Lyria composed herself and took the message with a sad familiarity. The rider could have informed her of bad weather and her expression would not have differed much.

“It is a nice town and a great place,” said Lyria, “I liked it here.”

The rider stood still, attentively.

“Should I deliver any message to the commander?” he asked.

“Tell Lobrock that I am thankful for his consideration,” replied Lyria.

The rider looked around indecisively. Something eating him from inside.

“Something more you have to say?” asked Lyria.

“There is one more thing,” He cast a glance in my direction and held his attention. “We have orders to apprehend a dark-elf with a description matching your companion,” he uttered.

“Really?” asked Lyria with amusement. She is probably thinking “what did you do this time, Rils?”

“An exiled dark elf noble lady now leads a company of mercenaries. Heavily injured and was seen travelling in these parts,” he added.

“Fort Halcyon bent the knee to no king or general,” said Lyria, “So who is giving these orders?”

“The newly formed coalition,” he answered, but seeing our oblivious faces, he continued, “Fort Halcyon became a part of the newly formed coalition to counter the threat of the One-horned warlord in the north. Some big high-elven Paladin is given absolute command over the forces. He is said to have liberated Arlond and the coalition felt that he is the right person for the task.”

“Zelaphiel,” I hissed.

We evacuated the bonfire grounds accompanied by two of the townsfolk. The rider silently followed us to the smithy.

The mangy mutt gave a low cry as we entered. Even Arlene’s consummate animal handling skills failed to calm the troubled animal.

“He sensed that something is amiss,” remarked Arlene, “Animals have a hidden sense that way.”

Lyria, finally scooped the mutt in her arms and scratched him behind the ears. As if there was magic in her fingertips, the howling reduced to a low throaty whimper.

Lyria handed the mutt to one of the willing townsfolk.

“He is a great dog. It is sad that I cannot take him with me. You can leave him in the stables. He likes horses,” said Lyria and then in a cooing voice patted the mutt, “who likes horses, this boy.”

The rider who was silent till now finally spoke.

“I was asked to promptly return,” he explained, “but I will gladly help you before I go, forge marm.”

He wants further instructions.

Instead, Lyria dismissed him, her mind occupied with other concerns.

She quickly gathered the few measly clothes that she owned. A few linen shirts, two pairs of sturdy breeches, three skirts, and a woollen cloak were all that Lyria could declare as the contents of her wardrobe. For a brief moment, she considered the sandals she wore and a sturdy pair of boots on the corner and finally settled on the boots as a better choice for travelling.

She unceremoniously dumped all her possession in a large canvas cloth with multiple time-worn stitches and wrapped them into a small bundle. Satisfied with her travel preparation, Lyria gave her abode one last final sweeping glance. Finally, her grasp tightened around a large menacing maul. My initial assumption that Lyria was finally steeling herself proved wrong when she tied the ends of the bundle to the maul and rested it on her shoulders like a travelling stick. She just wanted a bindle.

“Where will you go now?” A concerned townsperson asked. Lyria must have gathered some support from the local population.

Before Lyria could answer, an answer I knew well, the rider interrupted.

“Not in my presence Forge Marm. The less I know, the better.”

No wonder the commander picked him to convey the message. He does have wits about him.

I finally spoke, taking the initiative. She needs me now.

“Lyria, if I can make a suggestion,” I volunteered, “You could come to Sarenthill, Westerleygates or Asterlund. I could find one or another community that could benefit from an excellent smith.”

“I would advise against any of the southern lands,” cautioned the rider, “The Paladin has set heavy patrols on the way to southern lands. Every path to Ellisinore is heavily guarded. Arlond is occupied by the Order of Latent Divinity. Even Asterlund is blocked.”

“But not the cities themselves?” The fae was the sharpest of the group.

“No the cities themselves are still under their respective rulers,” answered the rider.

