Only one answer was appropriate for that question.

  “Yes.”

  Oras led with swift steps the Dragonhoard party out of the guild. Excitement pulsed through his system. It had only been two weeks since he had found Celia and a week since she had actually started talking, when they had showed her to the High Priest. It had only been a month since he had married Theria.

  Yet, this was right. He knew it with a certainty he had for so few matters that this was what he wanted. This sureness reached a transcendental level when both Theria and Celia grabbed his arms as they walked. Somehow, despite their brisk pace, they walked in harmony. They practically flew through the half-empty streets of Kumse.

  It only occurred to Oras that he had moved presumptuously when they stood before the large mansion at the foot of the eastern half of the Station of Resting. The white and yellow plaster was a cheap but flattering mimicry of the beauty of Celia’s skin.

  Was he about to ask for a High Priest to present the challenge for his Showing of Worth? The second was supposed to be a properly difficult endeavour, a task that required unique expertise or enough grit that the time invested showed that the man was fully dedicated to the taking of a second wife.

  The major challenge for this size of a harem was still finding a woman that wanted to be a second wife. There were enough men out there who asked for their second Showing of Worth in preparation of the hopeful day they could woo a Stringless. Culturally speaking, approaching a High Priest with it was unusual.

  ‘Karlos is the only one with knowledge of our whole situation,’ Oras justified the decision of his feet, then stepped over the threshold of the mansion.

  As luck would have it, a familiar face stood in the entrance area of the mansion. “The Dragonhoard party returns,” greeted the Stringless. She was a fair woman with red hair, her graceful figure covered by the traditional grey robe of the main branch of the Cult. Oras immediately identified her as one of Karlos’ two women. Her verdant gaze drifted from Celia to Oras’ face. “I suppose you will want to see my husband?”

  Oras identified a hint of confused disapproval in her tone. ‘She must wonder if I am taking advantage but is reserving her judgement,’ the Dragonblood thought as he nodded. “If he is available.”

  “He can make time. Follow me,” the Stringless woman turned towards a corridor. The singular guard that watched over all of this let us pass. The Cult was never under threat and the soldier was more of an honour position.

  We walked down a stone-tiled corridor. The walls were covered in elaborate frescos of the tales of our religion. Depicted was a tale of the second wife. Before they had entered the Cathedral of the Supernatural Elephant, it was said that the one man and five women were not acquainted with each other. They emerged as a harem with five children.

  While the third to fifth wife were disputed in their details, the first and second were decently well recorded - or so Oras had been told. Most of the branches of the Cult made a point out of elevating the first man and his harem to a metaphorical status. Their names and exact looks had been left to mystery and the deepest archives of the Cult. Oras had read tomes that assured that truth could be found, but those that had made that claim had also said that they considered this information that diminished seeing the wisdom.

  Oras did not know whether he wished to find out the truth of the history or continued his studies of the lessons imparted. If the Supernatural Elephant had seen it fit to let details be obscured, then perhaps it was the will of Nature that this be forgotten.

  The wall-painting depicted the second wife as a Stringless with white hair and white eyes. She kissed her husband goodbye, to go on a journey to surrounding villages and offer her service. She tamed elephants to draw ploughs and advised the men to make weapons from old tools. She had been a String at the height of the empire, yet she had taught humans to defend themselves, so the legend went.

  Last time they had been brought to a meeting room. This time, the redheaded Stringless guided them to Karlos’ office. She knocked twice and entered after she had been given permission.

  “My love!” The chubby High Priest only had eyes for his wife, as it should be.

  “I’ve been gone for less than an hour,” she pointed out.

  “And every minute was too long,” Karlos declared.

  The man got up from behind his large wooden desk and hurried over to give his second wife the proper greeting. While they made out, Oras took in the environment. The office of the High Priest had a peculiar look to it. All of the furniture was symmetrically aligned, the decorations on the wall mirroring each other in position, though exact details of the depicted animals and people varied. The curved ceiling held an awe-inspiring rendition of the Supernatural Elephant, the gleam of its metal plates captured wondrously by the artist.

  Karlos pulled his second wife along to the desk. The chair behind it was too broad for even a well-fed man like him. The purpose of that width was clear when the Stringless sat down by her husband’s side, scratching his bearded chin with thorough affection.

  “I did not expect to see you again so soon. What brings you to me?” Karlos’ mirthful tone reflected that he already had the right idea.

  “I would like you to present me with a second Showing of Worth so that I may wed Celia as soon as I have assured that her will is her own.”

  “That sounds like progress has been made on loosening those shackles.” Karlos directed his dark eyes directly at Celia. The doll-woman was shifting uncomfortably already. “Do you have free will, Celia Octavia?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I… do not know,” she responded.

  The words hung heavily in the air for a brief moment, before the priest let out a pleased grunt. “Progress has indeed been made.” His hand squeezed the thigh of his redheaded wife. “You no longer suffer headaches when this topic is discussed?”

  “They are not as stinging,” Celia clarified.

  “That is good. Please inform me what led to this breakthrough?”

  The Dragonhoard party spent the next thirty minutes telling the High Priest about the details of what had happened. It began with Oras pushing Celia in the Adventurer’s Guild and ended with the establishment of their romantic relationship in the jungle pool. Karlos asked repeatedly about not only Celia’s feelings on the developments but those of Oras and Theria as well.

  “Though the strictest reading of our established wisdom condemns kissing her in that situation, I cannot find it in me to do the same,” Karlos said at the end. “More importantly, you have shown the judgement to not sleep with her before her free will has been proven - a proving that you are now open to?”

