The rat-tat of the commander’s aggravated footsteps echoed in the stone walls of the Division chapel. It almost drowned out the softer shufflings and even softer words of the priest at her side, struggling to keep up and not trip over his own robes at the same time.
“I don’t care which god does it,” Commander Hale was saying. “Why should it matter? Magic is magic! I want the job done, and the ghost either resurrected, or exorcised from my castle entirely.”
“It’s not that simple,” the priest was babbling.
“Isn’t it?” She turned abruptly, for she had come to the door she wanted. The priests and priestesses inside the room all jumped suddenly as the door slammed open: all except one, an akor’mar woman with obsidian-black hair, who only frowned slightly at the commander and slowly straightened to give a salute.