Obviously, not everyone bought into Zelaphiel’s grand liberator title. Lady Stormaire would not. Mage’s collective, thanks to Syrune, would be sceptical. Merrick and by extension, Lord Korvanor and the Duke might temporarily allow Zelaphiel to reign as long as their intentions incline.

“Magistra, behind the lines, in the cities, is where you are safe,” said the fae, “You should reach The Aberrant Irregulars as soon as possible.”

“I am glad someone in your company has some sense to guide you, Rils,” noted Lyria. Vitalia and Lyria together, and they are teaming up against me. Mercy.

“In your present state, you can hardly travel, let alone break an enclosing shield patrol. I will see to it that you are safe with your company,” declared Lyria.

For once, I was glad for my injuries.

“I will take you in my own arms and walk the distance,” declared Lyria further.

I would take a thousand more explosions to be carried by her.

“The grand Paladin is no fool,” cautioned Vitalia. She had to break me out of my sweet dream of being coddled in Lyria’s arms.

“His patrol would not even stop Magistra. They would send word. He will surround us with a huge force,” explained the fae to all.

“Deliver your official report,” I turned to the rider. His gait suggested that he was not even the least perturbed by receiving instructions from me. Maybe his respect for Lyria extends to me.

“You apprehended Lyria as per the instructions but I ambushed you alone on your way to Fort Halcyon. I was heavily wounded and limping. You decided to take me as well but as you neared me, your vision blurred and you lost consciousness. A believable tale.”

The rider gave another salute and left.

“My forces are between Sarenthill and Westerleygates and We are held here in Halcyon Hollow,” I voiced my thoughts openly.

“Either you have to be with our forces or I will have to bring our forces to you,” answered Arlene.

She expected praise from her Mentor. She got none.

“I am afraid even if you were able to immediately muster the forces and bring them here, it would be late,” said Vitalia. At this moment, I was uncertain if I should call the fae a rationalist or a pessimist.

“Not if we move south,” I responded, “that would give us a slim chance that we could meet before Zelaphiel’s sieging forces could circle us.”

I knew that I stuck a wrong chord with the fae when she crossed her arms and fluttered around me. The very air in the room suddenly became palpable. Eventually, it was Lyria who broke the tension.

“Northeast is where we travel,” said Lyria, “not south.”

She continued, satisfied that she gained the attention of all, including Maapu, Taltil and Theko.

“Urganza is in Forgewife folly. I could call a few favours with her. Hopefully, she can be convinced to part with some Ashen Bulwark,” explained Lyria.

Ashen Bulwark. Many a time, I fancied commanding those Orcs. Matched only by the Dwarven Patriarchs in defence and unmatched in their savagery.

Lyria’s suggestion settled the issue and with that, we started another journey.

Arlene rode with her Mentor back towards Westerleygates, taking Mr Snout and Mrs Bellyrumble with her. I would have gladly welcomed the alone time with Lyria but the fae insisted that in my present state, Lyria could do well with additional hands.

Lyria’s stubbornness stood unassailable against the persuasion of the townsfolk. She refused the offer of a horse.

An icy wind blew from the north as the five of us walked further into the desolate grounds.

Lyria’s forge slowly shrunk behind us until it became nothing more than a tiny speck on the horizon.

I gave a wry laugh at my foolish thoughts. Even if it were for a brief evening, I entertained the possibility, surrendering all that I was and settling in the small quaint little hamlet with Lyria by my side. A foolish and wishful thought of the desperate. There is no place for Lyria. No matter where she goes, she would be persecuted for the circumstances of her birth. I need to wield power if I were to protect Lyria. Were I still the Matriarch, I could have offered Lyria a place. In the end, holding reins to power is the answer. When I am back with my Irregulars, it will start with the downfall of a certain Lord, the routing of a conniving Duke and the elevation of the status of a particular Noble House.

Lyria’s touch jolted me from my reverie. She took my right arm and threw it over her shoulders. Her left arm wrapped around my waist to support me. With her closeness, the thoughts vanished like a mist and I let myself be led by her again.