Fragments of Proof

There was a lot more silence on the way back to Stonegate Keep than there had been before dawn when they had left. Under Kaelan's skin, adrenaline continued to throb, accompanied by the dull discomfort of bruises beginning to appear. Grakka walked beside him with her normal easy gait, but she preferred the leather sleeve on her left arm, which was stained darkly with blood. They remained silent. After the unadulterated, instinctive partnership that had saved their lives, words were insufficient, possibly even hazardous. Kaelan became intensely conscious of her existence as a fellow survivor who had battled beside him with deadly competence, rather than merely as a cultural conundrum or a political necessity. He took a chance on a sidelong glance; she saw the movement, her black eyes briefly locking with his before they both averted their gazes, the memory of the battle lingering almost tangible between them.

Reentering the keep through the silent sally port was like stepping back into a different reality, where the familiar, simmering tensions they had momentarily fled were in place of the immediate, visceral threat. Since they had to report the ambush before rumors could distort the facts, they went straight to Captain Vorlag's office.

They put forth a remarkably cohesive face. Kaelan gave a succinct account of the incident, highlighting the scouting close to the postern gate, the well-prepared attackers' synchronized assault, and the obvious intention to kill. Grakka occasionally added direct, useful information that Kaelan could have missed, such as the precise kind of footing the attackers were looking for and the methodical way they fled without causing any casualties. Both of them underlined that the attack was professional and that it wasn't the result of bandits or irate soldiers. "Mercenaries, most likely," said Kaelan. "Or soldiers operating outside the King's authority."

"Hired blades," Grakka grunted to affirm. "Expert. costly.

Captain Vorlag's attitude grew more solemn as he listened. A joint assault on Sir Kaelan and the daughter of the Goblin Chief, just beyond the gates of the keep? The escalation was blatant. He pledged to deploy scouts farther afield, double patrols, and a comprehensive scan of the area. Knowing that these steps were vital but probably insufficient against a determined, unidentified enemy that could seemingly operate so near with impunity, Kaelan nodded.

The uneasiness reappeared with reinforcements in the relative seclusion of their suite, though privacy now seemed like a dubious idea. Exhaustion and the harsh reality of their circumstances were what remained once the excitement had worn off. Grakka headed straight to her room. The sounds of splashing water reached Kaelan's ears, followed by the strong, characteristic smell of goblin medical paste wafting beneath the door. Wincing, he took off his own dented leather armor and checked a bruise that was starting to grow on his shoulder from the pommel of an opponent. With meticulous motions, he located clean strips of linen and started to treat a shallow graze on his forearm.

After a while, Grakka came out with the gash on her arm cleansed and bandaged with stiff, dark strands that looked more like sinew than fabric. She observed him caring for his cut. Their gazes briefly locked across the room. Kaelan nearly said something—possibly an offer of appropriate bandages or even a reluctant admission of her combat prowess. Grakka appeared hesitant as well, perhaps preparing to remark on his careless bandaging method. However, the remoteness and mistrustful behavior was too deeply embedded. The instant was over. He concentrated hard on tying off his bandage while she looked away to inspect the window fastenings in the room. The shared aggression had only made the other bank more visible; it had not magically closed the gap between them.

But later that day, they had to talk because of how urgent their situation was. It was crucial to figure out who had assaulted them and why. The shaft of one of the arrows Kaelan had plucked from the ground close to the ambush spot was amazingly intact. He placed it on the sitting room's hefty oak table. Grakka watched his behavior and cautiously walked over to the table.

"The fletching is goose feather, dyed green," Kaelan said, gesturing and pointing. "Common enough for mercenaries or border skirmishers. The arrowhead is made to pierce mail and is bodkin-style, a regular military issue. He flipped the arrow. However, the shaft is made of pine rather than birch or ash, which is typical of Kingdom legions. Additionally, no maker's marks are present. He gave her a look. "Proposes unconventional supplies. Mercenaries continue to be the most likely source.

Grakka's calloused fingertips examined the arrow with a new kind of attention as she took it up. She sniffed carefully close to the fletching, rubbed a thumb over the grain of the wood, and checked the seating of the arrowhead. "Pine," she said, affirming. "Very inexpensive. inclined to warp. Accuracy at range is poor. Near the tip, she rubbed a fingernail against a thin, dark residue. "As well as poison. Crude application of common night-crawler poison. intended to sicken; if the wound festers, it may kill slowly. Not immediately fatal.

She gave Kaelan a look. Cost is more important to your mercenaries than quality? and apply weak poison?" She gave a headshake. It doesn't fit. These fighters had good movement and skill. Subpar arrows would not be used by them unless..."

"...Unless it was all they could get easily without tracing back to their employer?" Kaelan, fascinated by her pragmatic analysis, concluded her idea. She concentrated on material quality and function, while he had concentrated on typology and origin. Or was the purpose of the arrows to deceive? to resemble standard mercenary equipment?"

"Possible," admitted Grakka. "The fighting style... it was disciplined, yes, like your soldiers." She stopped and reflected. "But more subdued. More fluid. More dependence on intuition and subtle cues rather than yelling commands. That's how some mountain clans battle. There are also some pit combatants from the free cities in the south.

Kaelan thought about this new knowledge. Known for their independence, mountain clans were frequently antagonistic toward both humans and established goblin tribes, like as Grok'nar's. Pit fighters suggested shady bosses with plenty of money and no morals. "So, could mountain clans be hiring mercenaries? or a wealthy person using warriors who have had that kind of training?" The options changed.

"Who hates my father and your king enough to hire killers for both of us?" With that, Grakka asked the essential query. Her eyes were analytical and piercing.

Kaelan pondered, "Dispossessed human lords who lost land in the wars," "Rival goblin leaders who regard peace as weakness and despise Grok'nar's might. other forces that profit from border instability." He walked away. It was a gloomily lengthy list.

Grakka abruptly stated, "The poison," tapping the arrowhead. "Night-crawler venom is common in the Shadow Peaks."

"Border territory between Aeridor and the Frost Wastes," Kaelan recognized right away. "Claimed by neither, frequented by exiles, smugglers... and certain mountain clans."

They exchanged glances. Not yet, it wasn't proof. However, it was a guide, a lead. The inexpensive pine arrow, the unrefined poison, the fighting technique Grakka was familiar with—fragments that, when put together using their disparate but complementary knowledge sets, indicated a particular, hazardous area.

"The Shadow Peaks," said Kaelan. "We must now find out who works there. who is motivated and has the resources.

Grakka nodded curtly. For the first time, they had stopped responding to things and had worked together to find a possible threat source. The procedure had been brief, characterized by their intrinsic distinctions, but unquestionably fruitful. They experienced a moment of focused, shared purpose rather than warmth as they stood over the table, the lone arrow resting between them like a delicate piece of proof. The search for their invisible foe had really started.