The air in Governor Risha’s private study was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and the sour smell of unwashed bodies and sweat. Lord Hoff stood near the heavy oak doors, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He was trying to keep his breathing shallow, hoping that by making himself small and silent he would avoid the storm currently tearing the room apart. It was a vain hope.

Lord Governor Risha was no longer a man of grace. He was a monster in a silk robe. With a roar that vibrated in Hoff’s chest, Risha grabbed a heavy iron fire poker and swung it with all his might against a decorative marble bust of a long-dead emperor. The stone shattered, sending white shards flying across the room..

"Nothing!" Risha screamed, veins bulging, eyes wide and bloodshot. "You have given me nothing! Hundreds of corpses on my lawn, a wall turned to rubble, and my head of security stands there like a decorative rug! Gives me half a mind to turn you into one."

"My Lord," Hoff started, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to remain steady. "The guards are scouring the Garden District. We have rounded up hundreds of-, "

"Oh good! Hundreds of peasants, I've always wanted more of the bloody things. Just hang them and be done with it - and maybe next time you can throw yourself from the gallows with them and save me the headache.." Risha spat and a thick glob of saliva landed near Hoff’s feet, nearly in the same instant he seized a sword scabbard resting on the mantel and snapped it over his knee with a frantic, desperate strength. He threw the broken pieces into the hearth with a clatter and puff of sparks. "I want the instigators who did this! Get me names or my missing guards. I want the entry route identified by nightfall, or I will hang the entire district!"

Risha’s hand went to the hilt of a decorative short sword displayed on the wall. In one fluid motion he unsheathed it and hurled it at Hoff. The blade spun through the air, a flash of steel in the lantern light. Hoff jumped to the side, but not fast enough. The edge of the blade sliced through his fine trousers and nicked his thigh before thumping into the wooden door behind him.

Hoff hissed in pain, his hand instinctively going to the cut. He felt the warmth of blood soaking into the fabric.

"If I don't have answers," Risha loomed over him, pointing a trembling finger at Hoff’s face, "I will start the hangings with you. And then I will move to your wife. I hear she enjoys the view of the river. Perhaps she will enjoy it more from the end of a rope."

Hoff’s felt the sweat beading around his collar. The threat was not an idle one. Risha was a man who used people like firewood, burning them to keep himself warm. "I will find them, My Lord. I have men tearing apart the houses nearest the breach. If anyone saw anything, we will make them speak."

"Find my missing guards! Round up the miscreants!" Risha roared, grabbing a glass decanter and smashing it against the wall. "Every rebel rouser, every shit stained beggar! If a guard turned his back and let this happen, I want his name. And then I want his family executed in front of him, and then I want a bloody eagle cut into him! Do you understand me, Hoff?"

Hoff ducked as a heavy leather-bound book sailed over his head, closely followed by a piece of burning wood Risha had snatched from the fireplace. The room was a wreck of smoke, broken glass, and the Governor’s unhinged terror.

"Ah, your grace, I hope that I haven't found you at an inopportune time."

The voice was thin and reedy, like the sound of dry grass rubbing together. Not a loud voice perhaps, but it cut through Risha’s violent rage all the same.

Hoff froze. The blood drained from his face, leaving him feeling lightheaded. He knew that voice. Everyone of importance in the Empire knew that voice.

Click. Click.

The sound of hard soled boots rang out across the room, unhurried, the way a king of court entered a room. The way that Risha would have entered a room, and yet even in his own chambers they stilled Risha. He stood stopped mid-stride, a heavy bronze bust raised above his head, but his arms wavered and he did not hurl it. The Governor slowly let his arms fall, cradling the bust in front of him like a shield as he turned toward the doorway.

Inquisitor Ash stepped into the room. He was a spindly man, dressed in flowing black robes that seemed to swallow the light around him. On his chest, the Emperor’s red sigil, a weeping eye, stood out in stark, violent contrast. Belted to his waist hung two short swords with hilts encrusted with deep red rubies that looked like drops of fresh blood.

Ash surveyed the destruction of the room with a faint, disturbing interest. His eyes, dark and sunken, settled on Risha. "I must say, Governor, your physical form is quite impressive. Truly you have bounless vitality, a rare thing at our age. Do you know? Before I left Klejnot, the Emperor confided in me his fondness for your... energetic nature. It does bring a tear of joy to my eye to see you unchanged, still the lion of Marchand."

Despite the seeming admiration in Ash’s words, Risha’s face went rigid, the color fading from his cheeks in an instant. The bust, still clutched in his hands, slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Risha tried to straighten his robe, to calm the tremor now apparent in his hands, but it was a useless effort.

"Inquisitor Ash," Risha said, his voice unnaturally high and cracking. He coughed and forced a smile. "What a... what a surprise. Had I known you were arriving, I would have met you at the gates with a proper welcome. Please, let me offer you some wine. Some hospitality."

Behind Ash, the Royal guards who had been stationed in the hallway shuffled their feet. Their eyes were fixed on the floor. In the presence of the Inquisition, even the Governor’s hand-picked killers knew their allegiance was a fragile thing.

Ash didn't move toward the wine. Instead, he stepped closer to Risha, his movement careful and deliberate. He stopped just inches away and reached out, resting a thin hand on Risha’s shoulder. Hoff watched as Risha’s entire body went rigid.

