“This is like finding a grain of sand in a desert!” Sven shook his head when Lena told him they had to look for clues in Battahl. “How to tell which one is the right one? We have a stack of letters from Battahl, intimate and otherwise, signed and unsigned, old and new… Which one would point to ‘His Lordship’ that is my sire? Which one would lead us to your captured pawn? Is the same person behind both? Twenty years apart? That seems unlikely…” Sven sighed. “Yet at the same time I sense it is exactly the case… But why..?”

“There is something else at work here,” Lena mused, looking through the letters on the table again. “Something that we are yet to uncover. I too feel that the same person may be behind both… I just hope that Scorpio is still alive…”

“I haven’t considered that,” Sven looked up with sadness. “It’s been… what? Four, five months? If he is being tortured… strong as he is, that’s a long time… assuming they didn’t kill him directly…” He stopped talking, noticing Lena’s heartache, but she got the distinct feeling that he said those things on purpose. Perhaps in order to see her response.

“Yes, I miss him, if that’s what you wanted to know,” she said with rebuke and Sven blushed slightly. “It isn’t an act.”

“But you have Rook now…”

“Rook is my friend. Scorpio is… more.” She kept her eyes on Sven trying to figure out why he was asking these questions, and what it was that he wasn’t asking but wanted to know.

“I’ve watched you and Rook,” Sven met her gaze without blushing. “You seem completely at ease with each other. He’s not guarded with you as he’s guarded with his other clients, you are not a client to him. I do not understand… And you say there can be more?”

“Rook is married, did you know that?” Lena smiled. “Not to me, that is. But we are old friends, we’ve been through so much, I trust him with my life and more… But yes, there is another level… more than one level, in fact…”

“But if he’s married… Why did he become an escort?”

“To help me find Scorpio.” Lena paused, watching the puzzled look on Sven’s face. “Or do you mean to ask why Rook is such an excellent escort? Because that’s Rook. When he decides to do something, he does it right. He doesn’t skimp, doesn’t shirk, doesn’t try to fake it. He took the job for a different reason, but it is now his job, and he does it well. His clients can sense it, which is why he is in demand. Not just because he’s the Sovran’s escort.”

“I never imagined that slaying the dragon could bring people together like that,” Sven said softly, still puzzled.

“It wasn’t the dragon…” Lena thought of the times she would lose a battle in order to save her pawns, of the times her pawns would keep fighting for her and die when she could not save them, the times she really lost a pawn, not merely sent them back to the Rift… “Pawns are not completely immortal,” she smiled at Sven. “Yet they do not falter, and not all of it is driven by duty or their magical bonds to the master… I’ve had pawns that…” She stopped talking, suddenly realising that speaking of that would be betraying their trust. Not all pawns were equally loyal, despite the common belief. “It wasn’t the dragon that brought us together,” she closed the topic. “But it is between me and them.”

…

One evening Lena slipped into The Rose from a particularly boring soiree – there seemed to have been secret passages from every part of the castle. She didn’t know whether Rook was with a client, and didn’t want to go barging in. She linguered in the corridor, trying to make up her mind.

“Your Majesty,” she heard Wilhemina’s voice behind her. “Your escort will finish shortly,” she smiled. “But until then, please come with me.”

Wilhemina led Lena into an empty room, closed the door and kissed her.

“Not interested?” She stood back, surprised. “Not many clients get my attention.”

“Forgive me, Lady Wilhemina,” Lena smiled. “But…”

“Say no more,” Wilhemina smiled back. “It is unusual, but not unheard of. But may be I can still please you with something else…”

She walked to a framed picture on the wall and flipped it aside, revealing a peephole. Lena looked in.

The room on the other side seemed empty, but then she noticed movement in the curtains. A masked man silently stepped forward, and a masked woman appeared from another corner of the room. Lena recognised Queen Regent, because, let’s face it, masks didn’t work for people who knew each other well, such as members of the same court. The man, however, was unknown to Lena, and his mask would indeed prevent her from remembering his face.

“Disa…” he said, taking Queen Regent into his arms. “You wanted me to stay away, and I did. It’s been a long wait… but you look just like you did twenty years ago.”

“You flatter me, Phaz,” she smiled. “But the wait is nearly over. Sven will marry the Arisen and then…”

“How long do you plan to let her live?”

“Just long enough to calm the waters,” she shrugged. “Her pawn does complicate matters, though.”

“Her pawn? But we removed him, surely?”

“Her other pawn… her escort here at The Rose. We cannot touch him here.”

“That is most unfortunate.”

“But equally… he’s just an escort,” Queen Regent made a gesture of brushing off an annoying fly. “Not a bodyguard, as was the one before him. And he’s just a mage… Not a match for you, Phaz.”

“You want that I kill him myself..?” The man she called ‘Phaz’ sounded surprised.

“If need be…” She sighed. “Just send him back to the Rift, that will do.”

“Easier than killing him outright,” Phaz agreed. “Her main pawn is still alive… somehow… we’ve done all we could think of… it’s been five months.”

“Alive?” Disa pulled back, surprised and worried.

“We could have sent him back to the Rift, but that would have served no purpose,” Phaz explained. “She’d get him back right away. No, he needs to die a proper death, there are ways… he seems unconsious and his body is ailing, yet he still lives…”

“That is enough,” Wilhemina covered the peephole with the picture again. “Your escort awaits you, Your Majesty.”

