LIAB Epilogue 11:1/Text
Jetstone's Chief Healomancer gave her a wry grin, his face glowing orange. Outside, the sun was setting, shining directly on the burlap of the tent. Silhouettes of soldiers passing back and forth presented a random, meaningless shadow play.
"With those legs? You can do anything you want," said Pierce, "except walk out of this tent."
He was apparently one of Lilith's personal jailers, along with three knights and a buff-looking female warlord named Miranda Wright. The caravan had ended turn here on the road; she guessed they were 3 turns out from the City of Jetstone. If that was really where they were going.
"I need to take latrine," said the Archon from her pile of straw. She really kind of did.
Pierce nodded to one of the knights, who stepped out of his position by the tent flap, and opened a small wooden chest. He pulled out a tin pot, and walked it over to her.
Lilith looked at the Healomancer. "Some privacy?"
"Go ahead, I'm a doctor," he said.
"Not them," said Lilith, pointing at the knights.
Pierce only shrugged. Not for the first time, he reached over and refilled his glass from a large clear bottle.
Lilith set the pot aside on the straw.
"You're a butt."
"You're only saying that because it's popular opinion."
Lilith thought about this man. She'd been without access to Charlie's dossiers for more than sixty turns, but Pierce had been Jetstone's Chief Caster for longer than that. He was an organizational misfit, insubordinate, a problem to the Court. Slately did not keep any courtier in the role of fool or knave, but Pierce sometimes played things that way. He was fond of jokes and liked to talk. He often deployed with the Chief Warlord and made up for whatever toes he'd stepped on at home by means of his stellar performance in the field. He was intelligent, but not particularly wise. Charlie's Guide rated this unit at four and a half wings.