The Commander scrutinized the private as he spoke and for a pause of time after before responding with an affirmative grunt and a nod as he turned back to the letter and broke the seal. The letter was not short and it took some time to get through it skimming for pertinent information and then reading it again, thoroughly looking for fuller knowledge and anything that might have been left between the lines.
At last he set the letter down and looked the two young officers over with a sour expression. It had been his intention, his fantasied ideal, to give whoever finally appeared in his office with official information and orders and dressing down that would shake the rafters and leave them scared for life.
That was what was expected of him, and, in truth, there were times he enjoyed living up to his reputation but he was being presented with a puzzle. To put him off balance seemed the most likely explanation if it was intentional. If it were not, then more things were changed beyond recovering than he had anticipated. The Presidium had been destroyed in an attack in the middle of the day and, according to the letter, almost all members of the high government were lost. Lang had had friends in positions of power. The loss of comrades had been a normal thing in his youth but as he aged it had become rarer, and now he couldn't remember the exact date of the last time someone he'd thought of as a friend, rather than just a subordinate, had died.
34th of Searing 122.
The date burned itself into his mind, slotting into a list of similar days. Great battles and random acts of fate were on the list, some were old and as the memories of those lost had gentled into their goodnight so too had the fierceness of the dates burned in their memory. Others were newer, or had hurt more, and were still bright spots that, when they came along on the calendar, he still took time to note or have a drink for. This newest though, he imagined, would burn bright until his own turn came to lay down his duty and take up his shroud.
Shaking these thoughts away with a shake of his head he sighed. These boys had been through it, probably many times, over the last two seasons and didn't deserve his ire. There stood a chance that Minister Dornkirk didn't either. What would Lang have done if he'd suddenly had the fate of Zaichaer dropped, smoldering, into his lap?
Looking up at last he said,
"This says the Minister will be arriving in a few days. What of these rumors that he picked up half the city and flew off with it? Is he flying the capitol itself out to the Riverlands?" His tone was still starkly direct but some of the anger had gone out of it.
At last he set the letter down and looked the two young officers over with a sour expression. It had been his intention, his fantasied ideal, to give whoever finally appeared in his office with official information and orders and dressing down that would shake the rafters and leave them scared for life.
That was what was expected of him, and, in truth, there were times he enjoyed living up to his reputation but he was being presented with a puzzle. To put him off balance seemed the most likely explanation if it was intentional. If it were not, then more things were changed beyond recovering than he had anticipated. The Presidium had been destroyed in an attack in the middle of the day and, according to the letter, almost all members of the high government were lost. Lang had had friends in positions of power. The loss of comrades had been a normal thing in his youth but as he aged it had become rarer, and now he couldn't remember the exact date of the last time someone he'd thought of as a friend, rather than just a subordinate, had died.
34th of Searing 122.
The date burned itself into his mind, slotting into a list of similar days. Great battles and random acts of fate were on the list, some were old and as the memories of those lost had gentled into their goodnight so too had the fierceness of the dates burned in their memory. Others were newer, or had hurt more, and were still bright spots that, when they came along on the calendar, he still took time to note or have a drink for. This newest though, he imagined, would burn bright until his own turn came to lay down his duty and take up his shroud.
Shaking these thoughts away with a shake of his head he sighed. These boys had been through it, probably many times, over the last two seasons and didn't deserve his ire. There stood a chance that Minister Dornkirk didn't either. What would Lang have done if he'd suddenly had the fate of Zaichaer dropped, smoldering, into his lap?
Looking up at last he said,
"This says the Minister will be arriving in a few days. What of these rumors that he picked up half the city and flew off with it? Is he flying the capitol itself out to the Riverlands?" His tone was still starkly direct but some of the anger had gone out of it.