She found the tracks two miles east of the Thorngate, in a thin strip of pine forest where the ground was soft enough to hold an impression for more than a few hours. Three sets of boots, adult-sized, the sole patterns unfamiliar to her — not local manufacture, not standard military issue. Alongside them, at irregular intervals, something that dragged. The mark was too wide for a weapon and too narrow for a body.
Caelindra crouched and studied the drag mark without touching it. Behind her, the two garrison soldiers Ossian had assigned as her escort stood very still in the way of people who sensed they were out of their depth.
"Do we follow?" the younger one asked. His name was Rennet, seventeen years old, barely issued his first sword.
"We note," Caelindra said. "We measure. We report." She was already sketching in her field book. "We do not follow anything through a dead ward on the strength of three Keepers and a Lieutenant's optimism."
Rennet looked at the tracks and then at the forest beyond. The trees absorbed the light in a way that seemed deliberate, as if the shadows were paying attention.
"What is the drag mark?" he asked.
Caelindra finished her sketch before she answered. She did not lie to garrison soldiers on principle. She had found it made them careless in ways that got everyone killed.
"I don't know yet," she said. "That is why we report it instead of following it." She stood and closed her field book. "Come. The Duke needs this information more than the forest does."