Padre Tundle prayed aloud for the soldiers’ victory. “Swift is our justice.”
Quietly, watching them assemble on the launch deck, he prayed their souls should rest after battle.
“Your god must be pleased with all his new soldiers,” some admiral said behind him. It could only be an admiral this high in the citadel.
“I am merely guiding them back to their father,” Tundle said. He turned, spilling out his velvet robes behind him. “I am merely a servant of the lord.”
The admiral paused, then sent the order, feeding his soldiers into the war machine. “Swift is our justice.”