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The rented room above the tavern in White Harbor reeked of stale ale and frustration. Three men sat around a scarred wooden table, their voices low despite the late hour and the drunken revelry below.
"Three weeks," Korlyn said, his Braavosi accent sharp with irritation. "Three weeks of careful approaches, subtle inquiries, well-placed bribes—and nothing. Every door closes before we reach it. Every contact suddenly has nothing to say. It's as if they know we're coming."
He was lean and dark-haired, with the precise movements of someone trained in more than just observation. The scar along his jawline spoke of a life that hadn't always involved hiding in shadows.
Maren grunted, shifting his considerable bulk in a chair too small for him. The Pentoshi had a sellsword's build—broad shoulders, thick arms, scars visible even through his beard. "Maybe they do know. These northerners aren't as backwards as the stories suggest. That much is clear."
"Then we change tactics," Voss said quietly. The Myrish man was smaller than his companions, his fingers constantly moving—picking at splinters, adjusting his tools, never quite still. "We've tried infiltrating through merchants, through servants, through legitimate channels. All blocked. So we try the direct approach."
"Break in?" Korlyn's eyebrows rose. "Into a compound that's apparently watching for us?"
"Into a compound where everyone's watching the gates and the roads," Voss corrected. "No one can watch everywhere. Not at night. Not perfectly. We're professionals—we know how to bypass security."
Korlyn studied the rough map they'd sketched over weeks of observation—Hollow Vale's outer walls, the main buildings, guard patrol patterns as best they could determine from a distance. "The eastern wall. Lowest traffic, furthest from the main gate. If we go over there after midnight when the patrols change, we'd have maybe an hour before anyone noticed."
"The workshops are close to that section," Maren added, pointing to their map. "Get in, observe what they're actually doing, document whatever we can, and get out before dawn. Quick and clean."
"Nothing about this has been clean," Korlyn muttered. But he was already nodding, already committing to the plan. Their employer—whoever the Braavosi broker represented—had been clear: discover what was happening at this "Hollow Vale," confirm or deny the rumors of sorcery or unnatural training, and report back. The substantial payment waiting in Braavos would more than compensate for the risk.
Assuming they survived to collect it.
"Tonight then," Voss said, his fingers finally going still. "We prepare now, move at midnight, and by dawn we're back here with answers."
The three men began checking their equipment with the practiced efficiency of professionals who'd done this work many times before. Dark clothing. Climbing gear. Lockpicks. Knives—for cutting ropes and picking locks, not combat. Small journals for notes and sketches. Everything they'd need for a quick infiltration and escape.
"One thing bothers me," Maren said as he tested the strength of their rope. "If they really are watching for us, if they really have been blocking our approaches—why haven't they confronted us directly? Why the cat-and-mouse game?"
"Maybe they're not as aware as we fear," Korlyn replied. "Or maybe they're just careful about causing incidents with foreigners in White Harbor. Lord Manderly wouldn't appreciate his port city becoming known for disappeared merchants."
It was a reasonable explanation. Logical even.
But as they finished their preparations and waited for midnight, none of them could quite shake the feeling that something about this entire situation was wrong.
Hollow Vale looked different at night.
Torches burned along the walls at regular intervals, their light creating pools of warmth that left deep shadows between. Guard patrols moved with visible discipline—two men walking the eastern wall, another pair on the western approach, sentries at the main gate. Standard security for a northern compound.
Too standard, perhaps. But Korlyn pushed that thought aside as he crouched in the tree line beyond the walls, watching the patrol patterns one final time.
"Eastern guards just passed," Voss whispered beside him. "They'll reach the corner, turn, and we'll have eight minutes before they come back. Maybe ten if they're talking."
"Enough time," Maren rumbled quietly.
They moved.
Voss went first, carrying the rope and climbing gear. He crossed the open ground in a low run, pressed himself against the wall in the darkest shadow between torches, and began ascending with practiced ease. The Myrish man climbed like a spider—quick, silent, efficient. Within moments he'd disappeared over the top.
