Walls Have Ears (and Weak Points)

Like the atmosphere in the'marital suite', the first morning of their cohabitation was gloomy and unwelcoming. The sitting area was vacant but slightly changed as Kaelan arrived from his chamber, already dressed in breeches and a basic tunic. As a crude but practical supplementary barricade, a hefty wooden chair had been pushed under the handle of the main door leading to the corridor. Grakka's door stayed securely closed. With a sigh, he squeezed the bridge of his nose. We had a long day ahead of us. Perhaps a long life.

Breakfast was a tense silent workout. A plate containing bread, cheese, boiled eggs, and weak ale was brought by a servant. Kaelan tried to eat properly and grabbed a bit. Eventually, Grakka came out of her room, appearing to be just conserving energy rather than having slept. She pulled a strip of leathery, charred meat from a pouch and chewed on it intently, ignoring the human meal completely. The rhythmic skrr-shink scraped against the polished wood and Kaelan's last nerve as she took a few nibbles, then took her dagger out of its sheath and started carefully sharpening it on the edge of the solid oak table.

"Is that entirely necessary?" At last, trying to seem neutral, Kaelan inquired.

Grakka stopped honing and looked up. She said, "Dull blade is useless blade," as though she were educating a toddler about gravity. "Results in untidy killings. harmful infections. She went back to sharpening.

Kaelan concluded that he needed to strategically reroute before his appetite was totally destroyed or his dining table was irreversibly damaged. "I thought," he started, picking his words carefully, "that you would find it helpful to get acquainted with Stonegate Keep. As your... new home. A collaborative examination of the defenses, perhaps? Although his main goals were to keep her busy and gauge the amount of mayhem she may cause if left unattended, he presented it as a kindness.

After giving this some thought, Grakka nodded curtly. She accepted, seemingly taking his offer just as he had expected. "Good to know enemy territory," she said. She put the dagger back into its sheath after making one more, determined scrape to finish honing it. "Lead on, softskin."

The primary ramparts that overlooked the valley were the first to be inspected. Kaelan began to describe the towers' interlocking fields of fire, the best way to position archers, and the thickness of the parapets that were made to withstand goblin siege projectiles. He spoke with the serene assurance of someone who knew textbook defense strategy and military architecture.

Instead of listening passively, Grakka listened with a disturbing intensity while her eyes were always moving, evaluating, and analyzing. The comments then started.

"Wall is thick," she admitted, giving the stone a knuckle tap. "But surface too smooth here." She indicated a passage that Kaelan thought was really well-written. "Easy to scale in the dark with the right claws or picks. Overhangs are required. or ready-made pans of boiling tar.

Kaelan blinked. "We rely on vigilant sentries…"

"Sentries sleep," said Grakka abruptly. "Or suffer a throat arrow. It is best to defend passively. Peering down at the main gate, she continued. "That mechanism," she said, indicating the solid iron portcullis winch, "is susceptible to damage." A few strategically placed rocks, wedged firmly. Alternatively, shoot arrows at the ropes.

The gate guard's captain, who was with them, became irate. "The mechanism is shielded, Mistress Grakka, and the ropes are treated."

The sound of Grakka's snort was like the grinding of rocks. from the front, shielded. The attack originates from above. or lower." She looked up at the murder holes. "Well-designed. However, spacing is predictable.

Grakka's observations became more concerning from Kaelan's point of view as they proceeded along the wall walk, and probably offensive from the keep's engineers' point of view. She criticized Kaelan's patrol routes, pointed out blind spots caused by buttresses, and questioned the location of water barrels ("Too far from likely fire points"). "Every cycle, the same route, the same time? An ambush could be planned by a sheep.

Their escorts became more inflexible and antagonistic. Kaelan discovered that he was running interference all the time. When Grakka told an experienced sentry that his position was "wide open for a gutting," he would slickly interrupt, "Mistress Grakka raises an interesting point about diversifying patrol patterns." "An excellent reason to ensure that shaft is properly grated, wouldn't you agree, Master Mason?" Kaelan said swiftly when she mentioned that a thin ventilation shaft he had not even realized existed could easily poison the inner keep's well.

The inspection of the kitchens was the pinnacle of Kaelan's diplomatic juggling act. Grakka walked around the enormous hearth, jabbing at the chimney flue with a stick as Kaelan talked to the quartermaster about emergency provisions and water supplies. "This," she said, turning to face Kaelan and the appalled kitchen crew, "is a gaping wound."

When the quartermaster responded, "It's a chimney, Mistress," he was uncertain.

Grakka repeated, "Easy entry for small goblin," while ignoring him. "Open the side gate, kill the cooks, and drop down." Perhaps, she said carefully, "light smoky fire." Signal the primary assault. Very helpful. She nodded to the chimney, as though praising its capacity for betrayal.

Assuring the pale-faced cooks that chimney security would be examined right away, Kaelan quickly hurried her away.

By the time the 'inspection' was over, Kaelan felt as if he had survived a siege himself. They went back to their lodgings and the stifling silence. Finally, tired, Kaelan removed the diplomatic guise.

"Grakka," he replied in an attempt to maintain a level voice, "maybe the men were alarmed by your observations, even if I admire your... diligence. Human military systems depend on both morale and discipline. Despite its usefulness, constant criticism might backfire.

With an unreadable expression, Grakka turned to face him. "Victory feasts are for Morale. Truth is necessary for battle. The way strong people keep falling is by ignoring their weaknesses because it offends them. She gave her temple a tap. "You have sturdy stone walls. Your thoughts are like soft clay.

"There are protocols, ways of suggesting improvements…" She interrupted Kaelan before he could finish.

"Procedures move slowly. Attackers move quickly. She gave a shrug. "You keep. Your funeral.

Moments later, the hefty bar thudded into place as she returned into her chamber. Kaelan rubbed his head and slid onto one of the elaborate chairs. From a human standpoint, the inspection had been a complete failure; Grakka had probably frightened half of the garrison and humiliated the others. However, a tiny bit of reluctant recognition remained ingrained in his thoughts. Did she make a point about how predictable the patrol routes are? Excruciatingly precise. The well-shaft's susceptibility? Something that perhaps no human strategist had thought of, preferring to go straight for the kill. Although her viewpoint was harsh and completely lacking in social grace, it was grounded in a hard, pragmatic truth that he was unable to completely ignore.

Grakka carefully examined the rudimentary barricade she had erected on her door as she entered her room. With its defenses based on predictable patterns and a naive trust in stone walls over vigilant vigilance, the human fortress was rife with weaknesses. However, she was taken aback by the scope of their operation and the enormous quantity of food and metal resources that Kaelan had mentioned in passing. Goblins took what they needed and battled lean. Humans prepared for protracted sieges and constructed enormous supplies. Different approaches, from different cultures. Despite his concerns about "morale" and "protocol," Kaelan, the knight, was well aware of how to keep such a structure in place. She was not accustomed to this type of strength; it was more constant, grinding insistence rather than fangs and claws. "Still soft," she said. Maybe, though, systematically soft.

Like the previous evening, the first full day of their forced cohabitation ended with Kaelan and Grakka locked in their own chambers, struggling to deal with the startling truth of their unwelcome union. Adaptation felt more like cautiously circling each other in a prison, occasionally bumping into the bars with frustrating, perhaps deadly repercussions, than it did like finding common ground.