"Hospitality is a virtue, to be sure," Ash said, his mouth twisting into a toothless grin that held no mirth. "But I find myself distracted, confused even. I came expecting the smell of grain, and the sight of busy farmers. How fascinated I was, then, when I found a townsworth of dead Osho refugees in your own gardens. It’s quite a collection, Risha. Did you inform the Emperor of this new pastime, or was it meant to be a surprise?"

The tension in the room was so thick Hoff felt like he was suffocating.

"Inquisitor," Risha stammered, his eyes darting toward Hoff as if looking for words to say. "I was just... I was just about to send word. The bloodshed was unexpected and we are still assessing the situation."

Ash’s grip on Risha’s shoulder tightened. "You are the Governor of Marchand. You were given strict charges regarding Northern relations. Specifically, the delicate peace with King Casam and the border tribes. And yet, I find hundreds of the Northern King's subjects slaughtered in your garden."

"I have broken no oath here!" Risha said, but his voice lacked any real conviction. He looked like a man standing on a trapdoor, waiting for the lever to pull. "It was an attack, Inquisitor. Northern marauders from Jurmong. They must have slipped through the pass. They massacred the Osho refugees before my guards could intervene. My men are pursuing them even now!"

Hoff’s stomach twisted. It was a blatant lie, and a fragile one at that. There were no tracks of a retreating army, no reports of marauders. To blame Jurmong was to invite a war that Marchand wasn't ready to fight.

Ash tilted his head, his dark eyes boring into Risha’s. "Marauders? From Jurmong? How fascinating. They must be very stealthy to move so many people into the heart of your city without being seen."

"They are savages," Risha said, gaining a bit of false confidence as he leaned into the lie. "They know the hidden paths. But we will find them. My head of security, Lord Hoff, is a master of these matters."

Ash turned his gaze to Hoff. The look was like a physical weight. Hoff felt the urge to confess everything, to scream that he knew nothing, but he remained silent, his hand still clutching his bleeding thigh.

"Is that so?" Ash asked softly. He turned back to Risha. "Well, since you are so busy with your... assessments, I believe I will handle the investigation personally. It would be a shame for your reputation to suffer further if the Emperor were to think you were incompetent."

Risha nodded quickly, his head bobbing like a toy. "Yes, of course. Whatever you need, Inquisitor."

"I expect a full, personal report from you by tomorrow afternoon," Ash said, his voice dropping to a whisper that filled the room. "The Emperor is very keen to avenge an attack on unarmed refugees. He takes such things... personally."

Ash began to turn away, then paused. "Oh, and I think I shall go catch up with our mutual friend, Counselor Brock. I hear he has been very active in the City Council lately. I’m sure he will have plenty of details to share with me. Perhaps enough to spare you the trouble of a full report, if his story matches yours."

Risha’s jaw tightened. Counselor Brock was a snake who would sell Risha’s soul for a bag of silver. If Ash went to him first, the lie about the marauders would crumble within the hour.

"I will have the report ready," Risha managed to say.

Ash nodded, his black robes swishing as he turned and walked out of the room, the sound of his clicking boots faded down the hall, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the rage that had preceded it.

For a long minute, Risha didn't move. He stood looking at the shattered marble on the floor. When he finally turned around, the explosive anger was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp stillness that frightened Hoff far more than the flying fire pokers. Risha waved a hand dismissively at the guards in the hall, and they quickly pulled the doors shut, leaving the two men alone.

"Hoff," Risha said. His voice was quiet now, almost conversational.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"The Inquisitor is here to replace me. Or to kill me. Probably both." Risha walked over to his desk and sat down, ignoring the glass crunching under his feet. He didn't look at Hoff. "I need the counsel of my wife. Send for Heidi. Tell her to come at once."

Hoff bowed his head. "I will go myself, My Lord."

"And Hoff?" Risha looked up. The hatred in his eyes was barely concealed. "The timeline has not changed. I need answers. If Ash finds the truth before we do, we are both dead men. But in that event, I will make sure you die first."

Hoff swallowed hard. "I understand. What should I focus on? The wall? The survivors?"

"Find Barison Veril," Risha said, his lip curling in disgust. "The fur merchant. He hangs around the Merchants' quarters, usually face-down in a puddle of ale. Find him, sober him up if you have to, and bring him to the dungeons."

Hoff frowned. "The Cantor? Why him? He’s a drunkard and a fool."

"He is the only one who might know who those Osho were," Risha said. "He has... relations with the savages. He’s been seen in their camps near the pass. Ash recognized that group immediately. He knew they were Osho. If Barison knows why they were here, I need that information before Ash gets his hands on him."

Hoff nodded. "I will find him. And the trademaster?"

"The trademaster is a waste of time," Risha snapped. "She knows only what is written in her ledgers. Barison knows the northern people. Now go. And send for my wife!"

Hoff turned and hurried out of the room, his leg throbbing with every step. As he reached the hallway, he barked at a passing servant to summon the Governess. He had to move fast. He had to find the merchant, and he had to make sure the man didn't talk to anyone else. If Barison Veril was a threat to the Governor’s story, Hoff decided he might just have to make sure the man disappeared down a very dark hole.