Camilla forced herself to stand still and face the eastern window in her third-floor room in the Cardinal Inn where she could see the midday bustle with streams of people hurrying to and fro on the streets. In the distance, faint smoke-wisps of cooking fires rose up from the Marketplace and curled lazily skyward behind the large building that housed the First Goblin Bank of Rhydin.

Her leg muscles twitched, eager to resume the incessant pacing into which she'd been pouring nervous energy for the past several minutes much to the chagrin of whomever occupied the room directly below. She allowed herself a slight movement toward the southern window where she could see Dockside across the water. Pursing her dry lips, she crossed her arms and looked down at the street. Her thoughts consumed with her current plight, she did not bother seeking the gods" wisdom in prayer. She had prayed and prayed for weeks and found only silence as her answer. Even Diana, the goddess to whom she was closest, had forsaken her in this instance. Camilla was doomed to a mortal's decision, a mortal's consequences. The gods, in their silence, had made one thing clear: in this, the warrior-girl was on her own.

Camilla's eyes scanned the road below like a hawk, darting from person to person, face to face. She thought of Isuelt and how the Scathachian Judge had taken so personally the events in Rhydin the past several months. Perhaps the most devastating was Lexia's death at Renna's hands and the subsequent confidence-shattering doubt-inducing waves that followed, filling not only Isuelt's heart but the hearts of the entire Scathachian contingent in Rhydin.

To this doubt Camilla was immune; she could empathize, of course, for the Scathachian ranks, already few in number, could ill afford to lose one so young and promising. But she had not grown up with the girl nor trained with her or loved her. Lexia was, simply, a casualty of war and Camilla had no time for the dead. If the gods, Scathachian or otherwise, wanted to protect the girl, they would have. If those gods abandoned or cared for her well-being in the afterlife, so be it. To Camilla, it didn't really matter.

She had thought that, in acquiring the Duel of Swords" Baron's title and the Cardinal Inn, she could carve her way closer to the Scathachian inner-circle. This plan, as an effective tool, had failed. Her position had not effected any change. None of the Sisters had shown interest in assuming the Squire's title, their curiosity not even piqued by the enchanted green-hued axe they could wield after accepting the rank.

Camilla needed to find another way, to forge another inroad. Her measures would have to be more daring and her results much more palpable. She had devised a plan ? perhaps foolish, perhaps reckless, but perhaps the most effective.

Camilla's eyes locked onto someone below. A figure in a nondescript blue-grey robe, its color almost a perfect match for that of the cardinal decorating the sign attached to the Inn, walked into view. The robe's hood, lined with fur to combat the chill winds that swept through the streets without mercy, was raised. The figure within the robe paused in its walk, turned briefly, and looked up at the Cardinal Inn. To anyone on the street, the figure may have been glancing at the clouds above but Camilla's breath caught as the figure's eyes met hers for the briefest of moments. The figure reached up and scratched its half-hidden cheek with two fingers before resuming a slow eastern walk down the road.

This was the moment, the sign she sought. Camilla spun around and, snatching her lined cloak, quickly made her way downstairs and out of the Inn.

As she'd done every few paces since she stepped foot from the Cardinal Inn, Camilla surveyed her surroundings. She kept vigilant watch, not just of the robed figure but of all those she could track around her. Were she to be seen by any of the Scathachians or their allies, her entire plan could derail. Her movements through the city and her following of the figure must remain a close-guarded secret, especially from Isuelt. Only when Scathachian and Bhaal forces clawed at each other's throats, clashed swords and spilled blood would the truth surface. And then, it would be far too late to reverse course, to undo what had been done. In moments, the gods willing, wheels would be set in motion and the day of reckoning, far too long in coming, would draw near.

The walk through Rhydin was, at best, circuitous. From Old Market, she traversed across the nearest bridge to Old Temple and through its streets to the far eastern bridge connecting to Dragon's Gate. Care was taken to avoid the main pathways leading to the Red Dragon Inn and the dueling venues, where she might be recognized. She passed through the main gateway separating Dragon's Gate and Old Market shortly after the blue-robed figure. Thankfully, they both blended in with daily city bustle. The closest bridge leading back to Old Temple was avoided as well, for it passed too close to the Temple of Scathach Springs. Instead, the westernmost bridge was used a second time and she re-entered the Old Temple District just as a flock of birds, one after the other, dove into the water like a dagger through soft flesh. Within seconds, each one resurfaced and took flight with a fish, vigorously but futilely fighting for life, struggling to wrench free from their beaks. Camilla, more desperate for an answer to her prayers than she realized, took the act as a sign from the gods that she was on the right path. The Scathachians and Bhaalites were the fish and the birds; the water was their battlefield. The three would, soon, converge. Of that, Camilla would make certain.