  “I remain a tool of my Master’s will in my mind.” Celia squeezed Oras’ arm a little tighter. “Though I cannot deny that I have experienced limitations that I cannot rightly say come from my own mind. I will not deny that it is possible I could… cut my strings…” She inhaled sharply, her words relaxing as she continued. “...but I am not convinced that this is the truth yet.”

  Karlos just nodded and send Oras a simple glance, as if to say: ‘You got it covered.’ Out loud, he said to his woman. “Fetch me a document.”

  “Affirmative,” the doll-woman responded, rising from his side to go grab one of the highly ornate papers from a stack in the back. Like the one used to write down the first Showing, it was thick and its rim was decorated with hand-drawn illuminations. More expensive paper could likely only be found in the archives used to hold books that had survived centuries or millennia.

  “You have three missions under your belt now.” Karlos thoughtfully dipped a quill in ink. “Enough to call you an adventurer in actuality. A month is not a long time to operate in the field, but it is not no time either. It certainly appears to be your calling.” He tapped the quill against the edge of the inkwell, letting excess liquid drop. “What would I ask of a man such as you?”

  “There is the matter of the monk,” his wife whispered, just loud enough that Oras could pick it up.

  “You are so right, my love!” Karlos enthusiastically began to write on the parchment, his hand swift from years of practicing calligraphy. “Have you ever heard of the Land Mission Monastery?”

  Theria and Celia looked to Oras, who shook his head. “I cannot say I have.”

  “Would have surprised me if you had. It’s a religious order of our faith, a small one that we here at the main Cult hold in high esteem. They believe that they achieve closeness to the wisdom of the Supernatural Elephant by mirroring its mission to keep the oceans safe, on land. They settle out in the middle of nowhere, fight monsters, and build a fortress-monastery that can then be used to shelter the advance of the faithful into the region.”

  “A most noble endeavour," Oras commented.

  Karlos nodded deeply, chatting casually while he added more decorative flairs to the spiritually and emotionally important document. “They are currently active in Akayan, south of the county’s capital, north of the large townships of Devri and Cere.”

  That was not terribly far from Kumse. A week or maybe two, depending on how deep in the wilderness this monastery was located. “One of their monks requires an escort back?” Oras asked.

  “Indeed…” Karlos dotted the last Is and crossed the last Ts, then put the quill down. “The venerable monk Romas Ehrman, a senior in his order. He has been coming here every three arrivals of the Supernatural Elephant for the last thirty years, to report on the progress of his order and debate with us High Priests of the main Cult matters of scripture, morality and Nature. His stays are always most enlightening. Each march was a trial of faith for him, he insisted on travelling alone.”

  Celia raised an eyebrow, missing the reluctant undertone in the priest’s voice. “If he’s gotten here alone, why can’t he travel back on his own?”

  “He used to…” Karlos uttered in the quiet, sorrowful tone one reserved for the decline of their heroes. “The venerable Ehrman stayed a longer time than usual to debate and test his development on the principle that the strength of the elephant must be emulated.”

  “For the bull is weak, a monster of rage, impotent compared to the mighty elephant, who wields the greatest bulk,” Oras recited one of the core tenets of the faith. This sentence was popular in all but the most removed teachings of the Cult, preaching that a powerful body was a holy body - if tempered with the patience of an elephant not the rage of a bovine.

  “Indeed. Alas, for as much as we wish to emulate the Supernatural Elephant, in the end we are flesh, not machine…” Karlos hesitated for a moment. “The venerable Ehrman demonstrated his combat experience against a trio of youths from the guard. It was honourable combat, the youths are not to blame for what happened… Ehrman’s knee gave in during the middle of combat, just as a youth struck him. The wooden weapon struck him on the side of the head, concussing him before he landed on his shoulder on the sand.”

  “...How old is he?” Oras asked.

  “Approaching 70 years old.”

  Oras inhaled slowly. At that age, every injury could be the last. A warrior-monk of that age must have truly had a lot to offer. ‘Though it speaks to misplaced pride that he insisted on travelling alone even at that age.’ Oras kept that criticism to himself.

  “Though he made a recovery, it is clear that his age has caught up with him,” Karlos continued on. “The knee refuses to carry the weight it did before and though he remains brilliant, his reactions have slowed notably. His fighting days are over. He is aware of this fact and thus asked that we provide him with an escort back.”

  “You would trust us with this?” Oras asked.

  “I would.” The swiftness of Karlos’ answer honoured the Dragonhoard party greatly. Oras and Theria stood a little taller. Celia was not as spiritually involved in this, but even she pulled her shoulders back to carry what weight had been placed on them. “It ought not to be a dangerous mission. Much of the journey is on the road and the monastery is in its final stages of construction. Still, during the final days of travel, I advise you to heed the monk’s words carefully.”

  “We will,” Oras promised.

  Karlos pushed the writ across the table. Pre-made lines on the paper allowed Oras to fold it orderly. His mission was now given, his worth proven would be signed on return. Then he would have the right to make Celia his second wife.

  “I will inform Ehrman that we have secured his companions for the travel. I want you to meet me tomorrow by the main entrance. We will have the venerated monk’s provisions prepared for him.”

  “Understood,” Oras said.

  The Dragonhoard party left the mansion of the Cult with an odd mixture of excitement and second-hand grief. All knowledge was lost one day, especially if it belonged to a mere man. Such was the nature of the world.

  “Soooo, we’ve got half a day of… what do we do with that?” Theria asked.

  “If I may make a suggestion, Master?”

  “Of course,” Oras encouraged her.

  “I would appreciate a detailed history on the place we are heading.”

  “That is reasonable.” Oras scanned the nearby streets. “Let’s find an inn with food and beds, then we will share what we know.”