The sharp, ringing clatter of iron-shod boots echoed down the steep stone ramp leading into the sunken courtyard, breaking the stunned silence that hung over the oak frame stand table.
Dropping the forty-foot granite grade with brisk, athletic strides came Captain Hest Vale. Her dark wool cloak was drawn tightly against the mountain draft, her silver shoulder buckle catching the torchlight, her hand resting calmly on the handle of her officer’s saber. Behind her marched four spear guards of the headquarters guard. Their polished breastplates reflected the torchlight in sharp amber flares, their eyes alert and disciplined.
“What’s the disturbance here, Captain Orvath?” Vale demanded, stepping beneath the canvas awning. Her cold grey eyes swept across the tableau. The burly escort captain standing with his jaw clenched and baton raised, Ulvan Dret slumped in his chair with his head in his hands, and Kezra Venn standing calm and upright beside her open, glowing notebook.
Orvath snapped to attention, saluting stiffly. “Captain Vale! The country land-mapper has defaced Master Dret’s official foundation chart with red ink and refused to proceed with the shaft soundings. She claims there’s an unmapped drift behind the western powder stores and demands access to a restricted military sector.”
