Hall Mistress Soran spoke her rulings in the same flat, steady, unrushed pace she used to count foundation drills. But every word fell across the upper ridge with the weight of law.
“First: Disciple Ilyra has carried the sealed flame from the southern cairn to the summit fire bowl within the glass against three stations and live sabotage,” Soran said. “Elder Corin, inscribe her full Bronze proof into the permanent iron roll of White Heron Hall before midday. Her rank is no longer provisional, and her name stands clear of any clerk hall censure.”
“It will be stamped before the noon cooking pot is ladled, Hall Mistress,” Elder Corin answered with a deep bow.
Soran looked down at Senior Disciple Vane kneeling on the frost-rimed stone. “Second: Vane of the inner court brought barbed hunting steel onto a hall proof ridge and struck a house sister from ambush to serve a clerk’s intrigue. Maren, strip his inner-court belt and break his personal shaft over the cairn. He’s reduced to an unranked quarry laborer for three winters—and if he leaves the southern stone-carts before his term is served, he leaves with a crippled knee.”
Weapon-Master Maren reached down with one scarred hand, wrenched the stitched inner-court sash from Vane’s waist. Then he hauled him to his feet toward the waiting guards.
