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Several days of travel had brought Trigorah and her men from their headquarters in Northern Capital to the southern edge of an icy field. She had most of the other Elites combing it for some sign of where the sword had been found. If the reports were correct, then the girl had passed through the nearby towns heading south. Of the three nearest towns, only the people of the village due north had any memory of the girl described in Demont's report. They spat when they spoke of her, decrying her as a sympathizer and traitor. One man recounted with pride sending her directly through this field.
The general considered the facts. An unprepared, unequipped individual as the townsfolk had described would not likely have survived the journey to the next city, even if she'd known to head there directly. She must have found some manner of shelter before then. The only conceivable source, barring something within the tundra itself, was a small, poorly-kept place of worship. Trigorah approached it. There were horses and riders in front of it. As she drew nearer, she realized that she recognized the uniforms of the men assembled before the church as not merely Alliance Army, but her own Elite. Anger and confusion welling up in her, she spurred her horse forward.
"General Teloran!" piped one of the soldiers, offering a salute.
"At ease, what is the meaning of this? I left no orders for you. Why are you here?" Trigorah snapped.
"We've been assigned a temporary commander, General. Commander Arden," he replied.
"Arden? Stand aside, soldier," the general hissed.
Fury in her eyes, the general stalked inside. In the darkened interior of the church, near a door at the far end of the room, a massive man was clutching a frail, blindfolded old priest in one hand and an oddly elegant halberd in the other. The old man was fairly dangling from the aggressor's ham-sized fist.
"You seen 'im. I know you did!" he barked.
"Put him down!" Trigorah ordered.
The hulking man's head jerked in her direction.
"Don't in'erupt, Gen'ral. I know dis old man saw somfin," Arden growled.
"He hasn't seen anything, you imbecile! He is clearly blind!" Trigorah cried, yanking the helpless old man from his grip.
Arden considered this for a moment.
"That don't mean nothin," he decided.
"Father, if you will just take a seat in the other room, I will have a word with my . . . associate . . . and then I require a few words with you myself," Trigorah said diplomatically.
The priest gratefully felt his way to the door to his chamber and closed the door behind him.
"What the hell do you think you are doing with my men, Arden?" Trigorah fumed, pronouncing the thug's name in an almost mocking tone.
"You ain't doin yer job no more, they said, so they decided I oughta. Said somebody's gotta find the 'sassin, since you couldn't," he replied.
"I found the assassin's accomplice! Someone saw fit to hire him rather than imprison him," Trigorah replied.
"Uh-huh. And he did his job. Probably I wouldn't of had to get involved if he'da just been paid, but what do I care 'bout 'scuses?" Arden shrugged, adding. "Yer men follow orders good. I think I'll keep 'em."
Trigorah shuddered with anger.
"Huh-huh. Tell you what. You gotta find that sword, right? And I gotta find that 'sassin. What's say we make a wager? You find yer bounty first and I refuse to take yer men, even if they're offered," Arden suggested.
"And if you win?" she asked.
"You know what I want if I win," Arden replied.
The general's eyes narrowed.
"Don't flatter yerself, elf. I want what's in here," he said, attempting to poke Trigorah on the helmet only to have his hand knocked away. "I got a lot of questions, and I wanna be able to ask 'em in my way. And, naturally, I'll be hanging onto yer men."
After a moment, Trigorah offered her hand. Arden shuffled the halberd to under his arm, its blade swiping dangerously near to Trigorah's head, and shook her hand.
"Right. I'm off then. Have fun with yer priest," Arden said, plodding out toward the door and barking an order to the men outside.
Trigorah entered the priest's chambers. He was sitting in a large chair, strangely composed despite his recent ordeal.
"I apologize for the actions of Arden. They were inexcusable," Trigorah began.
"Mmm. And yet you work with him," the priest replied.
"Through no choice of my own, I assure you," General Trigorah said.
"Everything is a choice, my child. Some choices are made poorly. They can have terrible consequences," he replied coldly. "Tell me. Is that the sort that our glorious army sees fit to employ?"
"These are hard times . . . regardless, I again apologize. I shall endeavor to make my time here brief and leave you in peace," Trigorah replied.
"As you wish, though it is not often I am graced by the presence of a general. May I offer any hospitality?" he said, the realization of his current guest finally taking hold.
"Only answers, Father. Were you visited, perhaps two weeks ago, by anyone? Anyone out of the ordinary?" she asked.
"Mmm. You'd be after the girl, then, I suppose. What was her name now? Myranda. Myranda Celeste. A sympathizer," he recalled.
Trigorah hesitated for a moment when she heard the name.
"You are certain about that?" she asked.
"Quite sure. Up to some mischief, is she? Stirring things up?" he asked.
"So it would seem," Trigorah replied quietly.
"Mmm. I feared as much." He nodded.
"I don't suppose you were able to determine if she was carrying anything," Trigorah pressed.
"I imagine she had a pack. I heard the odd clink or thunk when she sat down. At least I think I did. It was quite a few days ago," he answered.
"Thank you. That is all. I appreciate your time," Trigorah said, turning to leave.
"Anything to lend a hand to the Alliance Army," the priest said as she closed the door and hurried out.
Trigorah's rigid, analytic mind clashed against these new developments, churning though them. Some she set aside for further study, others she tried push to the back of her mind. Not every fact had been a welcome one. One thing was for certain, though. The task at hand was now no longer simply a matter of duty. It was a matter of honor.