The rope came down, secured to something on the far side. Korlyn went next, his own climbing adequate if not as elegant as Voss's. The wall was perhaps twenty feet—high enough to deter casual intruders, low enough for professionals with proper equipment.
Maren followed last, his greater weight making the rope creak slightly but holding firm.
They crouched together on the inner side of the wall, breathing carefully, listening. The compound beyond was quiet—dormitories dark, workshops silent, only the distant voices of guards at the main gate breaking the stillness.
"Workshop," Korlyn breathed, pointing toward their target. "Stay low. Stay quiet. If we're spotted, we run for the wall and don't stop."
They moved through Hollow Vale like ghosts, using shadows and the spaces between torchlight. Past a courtyard where training equipment sat covered for the night. Past dormitories where young warriors slept. Toward the main workshop building that their observations had identified as the center of whatever was happening here.
The door was locked—expected. Voss went to work with his picks while Korlyn and Maren kept watch. The Myrish man's fingers moved with delicate precision, feeling for pins and tumblers with the sensitivity of a musician tuning an instrument.
Click.
The lock opened.
They slipped inside and pulled the door closed behind them. Darkness swallowed them completely until Voss produced a small hooded lantern, opening it just enough to see by.
The workshop was larger than expected—benches and equipment filling the space, walls covered with diagrams and notes. Training weights of various sizes. Practice weapons. Detailed anatomical drawings showing muscle groups and skeletal structure. Written instructions in neat northern script describing exercises and techniques.
"This is it," Korlyn whispered, excitement cutting through his caution. He pulled out his journal and began sketching quickly.
Maren examined the weights, testing their heft. "These are heavier than they should be. Look at the marking—'Stage Two foundation training, minimum forty repetitions.' Forty repetitions with this weight?" He grunted.
"Document everything," Korlyn said, his charcoal moving rapidly across the journal pages. "The exercises, the progression system, the anatomical focus. Our employer wants to know if this is sorcery or something else. This looks like training—extreme training perhaps, but still just training."
Voss had moved to a desk, carefully examining papers without disturbing their arrangement. "There's a schedule here. Names and training levels. Some are marked 'Foundation Complete'—that seems to be a milestone. Others are marked 'Probationary' or 'Evaluation Stage.' It's all very organized."
"Like a martial school," Maren observed. "A very disciplined, very effective martial school. But still just training."
"Then why all the secrecy?" Korlyn muttered, still sketching. "Why keep foreigners out so carefully if this is just advanced physical training?"
"Because it works," a voice said from the darkness behind them. "And because we prefer to control who knows our methods."
All three men spun, weapons appearing in their hands with professional speed—And found themselves facing Redna, who sat calmly on a workbench they'd walked right past.
They'd never been alone.
"Don't move," Redna said, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "You're already surrounded. Any attempt to fight will end badly for you."
For a long moment, nobody moved. Korlyn's mind raced through options—charge Redna, try for the door, use Maren as a distraction—but every scenario ended badly in his calculations.
"How long?" Korlyn asked finally, his voice tight.
"Since you entered the compound," Redna replied. "Actually, since you entered White Harbor three weeks ago. We've been watching every attempt you've made to gather information. Every bribe you offered. Every merchant you approached. Every contact you tried to turn."
She stood smoothly, moving to light more lamps. The workshop brightened, revealing the space more clearly.
"Tonight we let you succeed," Redna continued, voice low, almost indulgent.
Maren made his decision quickly—if they were caught anyway, better to go down fighting than surrender. He charged Redna, his considerable bulk and sellsword training making him formidable in close combat.
He didn't make it three steps.
The movement was too fast to follow clearly—one moment Maren was charging, the next he was on the ground with Redna's foot pressing between his shoulder blades. His knife clattered across the floor, well out of reach.
"I said don't move," Redna repeated, her tone unchanged.
Korlyn's hand drifted toward the concealed dagger at his belt—Redna's other hand caught his wrist before his fingers reached the hilt. "Don't," she said quietly, her grip like iron.
Voss, demonstrating either wisdom or cowardice, carefully set his own weapons on the floor and raised his hands. "We surrender."
