the aides of the Crown Marshal.
The clerk knocked loudly on the door and marched inside. He seemed to shout his report. After a moment of silence, the clerk came out and stood at attention by the door.
‘The Grand Master invites you in!’ he said loudly, but a little more quietly than before. This caused the Guards to smile furtively.
Bleist composed himself a little and moved towards the entrance. On the way, he nodded to the Marshal's aides, who saluted him. A nice gesture in accordance with etiquette. Darius entered the office.
As he expected, there were only two people inside. The Grand Master stood in front of a rack with a map of the Sahara spread out, studying several sheets of parchment. Every now and then, he glanced at the documents and then at the sheet in front of him. He looked troubled.
Behind Master Tilion, back and forth, a burly halfling with light blond hair circulated, dressed in the uniform of the Golden Guard with epaulettes decorated with the symbol of a mace. He was clean-shaven, and his face was ruddy from the sun. His dark brown eyes were piercing, almost inhuman. He nervously fiddled with his coat button the entire time.
‘Nothing but trouble,’ muttered the Marshal in a deep bass voice, glancing at the Grand Master. ‘A little peace and quiet would be nice.’
Darius approached at a distance of a few steps, as required, and stood at attention. He had to wait for his superiors to notice him.
‘Don't get so worked up, Sven,’ Master Tilion said calmly and composedly, but Bleist had known him long enough to sense the disturbing tremor in his voice. ‘It's not advisable at your age.’
‘Oh, you of all people should be reminding me of my age. Ha!’ Zilven pointed accusingly at his interlocutor. ‘The pot calling the kettle black!’
‘If you have enough strength to be sarcastic, you should use it for something else.’ The Grand Master looked at the map, pointed to a spot and dragged his finger down. ‘Have you thought about taking up
