Pressing Business

Then, abruptly, the commotion ceased. A mouse’s footstep would not have gone unheard in the silence that followed. It was soon shattered by a distinctive, and distinctly familiar, voice. In the tones of greatest scorn, that voice growled out, “This is the Lord Commander’s personal guard? If I’d been an actual heretic, he’d be dead in his bed.”

His steward’s voice returned gravely, “I shall inform the Lord Commander of your assessment in the morning, Ser Wyrmblood.”

Suppressing a sigh—as well as a smile—Aymeric firmly belted his dressing gown, hefted his shortsword, and stepped out to address the erstwhile stray who had, apparently, made dog’s meat of the guard that Handeloup had so insistently pressed into service in and around Aymeric’s estate. “While your services as assessor are appreciated, might I suggest knocking, or perhaps a discreet window, the next time you wish to visit me in my home?”