Imperial Calendar, September 30, 1444, Monday.
"Bishop of Madlan." Madlan was walking hurriedly when he heard Grampwen's voice coming from behind.
"Are you also heading to the Stag Chamber for the council meeting?" Grampwen, with four cloth bags hanging from his waist and leaning on a bishop's staff, walked briskly, "Let's go together, I have something to ask you as well."
Madlan and Grampwen walked side by side down the corridor, engaging in a rapid conversation as they went.
"How are the prisoners from the last battle?"
"Those without ties were held back, those with families were let go. Quincy was injured, we didn't treat him, and he's dead now. The monk, though, is still fine."
"Is Tommy still around?"
Grampwen hesitated: "His leg injury was never treated, and almost his entire lower body has rotted away. He's barely holding on, but he still has 30 lashes left, so..."
