The other commanders all stared at each other for a moment.
Commander Burke was the first to speak up: “Big Olrec? Stoutfeather? Where the
hell did that come from? The day His
Highness becomes a field medic is the day I turn in my armor for a cook’s
apron!”
Princess Selena shook her head, and gestured.
At some point during the discussion, the door had opened;
standing in the now-open doorway of the princess’s private council chamber atop
Selena’s Walk, was a man.
A short man. A stocky man. A compact frame wrapped in corded
muscle. This man would have fit without any reservations into Commander Burke’s
berserkers. Considering the state of his clothing, however—tattered,
dirt-streaked leathers—anyone would have been forgiven for thinking that he
belonged to Sister Belmont’s scouts.
He had long white hair and an equally long beard—grey
streaked with white, braided, with feathers woven in at seemingly random
points.
Princess Selena strode forward, very nearly ran, to the man.
She seemed to remember herself at the last moment, and drew herself up. “Senior
Sentinel,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Aye,” said Big Olrec; his voice was gruff, low. Haggard. “So
they tell me.”
The other Commanders stood. More than a few looked
concerned, and a couple looked offended, that a mere officer would infringe
upon a private meeting of the First Guard, but since the princess herself—the Commander
of Commanders—had said nothing about it, neither would they.
“What is it?” the princess asked, staring down at Big Olrec—despite
his nickname, he was by far the shortest man in the room. “What news from
Callistora?”
Big Olrec sighed, shook his head, and straightened himself.
He looked around at the other commanders. The pillars of Moonguard’s government.
Specifically, his gaze leveled on the three ordained priestesses in the room:
Sister Dalton, Sister Belmont, and Sister Nan-Tamé.
He said: “Milady is dead.”
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