Sithe Breckenridge wasn’t
a woman that surprised easily. Nor was she a woman who made a point of being
intimidated, even by folk substantially bigger than she. Nonetheless, upon
taking in the sight of Sythius, her heart skipped two beats and she
instinctively reached at her right hip for a weapon that she didn’t carry anymore.
Sithe’s sire, Commander Aranh
Breckenridge — leader of the Sixth Guard — was a big man. Big as life. He had to be,
given that his weapon of choice was a sword that was taller and probably
weighed more than most of his subordinates. She’d heard him described as having arms like tree trunks, legs like stone slabs, and that just shaking his hand
took more strength than normal men dreamed of having.
Sythius Sil'nathin could have lifted
Aranh Breckenridge over his head.
Currently the giant was
holding a burden that was substantially less impressive than a soldier in full
plate. It was a boy, probably thirteen or fourteen years old, who was too
skinny and certainly too pale to be healthy.
Sythius glanced at
Godric, gestured with his amber eyes at Sithe. Godric caught the gesture and
nodded.
Sythius
crossed the room in two strides and held out his burden to Sithe. “Matron,” he
said without even the idea of preamble. “Help.”
Noble folk in general,
Sithe had come to realize, had a certain opinion of how they should be treated.
It was true in this city as well as most others. Those nobles would have been
offended. Not just of having a brute dressed in animal savagery barrel into
their home, but for ignoring every scrap of social decency.
Sithe found it ...
refreshing.
Following Sythius’s
example and opting against the usual niceties, Sithe silently gestured for the
big man to follow her. Sythius did so, grinning his unsavory grin, and Sithe
thought she spied a little bounce in his step.
It shook the floor.
* * *
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