"Smart," Redna acknowledged. She gestured, and more guards entered—regular warriors, not enhanced, but armed and clearly disciplined. "Secure them. Carefully."
Within moments, all three infiltrators were disarmed, bound, and seated under close watch. Redna picked up Korlyn's journal, examining the sketches with genuine interest.
"Now," she said, turning back to face them. "Let's talk about who hired you. Who are your contractors?"
Redna's gaze drifted over their gear—worn grips, ink-stained cuffs, the careful organization of their packs. Nothing escaped her.
"Detailed work," Redna observed. "You're trained in observation and documentation. Not just common thieves, then. Professionals."
She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze unsettling in its intensity. "Korlyn of Braavos. Former acolyte at the House of Black and White—dismissed after two years for lack of proper devotion to the Many-Faced God. You've worked as an infiltrator and information gatherer ever since, selling your skills to whoever pays well."
Korlyn's face went pale. That information wasn't publicly known. The Faceless Men didn't advertise their rejected applicants.
Redna turned to Maren. "Maren of Pentos. Sellsword with the Second Sons until you killed a client in a dispute over payment. Not executed because you claimed self-defense and the Company believed you. But you've been careful about your contracts ever since."
Maren's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"And Voss of Myr," Redna continued, looking at the smallest of the three. "Excellent lockpick, skilled climber, wanted in three Free Cities for various thefts. You're the technical expert of this group—the one who actually gets into places the others just plan to enter."
Voss had gone very still, his constantly moving fingers finally frozen.
"How—" Korlyn started.
"We've been watching you for weeks," Redna said simply. "Did you really think we wouldn't investigate who was trying so hard to learn our secrets? We know where you're staying. We know how much gold you were paid upfront. We know you're supposed to report back to a broker in Braavos who works for... someone you claim not to know."
She set the journal aside and crossed her arms. "So let's skip the part where you pretend ignorance or try to negotiate. You're caught. You broke into a northern compound, attempted to steal information, and are currently at the mercy of people you've just seen can move faster and hit harder than you can defend against."
Redna's voice took on an edge. "Your only choice now is how cooperative you want to be. That will determine how this ends for you."
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The interrogation—if it could be called that—took place in the same workshop where they'd been caught. Redna had dismissed most of the guards but kept two warriors visible, standing at the exits with the casual readiness of coiled springs.
Korlyn, as the de facto leader, spoke for the group. Professional pride warred with survival instinct, but survival was winning.
"We were hired through an intermediary in Braavos," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "A broker who arranges... specialized services for clients who prefer to remain anonymous."
"What did this broker tell you?" Redna asked.
"That there were whispers drifting down from the North," he said, the words coming out rough, as if dragged from him. "Not the usual campfire nonsense—accounts of a man whose martial skill borders on the unreal. Arthur. Whatever he's doing in Hollow Vale… it's changed him."
He saw Redna's eyes narrow, so he pressed on.
"Our contractors wanted the truth," Korlyn said, his voice tight. "Anything substantial—how he trains, what he's tapped into, whether it's sorcery or something no one's named yet. They wanted to replicate it, or at least understand it. And if we found nothing?" His jaw clenched. "Then we were told to stir trouble before leaving. Chaos makes smoke, and smoke hides the fact that we came up empty."
"Sorcery," Redna repeated, her tone suggesting she found the word amusing. "And what did you find here tonight?"
Korlyn gestured at his confiscated journal. "Training methods. Systematic, disciplined, very advanced training methods. Nothing that looked like magic or ritual. Just exercises and conditioning taken to levels I've never seen documented before."
Redna studied them for a long moment, her enhanced senses reading every twitch, every shift in their breathing. They were telling the truth—or at least, the truth as they knew it. The real question was who had hired them, and whether this was an isolated attempt or the beginning of something larger.
"You'll wait here," she said finally. "Under guard. Don't try anything foolish—you've already seen how that ends."
She left them bound and watched, moving through the compound with swift purpose. Arthur needed to hear this directly.