Sister Belmont lowered her head like a girl of twelve who’d upset her Papa. She sighed heavily, adjusted the cowl that covered her face,
and looked up at the sky.
“This talk of the princeling,” Big Olrec said. “Selbin, aye?”
“Aye,” Belmont replied without thinking, then flinched. “Yes.
Prince Selbin. He was named Captain of the First Guard on his last dawning day.
But the boy’s only seen ten summers, and hasn’t had any training whatsoever.
The best we can say for him is that he knows how to read.”
“No small feat,” Olrec said, smirking. He chuckled. “Heard
talk of another fledgling done taken the oath. On the road back home, this was.
Folk callin’ him ‘fire-waker.’ Y’know, after the old song.”
“Junior Sentinel Heiler,” Sister Belmont said.
“What of his training,
then?”
“Nearly complete. He will be fit for duty within the next
parcel of days.”
“How old’s this’un?”
“A year more than the prince. You can see our concern, I
trust. This hasn’t anything to do with the fact that he’s a boy. He’s a
pampered boy. A spoiled boy. If he can’t be hammered into shape, there is no
reason for him to hold rank. But Her Majesty is ...”
“Stubborn as an ox cast in iron?”
“Yes.”
“Mm. Well. Nae for me ter question the princess. But if I’d
guess, the army’s none ter pleased havin’ a boy
in command. Aye?”
“Aye.” Big Olrec eyed Sister Belmont suspiciously, as though
checking to see if she was mocking him. “Sentinel Heiler has proven himself
time and again that he’s fit for battle ... after a fashion. But His Highness
can barely heft a shortsword.”
* * *
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