Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The Hall of Valor smells like burning steel. It’s a scent I’ve grown familiar with over the past three weeks of shadowing the golden son of House Clayborne. I follow Garrett through the halls, no longer hiding in shadows as he insisted.
Stand beside me, not behind me.
So here I am, a wolf among eagles and lions, watching Aelfheim’s finest warriors step aside for their commander.
Weapons line the walls, arranged by type and era.
Swords from the Inquisition hang beside shields bearing the crests of fallen heroes.
Sunlight streams through the colored glass, painting the stone floor in patterns of red and gold.
The clash of steel on steel echoes through the space, a constant rhythm that seems to underscore everything here.
Six Valorians missing in two months.
No bodies, no ransom demands, just empty beds and worried whispers. The remaining guards cluster in small groups. They watch me with open suspicion, the Grimsbane walking beside their golden commander.
I don’t blame them. To them, I’m an outsider. Worse, I’m guild trash from Tiamat, a city they think of as a cesspool of crime and violence. They’re not wrong, but it still stings.
Garrett sits at the large table in the center with parchments and scrolls spread before him. Maps of patrol routes, duty rosters, reports from the city watch. He’s been preparing for this all morning, cross-referencing schedules and movements.
I lean against the stone wall in the corner. Close enough to intervene if needed, far enough away to not intrude. From this vantage point, I can see the entire hall, both entrances, and every window.
He looks up from his papers and catches my eye. Something passes between us. It’s not quite a smile but something. Three weeks is long enough to learn a person’s tells. He’s worried and exhausted.
The shadows under his eyes are darker today. He didn’t sleep well last night. I know because I was in the chair by his window, watching the city while he tossed and turned.
Garrett has nightmares sometimes. He never talks about them, but I hear him wake gasping.
“Send in the first one,” he says to the guard by the door.
The Valorian who enters is broad-shouldered with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. His uniform is immaculate and polished.
“Sir.” He salutes, fist to chest.
“At ease, Davin.” Garrett gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit. Please.”
The Valorian sits but he doesn’t look at ease. Soldiers don’t like being questioned by their commanders. Even informal questions carry weight, and everyone knows what this is about.
The missing knights.
“Walk me through the last time you saw Marcian,” Garrett says, his voice gentle as if it were a conversation not an interrogation.
“Three nights ago, Commander,” Davin says, his shoulders straightening. “We finished patrol at the ninth bell. Marcian said he was heading home to his wife, Eithne.”
Garrett watches the Valorian carefully. “Did he seem troubled? Distracted?”
“No more than usual, sir.” Davin shifts slightly. “We’re all on edge with the others going missing. Six knights in two months, and now Marcian makes seven.”
Garrett nods, making notes on the parchment before him. His elven handwriting is neat, each word carefully formed. “I understand. Did Marcian mention anything unusual? Anyone following him?”
“No, sir. He was joking about how Eithne would scold him for being late to dinner.” Davin’s expression softens at the memory. “He seemed normal. Happy even.”
“And you went straight home after patrol?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone see you?”
Davin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. It’s the natural reaction to being asked for an alibi even when you’re innocent. No one likes the implication. “My neighbor. Old Merris. She’s always at her window, watching the street. Nothing happens on our block without her knowing about it.”
I make a mental note. Old Merris will need to be questioned to verify the story. If she exists and was actually at her window that night.
“What time did you arrive home?”
“Tenth bell, maybe a quarter past. It’s a twenty-minute walk from the Hall.”
Garrett makes another note. “Thank you, Davin. Send in Eòghan next, would you?”
Davin salutes again and leaves. The door closes behind him with a heavy thud. Silence settles over the room. Garrett stares at his notes, quill poised above the parchment.
“Well? Your professional opinion?” he asks without looking up.
“He’s telling the truth.” I glance toward the door. “His body language doesn’t suggest deception. But he’s scared.”
“They’re all scared.” Garrett sets down his quill and rubs his eyes. “Wouldn’t you be? Their comrades are vanishing without a trace.”
“Scared people make mistakes. Watch for the ones who are too calm,” I remark.
He picks up the quill again, dipping it in ink. “Send in the next one.”
I return to my position against the wall and signal to the guard by the door.
