, but you can call me Rylon or Vera either is fine,” I flashed a polite smile.

“Karlienne, Asterlund’s resident Herbalist, midwife, surgeon, scribe, seasonal schoolmistress, and occasional peddler of oddities,“ Her hazel eyes considered me for one moment too long.

“So you are juggling multiple responsibilities?” I stated the obvious.

“An orphan has got to do her best to earn her living,” shrugged Karlienne.

Her dress was rustic and practical, without any pomp or vanity. Even her ornaments were simple and cheap oddity. Her slender neck held a small string holding wooden beads serving as a necklace. In a true elven fashion, she has chosen to forgo earrings but wooden bangles with etched vine patterns adorned each of her wrists. Muddy wooden shoes with leather inlays were her choice of footwear.

If her external appearance was one of simplicity, her gait and her face held a certain measure of calculated cunningness. Almost similar to Dar, except while Dar is the type to lose a few coins for the sake of a standing relationship, Karlienne who stood before me, would willingly sell a baby to make her coin pouch slightly heavier.

“That is a unique combination of skills you possess,” I uttered.

“Makes me valuable to the town and also earn a bit more,” She answered calmly as she pushed her failing thick lock of black hair over her shoulders.

“And I take it that you assist Syrune with the scholarly endeavours?”

Karlienne slowly rubbed her ink-stained fingers and a peal of loud laughter erupted close by.

“She could earn a lot more by assisting some of our lonely men,” One of the pot-bellied town guards shouted and more laughter followed from the idle guards who stood near him.

“Easy way for an orphan girl to earn money, after all, it is a well-tested age-old profession,” shouted another guard with a weasel of a face.

My fingers stiffened and my legs tensed, ready to spring into action, to stop should a fight break out. The last thing I need is to attract more attention. Arlene would have definitely answered with a few of them bloodied and writhing on the ground if she was in a jolly mood.

Karlienne, on the contrary, inhaled a deep sigh.

“I aim to monopolise. A whore who monopolises earns far less, but then again since your manhood never felt anything apart from the tender caress of a goat's rear end, I do not expect you to understand,” retorted Karlienne.

Red flecks of anger coloured the pot-bellied guard’s face. With big bulging eyes and fists balled, he strode menacingly towards Karlienne.

“Captain Hilam’s wife is pregnant with their third whelp. Think carefully before you assault the only other midwife in town. He will have you feed on your steamed testicles for dinner, should I fail to deliver the baby due to a minor accident involving his guards,” threatened Karlienne back.

It was either the threat of losing his manhood or the mention of Captain Hilam, the guard held himself back and only spat on the ground in return. The universal sign of someone whose words failed.

“You use your position cunningly,” I grimaced.

“Well, I am the other midwife, old Jorya being the first choice for most people. when there are babies to be pulled or soothing potions for aching bones, I scribe for the lord or one of the guilds when they call for help. Helps the coin flowing,” She pulled her dark green cloak around her tightly wrapping herself further.

karlienne has wits and her motivations are simple enough to be satisfied.

“Syrune, I think she will work,” I declared, “I have another job for you should you choose not to throw away some extra coins.”

Her hazel eyes widened at the mention of coin and she straightened herself.

“Watch Colby for us while we complete our task in the vicinity,” I uttered.

“We are leaving Colby behind?” Asked an astonished Syrune.

“We are not taking Colby. We don’t know what lurks. Whatever it is there, it wanders alone. Not a place for a child. Be sensible Syrune,” I answered.

“Arlond is not that huge. Besides, I know the entrance. Not more than a day. Besides Colby has been excited to see the Octant Laboratory.”

With that Syrune let the secret out.

“You people are on an expedition to the curseforged city?” exclaimed Karlienne with enthusiasm. Her eyes glittered at some unknown prospect. Whatever it is, at the end of it lay money.

“Karlienne, we are not,” I considered the young herbalist before me for a fleeting moment and then decided, “not officially. I promise a fine compensation for taking care of Colby.”

“Let me make a counteroffer,” the glee of a merchant shimmered in her eyes, “I have saved a bit, I could offer you a thousand grand lira if you will let me join.”

