“Nope. I remember every pikin’ thing.”
“I see.”
He watched the Corvishman fidget for a long moment, then sighed and said, “Dismissed, Specialist.” Weshker popped out of the chair and made something that could almost pass for a salute, then jaunted toward the door.
“I expect to see you on the field tomorrow with everyone else,” Sarovy called after him. “You may be a Specialist but you’re not special.”
“Gotcha, boss,” said the Corvishman, and skittered out the door.
“Sir,” Sarovy snapped as it swung shut.
He looked down at the files again. Soldiers from all brigades but the slave ones. Archers, mages, scouts, infantry and cavalry, and the women. Even a houndmaster. It was like a cross-section of the Crimson Claw.
For what purpose? he wondered, but his instructions from the General had been simple.
‘See that they learn to work together.’
“Easier said than done, sir,” he told the files, but his words did not match his faint smile.
Orders were orders, but this assignment would be interesting.
Copyright © 2013 by H. Anthe Davis
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The Light of Kerrindryr (The War of Memory Cycle Book 1) Page 61