Eòghan, the second guard, is younger than Davin. It’s hard to tell their exact age with pure-blooded elves. He has a nervous energy that makes him fidget. His fingers drum against his thigh and eyes dart around the room, never settling on one spot for long.
He’s terrified. Eòghan never saw the missing guard that night. Different patrol route, different shift. He went straight home to his mother’s house at the end of his shift. She’ll verify because she always waits up for him.
The third Valorian, Freya, is harder to read.
She has the kind of face that reveals nothing.
It’s probably what made her a good Valorian in the first place.
She answers Garrett’s questions with no wasted words.
Yes, she saw Marcian. No, nothing seemed wrong.
Yes, she went straight home. Her husband can confirm.
Freya meets my eyes once and there’s a challenge there. She knows I’m watching her and she doesn’t like it.
The fourth guard has gray threading through his dark hair. Tomas, according to the roster. Older than the others. He’s been a Valorian for three centuries. The High Elf knew Marcian well.
His answers are similar to the others, but there’s something in his voice when he talks about Marcian. “He was good,” he says quietly. “Good soldier, honest husband. He didn’t deserve this.”
“I’ll find who’s doing this, Tomas,” Garrett says, and his voice is soft. “I promise.”
It’s a promise he might not be able to keep, but Tomas nods like he believes it. That’s the thing about Garrett—people trust him. They’d follow him into the abyss if he asked.
Tomas’s story checks out the same as the others. He saw Marcian after patrol. Everything seemed normal. He shares a barracks room with three other junior guards, so he has multiple witnesses for where he was that night.
This is how the afternoon progresses. Valorian after Valorian, each with the same story.
Nothing unusual, normal patrol, Marcian seemed fine, and they went home. They all have alibis from neighbors, wives, or drinking partners at the local tavern.
I watch Garrett question seven more people. Each time, he’s patient, empathetic, giving them space to talk. He’s never aggressive or accusatory. Just gentle questions and careful notes. But I can see the frustration building.
“That’s all of them,” Garrett says when Petros, the last one leaves. He spreads his hands over the papers, looking down at the notes he’s made. Eleven interviews. Eleven different Valorians and alibis that will need to be verified.
“They’re all tense. Afraid. But not of whoever’s taking their comrades.” I fold my arms.
“What?” His head snaps up. “Then what are they afraid of?”
“You.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, looking down at his notes again. His jaw works, muscle twitching beneath his skin. “I’m trying to protect them.”
“They don’t know that. All they know is their commander is interrogating them about disappearances. Interrogations mean someone is guilty.”
“Then what should I do?” The papers crumple slightly under his fingers.
I stay silent with nothing to offer.
The light through the high windows shifts from afternoon gold to the deeper amber of early evening. The Hall of Valor is emptier now. Most of the guards left for their evening patrols or their homes.
Garrett gathers his papers, organizing them into neat stacks. I can see the tightness around his eyes. He’s been sitting for hours, maintaining perfect posture. That has to hurt.
“I need a drink,” he says, rolling his shoulders back.
“Is that wise? You’re still investigating—”
“I’m not investigating anything tonight.” He tilts his head in my direction. “You look like you could use one too. Come, join me.”
I can refuse him. It’s not a command. Garrett never commands me despite the fact that I’m technically in his service. He treats me more like a... friend. Can an assassin and a noble be friends?
Maybe we can. Therein lies the problem.
“Where?” I ask.
His smile is tired but genuine. “Somewhere with strong ale and no questions.”
The tavern he chooses is the Valorian’s favorite, called The Eagle’s Rest. It sits in the merchant quarter, tucked between a tea shop and a lantern warehouse. The sign above the door shows an eagle with its wings spread, talons gripping a sword.
Inside, the air is thick with pipe smoke and the smell of roasted meat. Long tables fill the main room, most of them occupied by off-duty guards still in their uniforms. Laughter and conversation create a steady hum of noise.
Garrett gets nods and raised glasses when we enter, though conversations fall quiet at my presence. Eyes track me as we make our way through the room. I’m used to it by now. My Grimsbane mask marks me as something dangerous, even if I’m only wearing the upper half.
We take a table in the back corner. I sit with my back to the wall, facing the door. Garrett sits across from me, settling into his chair with a sigh. Within minutes a serving lady appears with two ales and a smile for the golden-haired noble.