Vindictive

That was amazing. I didn't catch very many mistakes outside the first three, and the storyline is most intriuging. Please continue.

Hey, thanks. I'm going to add some more tomorrow. I hope I don't disappoint!

Don't worry, with your talent, you have nothing to fret about

The night brought a sharp chill and the smell of ice. Freya and Achim returned to their carriage for a moment to retrieve their travelling cloaks and gloves before moving on into the center of the fort, the square where the merchants and tradesmen mingled and bought and sold their wares. Most were winding down for the evening, some even closed already, leaving the pair standing in a mostly-vacant clearing in the middle of an underpopulated fort.

"Well, there's always the pub," said Achim.

Freya looked past her cloak as she held it over her mouth, clouds of breath escaping her nose as she considered the pub from where they stood. She did not enjoy loud places with a lot of people in them, they made her uncomfortable and long for her comfortable chair and her novels at home. Her luxuries here would be limited, to say the least. She hoped whatever bed she ended up sleeping in that night would at least have clean sheets.

"My lady, perhaps you should speak with the remaining tradesmen."

Freya found Achim giving her a knowing look.

"I'm not good with the serious type who work with their hands," he said. He held up his gloved hands and feebly waggled his fingers. "I've not known a hard day's labor my whole life."

Freya could only smile. She often forgot how noble this scrawny young man could be.

"Very well," she said. "Be wary of the guards as you move through the pub. Remember, one of them could be a thief and could be very interested in our work here."

Achim nodded and strode off toward the pub. Freya watched his silhouette join the pale orange torchlight near the entrance and turned as he pushed on of the great doors open.

She began with the blacksmith, a studious and rough-looking gentleman who was in the middle of closing up his shop. He saw her approach and dropped a heavy box full of tools onto a table, its contents rattling and clanging.

"Good evening," she offered.

"'Aye," he said.

The smell of coal and fire filled her lungs as she stood before the bench. It was lovely. She bent into an informal bow and placed her hand to her chest.

"I am Freya Adler, and I am here on behalf of the state examiners."

The blacksmith's furrowed his brow and crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest. His bearded face did not hide his new found curiosity.

"Adler? The family of knights?"

Freya nodded and sourly noted that her family's prestige preceded her.

"The same," she said.

The man scratched his head and thought to himself for a moment.

"This about the attack?"

"Indeed, sir."

The blacksmith's beard curled, he was smiling, probably at being called 'sir'.

A roar of laughter filled the chilly night sky and both Freya and the smith turned toward the pub. When nothing followed they returned to business.

"May I ask you some questions regarding the incident?"

The smith shrugged his heavy shoulders, his arms crossed before his chest again.

"'Aye."

Freya reached beneath her cloak and produced a fresh notebook from one of her many pockets. She was searching for a pencil when she noticed that the main gate was being opened. A rider galloped through, his steed's hot breath pouring from its flaring nostrils, and watched in terror as it collapsed while the rider dismounted. It was completely exhausted. Guards rushed to assist the animal, much to her relief, and she watched the rider run for the guardsmen's headquarters.

"Friend of yours?" said the smith.

Freya could only offer him a confused shrug. When she turned again she could see the rider's silhouette inside through the window. He seemed to produce something from his pouch, no doubt a letter of some kind, and could see someone - probably the captain - accept it and begin to read. Freya was just about to turn and speak to the smith again when she heard the headquarters door open. The captain walked into the night, two guards flanking him. When he saw her he walked straight to her.

Freya gripped her notebook tightly.

"Leave us," said the captain.

The smith shrugged and picked up his crate. When he was out of earshot the captain turned toward Freya and held up a parchment. Freya could see the state seal upon it.

"You are to return to the capital immediately."

"Why?"

"I know not, the message is very vague. But it bears the seal of the state examiners." The captain handed her the paper and gave her a moment to read it. He was right, no reason was given. But she and Achim were named explicitly as the agents to be sent back.

But why? They'd only just arrived earlier that day and had barely begun to work. Surely her superiors understood that she needed more time than a single day to do her work, especially with so many corpses to go over! Their brief time in the fort had reveled little and had actually raised disturbing questions of the fort's security. Not only were they ordered back but they were ordered back without filing a single report.

Freya looked at the captain who, for the first time, showed some measure of empathy for her and shrugged his shoulders. Her findings likely raised questions about the loyalty of the guards that surrounded him, questions he probably would have wanted answered.

"Your carriage is being prepared," said the captain.

Freya stood quietly for a moment before nodding. She turned and made for the pub, trying desperately to keep the message in one piece as she walked.