15. The Shadow—The Banter

The Rusty Flagon tavern reeked of stale ale, sweat, and cheap pipeweed. Sawdust covered the floor, doing little to absorb the spilled drinks or the general grime. Around a scarred wooden table, three soldiers hunched, tankards in hand, their armor scuffed, their faces tired and grim. They were veterans of the recent campaign, the kind who'd seen too much blood and mud to bother with pleasantries.

"Another one, barkeep!" a burly man with a scarred eyebrow yelled, slamming his tankard down. "And make it strong enough to submerge in the stinky waters of the Black River tonight!"

His companion, a younger soldier with a nervous twitch, swallowed hard. "Ageless Lady’s arse, I thought we were done for when the General went down. Seen men break for less."

The third soldier, a grizzled veteran, spat on the floor. "Aye. When old Arcadius fell... felt like the sky just cracked open. Never seen a man fight like that, even wounded. Took down that damn wyrm! Worth a hundred o' us, he was."

"A hundred? Try a thousand!" the burly soldier scoffed, wiping foam from his beard. "He was the rock! The whole damn army felt him standin' there. And then..." he glanced round, "gone. Felt the pull myself, like I got drenched in the black water meself, I did!"

The younger soldier shivered. "Yeah. That silence after... thought the Mossfolk'd just roll right over us. And those Scalfolk mages... they were just getting started."

The veteran nodded, his gaze distant. "That's when the lass stepped up. The General’s errand girl, Yelee, they called her."

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The burly soldier snorted. "The quiet one? With the floatin' book?"

"Aye," the veteran affirmed. "Didn't think she had it in her. Always seemed more about maps and fancy trinkets. But when the General dropped... she just took it. Her voice cut right through the noise. Sharp, like a damn blade. 'Hold the line!' she yells. And, Headless Errant, take me, we did."

"Gave orders like she'd been doin' it her whole life," the younger soldier added, a hint of awe in his voice. "Moved companies, shifted the archers... saw things we didn't. Kept us from gettin' flanked. Pure luck, I thought at first, but she just kept doin' it. Her every word like an arrow guided by the Eyeless Seeker."

"Luck my arse," the veteran growled. "That's what they pay 'em for, isn't it? Seein' the whole damn mess like it's a game. She played it, us as pieces, that night. Kept my hide intact, leastways. Arcadius killed the beast, but she kept us from gettin' chewed up by the rest of 'em."

"The Monarch gave her a medal, they say," the burly soldier mused. "And the General's old book."

"Deserved," the veteran said flatly. "Saw her after the Monarch arrived. Looked like she'd seen every damn death on the field, and then some. Ain't just a pretty face with a fancy book anymore."

"Yeah," the younger soldier agreed quietly. "She’s been through the fire with us."

They fell silent for a moment, the weight of their memories settling. The clatter of tankards, the low murmur of other conversations, filled the space.

In a dark corner of the tavern, hunched over a single, untouched mug, a cloaked figure sat motionless. The shadows clung to them, deepening the obscurity of their features. Their energy signature was cold, sharp, and utterly still, a stark contrast to the boisterous, messiness of the soldiers. They didn't move, didn't react visibly to the conversation, but their presence was one of intense, silent observation. Kael listened, every word absorbed, every rough compliment and grim observation noted. The common soldiers spoke the tactician’s name alongside the fallen General's. "Interesting." he noted to himself. "How very interesting."