Dwindling Defenses
Glenin leaned forward onto his staff. Bright blue mana crackled, accentuating his wrinkled frown. "I ask once again, where is General Alexander Finlish?"
The group's heads turned westwards. Even though the mess hall's wide balcony overlooked the valley, it was covered in transparent crystal. The rays of the setting sun outlined a blurry silhouette of the knight's academy. Under such conditions, they could not see the smoke that they all knew to be rising above the building.
Glenin waited a moment. No one responded. "General Marble, how about him?" The Head Mage asked in a less demanding demeanor. Again, silence. The tight grip around his staff loosened. "General Bernard Von Trike?"