A few of the other staff members looked away. One or two took half-steps back
Michael let the silence stretch.
Then his eyes swept past Helmric to the others assembled.
"Captain of the guard," he called.
A grizzled man with a trimmed beard and scar along his left brow stepped forward stiffly, his armor dented but serviceable. "Sir Rauff, my lord."
Michael didn't rise. "How many trained guards are stationed in Thornvale?"
"Two thousand on paper," Rauff said. "But only five hundred remain active. The rest… disappeared. Desertion, injuries, or reassignment."
Michael arched a brow. "Reassignment by whom?"
The captain hesitated, eyes darting to Helmric. "The steward approved temporary transfers… none ever returned."
"Do you have their names?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Have the list delivered to Roran."
"Yes, my lord."
Michael's gaze shifted again. "Stable master."
A balding man with mud-stained boots stepped forward and bowed. "Gerel, my lord."