“In case you failed to realise, “ my voice took a stern note, “I did not survive long by prioritizing coins.”

Her mouth slackened and her gaze became unfocused for a fleeting moment.

“I was not born an orphan. I knew my parents,” Her shoulders drooped and her eyes widened but furrows still marred her small forehead.

Her hand unconsciously wrenched a fistful of her dress over her chest and she crumpled on herself while choking down a sob.

“Our family situation is a bit complex,“ My mind wandered to Arlene.

“It is my belief, no... I am certain that my parents left us a huge inheritance and our relatives cheated us out of it,” She choked down another sob and pushed her raven black hair over her shoulders, “I know the bank in Arlond has a copy of transactions. I need their version to prove.”

“why not ask Waerondil himself? if it was illegal, he is bound to oblige and provide another copy,” Cynicism still held sway over me.

“Waerondil is a high-elf. No high-elf would lend sympathetic ear to my case if you understand what I meant by my family situation is complicated,” Her eyes shot in anger.

She composed herself after allowing a few heartbeats of silence.

“I have worked occasionally with the Asterlund’s branch when the resident scribe fell sick. I knew how their ledgers are organised. Transaction of the sort that I am searching for, should be in a silver ledger. I just need proof that my relatives moved our funds from one form to another,” she pleaded.

“But even if you have proof, you realise that the chances of getting your fortune back are astronomically slim,” I cautioned.

Cold hard determination roamed behind her hazel eyes as she finally spoke, “I do not intend to get back my fortune. I have other plans. One that tastes good when served cold.”

The air suddenly became palpable and Syrune shifted uncomfortably.

Karlienne once again cleared her throat, “If you are hesitant to take me inside Arlond, let me make this. I will accompany you to the outskirts and I can keep Colby safe. Could you please promise to bring me the silver ledger?”

What she proposed was an agreeable compromise, one I could not refuse.

“But if we do not return in three days time, swear that you will take Colby and return to Sarenthill,” I added.

Her expression stiffed and her eyes took a hawk-like gaze at the mention of Sarenthill but a loud voice cut in before she could answer.

“Lady Rylonvirah,” A male voice, uncompromising, awe-inspiring yet oddly clear and smooth sounded from behind.

The high-elf stood which heaved chest which refused to stay hidden behind his shining armour. Arms encompassed in emblazoned gauntlets, crossed in front of his chest, more as a sign of authority than defiance. Impeccably polished sabatons betraying any speck of dust from his travels supported his muscular bulk. A bright blue cape embroidered along the borders with golden needlework fluttered breezeless behind him, proudly displaying his affliction and a mark of his office.

“Please, take a walk with me,” His request, both a request and command and his mannerism had the finality of someone who was bred for donning authority.

As he turned, his long silky tawny hair danced in the air and a commanding air of self-confidence oozed in his wake. Despite his compelling presence, he held his arms, insisting that I walk beside him.

As we walked, women found his charm, irresistibly appealing and swooned when he did his magnanimous smile.

“I am Lord Commander Ellandor for most people, Mirnovian for friends and Grand Paladin Zelaphiel for those I admire,” his chiselled jaw thrust forward and the inky black of his eyes contrasted with his smooth white skin.

“You can call me Zelaphiel.”

“And to what grace does humble me bestowed with this honour for?” I questioned.

He laughed. His perfectly aligned teeth glistened in the light. The skin of his smooth-shaven cheek pulled a ridge over his cheekbones as he gave an acknowledging nod.

“I guess, one does not become a Matriach without a cruel wit and guile. Well played, I mean the fake corpse and the rumours. You made the archivist break his own oath. You have forced me to act directly. Something that not many could achieve. For that you have my respect and admiration,” said Zelaphiel.

“You give me too much credit,” I countered.

“Lady Rylonvirah, I am not in the habit of throwing away compliments. So please accept what is duly meant for you,” Droplets of sweat formed on his straight forehead and the Aasimar wiped them with a silken handkerchief.

“I take it that this whole Asterlund is a farce and your real target is Arlond?” The Paladin Champion gazed at me through the corner of his eyes and after receiving my silence in response, he continued, “I intend to stop you.”