Dispatches from the Keep

My lord. Brightmoor. I received your message. All of it.

We will give Captain Mallory a proper send-off. Full honours — the guard assembled, the bell rung, the prayers said in full. He deserved better than the end he was given, and I will see to it that what we can give him, we give well. Sister Maren has already begun preparing the chapel. The men will want to be there. I will let them.

As for Victor — I will not pretend I am not grieved. I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that there was still a path back for him. A man raised in the light of the Morninglord does not turn to darkness all at once. It happens by degrees, and somewhere along the way there are moments where it might have gone differently. I find myself thinking about those moments. I will pray for his soul, my lord. A forest burial is — it is more than some receive. I hope it is enough.

Now. To the matter of the fort's defence, for what an old priest can offer on such things.

I have spoken to the senior guards — the ones Mallory trusted, the ones who have been here longest. I have asked them to keep the patrols close to the walls for now. No lone riders, no solitary errands outside the gates after dark. Anyone leaving the fort goes in pairs at minimum, and anyone unrecognised at the gate is to be held and questioned before entry. I have asked the staff — particularly the newer ones — to report anything strange. An unfamiliar face. A door left open that should be shut. I told them plainly: we are watching, and we want to know what they see.

It is not a soldier's approach, my lord. I know that. We need a captain, and I am already looking. There is a man — Sergeant Aldric Vance, who has served here eleven years without complaint or incident. Mallory relied on him. The men respect him. I believe he will serve while we search for a replacement for Mallory.

One more thing, and I confess it caught me somewhat off guard given the weight of everything else.

Three merchant families arrived at the docks this week who had previously made their winter arrangements in Elturel. They did not say so plainly, but the implication was clear enough — word has spread that things have changed at Fort Morninglord. One of them, a cloth merchant named Harwick, asked specifically whether the warehouses were still taking long-term storage contracts. He mentioned he had heard the management of the fort was in new hands. Hands he trusted, was the phrase he used. I did not ask how he knew. It could be that Lord Fruum is offering his support, though I have heard he left Elturel for Waterdeep some time ago.

I told Aldren to treat them well and offer competitive terms. He seemed pleased to have the business, and I think there is more to come if we continue as we have been.

The light holds here, my lord. Some days more than others. But it holds.

In the light of the Morninglord. Brightmoor out.

My lord. It is Brightmoor. Forgive the hour.

You will have heard about Mallory by now, I expect. I won't — I won't go through the details again. What I will tell you is what I saw afterward. The men were quiet. Not grieving-quiet. Thinking-quiet. There is a difference, and the second kind concerns me more.

The barracks work is holding morale together in the daylight. The hammering helps, strange as that sounds. Sister Maren — the young woman from Elturel — led prayer at first light and it was well-received. I am glad she is here.

The docks are steady. Aldren tells me there's a wool merchant out of the south interested in a seasonal contract, which is good news. Two other families chose Elturel for winter storage. They mentioned the inn. The unfinished one. The foundations are still sitting there, open to the sky.

The mine shaft is still boarded. I walked past it two days ago. I don't know why I stopped. I stood there longer than I should have. Nothing to report. I just — thought you should know I've been thinking about it.

The new serving staff has settled. The young men are useful in the stables. But some of the girls are nervous, and I don't think it's entirely about Mallory. I'm watching that.

The investigation. I believe most of those who stayed are loyal. Most. Someone knew where Mallory would be. Someone here, or someone who was told. I can't close that question yet.

The fort stands, my lord. The walls are sound. But we need a captain, and we need one soon. The men are filling the silence with their own ideas, and silence is — it is not our friend right now.

Make your decision plainly. Let them see you make it.

In the light of the Morninglord. Brightmoor out.