‘May I’?’ he asked, reaching for the message. He was reading it and shaking his head as they came to his office.
Opening the door, he ushered Vashnar into the ante-room ahead of him. The two Pages jumped to their feet, knocking over their board game.
‘Page.’ Bowlott’s voice was stern; he waved the paper ahead of him like an irritable moth. ‘One does not order the Senior Commander of the Wardens. By Request, is the ending for such a message. By Request. You should both know this by now.’
‘But Striker...’ The protest ended abruptly as a left foot swung rapidly up behind a right leg to deliver a kick without in the least disturbing the kicker’s posture and demeanour.
‘I... I apologize, Striker...’ the protestor stammered, accurately reading his friend’s suggestion and just managing to sup