Lena followed her to Rook’s chamber and didn’t come out until the following afternoon.

…

“Sven has been watching us,” Lena told Rook when she finally stopped crying. “He’s been asking me about your… skills,” she grinned. “Whether all pawns are like you.”

“And what did you say?” Rook smirked, pouring coffee.

“That all pawns are exactly the same, of course, powered by secret magic, just like golems,” she laughed. “What did you think I said? There’s no one quite like you, Rook.”

“I wonder why Wilhemina lets him watch,” he mused, settling down in a large plush armchair with his cream-laden coffee. “I didn’t think it was a part of a standard service.”

“Education? His mother does want him to marry me.”

“For political reasons, yes,” Rook objected. “Besides, he’s been running around brothels long enough now not to require any further training…”

They didn’t know what to make of it, but ultimately it wasn’t important and they didn’t care, so they spoke of it no more.

…

Hearing about Scorpio’s condition gave an increased sense of urgency to their investigation, but still they could not move any faster than they did. The man named ‘Phaz’ was in the centre of it all, but his identity was unknown, and although they surmised that he must be the mysterious ‘His Lordship’ from the old correspondence, it didn’t actually help them to figure out who he was. Lena thought he was a sorcerer, but Rook pointed out that Queen Regent’s words would have worked just as well if the man was a knight.

“Any vocation is stronger than a mage when it comes to battle,” Rook objected. “He could even be an archer, for all we know. Although I would probably be able to deal with an archer…”

“I still think a sorcerer is most likely,” Lena was being stubborn. “And anyhow, we have a register of noteworthy sorcerers, and there are exactly three of them in the whole kingdom, as opposed to literally hundreds of knights.”

“Let’s start with sorcerers then,” Rook grinned. “Except… aren’t you looking in the wrong kindom? He’s supposed to be from Battahl.”

“With so few sorcerers around, they all are bound to know each other,” Lena was pouring over the map of Vermund. “We have a court sorcerer here at the castle… An old man with his nose in books. I don’t think he’s involved in any plots – too busy reading. There’s an Elven sorceress up in the Sacred Arbour…”

“As if Elves ever minged in human affairs!” Rook shook his head.

“True. Then there’s Magister Myrrdin living in a small town near the border with Battahl. I think I shall pay him a visit.”

“Hold it – hold it!” Rook pulled the map out of Lena’s hands. “Your Majesty cannot go visiting some random sorcerers in small border towns. I’ll go. You stay put.”

…

“Magister Myrrdin is not receiving visitors,” a stern-looking maid answered the door. “State your business.”

“I thought he wasn’t receiving visitors?” Rook smiled at her. “I heard much about Magister Myrrdin’s learning and was hoping to discuss ways to improve my battle spells… I am but a mage, you see, battle is not my speciality.”

“Then you’ve come to the wrong house!” The maid barked at him. “Magister Myrrdin does not teach dilettantes!”

She slammed the door in Rook’s face. This matter required a different approach.

…

“I saw you trying to get into Myrrdin’s house,” a shady character in dirty leather armour sat next to Rook at the tavern that evening. “We’ve been trying it for weeks. Best give it up, mate, that house is a fortress.”

“I wasn’t actually…” Rook started saying when another unsavoury character interrupted him.

“You lot will never get in!” He said to the other thief. “You ain’t got class. Stick out as a sore thumb… This fellah on the other hand, he stands a chance… If dressed right… I reckon… may be…” He took a step back, eyeing Rook head to toe. “I’ll tell you what you need to do, but we take half the cut.”

“There won’t be any cuts, so there’s nothing to take,” Rook said firmly. “I daresay I don’t need your help.”

“You won’t get past that door without us!” The thief retorted angrily. “And I have a rush order on an opal orb from that house, so you WILL go in!”

“Not for you, I won’t.”

“We’ll see about that!!”

Daggers flashed from several directions, an arrow flew past Rook’s ear, someone even tried to stab him, but Rook was completely unharmed.

“That does it, really!” He pushed away one of his attackers and quickly cast a spell. A lightning bolt hit in the middle of the fighting crowd, the sparks latched onto the weapons, jumping from fighter to figher, some people fell to the ground, others were still standing, shaking. Either way, the fight was over, and the barman was quick to throw them all outside. The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had assembled, out of sight and out of reach of the city guard.

“It’s always the same here,” a guard addressed Rook and spit. “They start the brawl, but they are too quick for us. You, on the other hand… In the name of Her Majesty the Sovran, I arrest you for disturbing the peace in this town.” He put wrist irons on Rook who didn’t resist. “It’s this way to the gaol…”

…

Stripped of his coat and staff and dressed in prison garb, Rook woke up in the morning on a pile of dirty straw in a rat-infested gaol of a small border town. His head didn’t hurt and he remembered everything that happened, but he felt empty and hollow. The wrist irons – they sapped his strength and magicka, leaving him defenseless.

“How do I get out of here?” He asked the guard who brought him bread and water. “If it’s money you want…”

“Aye, there’s a fee to pay,” the guard grinned. “But not yet. You are a pawn, are you not? You pawns get a different treatment.”

He checked the lock on the bars and walked off, leaving Rook with a feeling of foreboding. His trip was not going according to plan.