The hall had only just filled again with its thick, spirit-sodden warmth when it was torn apart by the wind.

  The door burst inward beneath a savage gust. Rain lashed down outside. From the nearby forest came the sound of trees wrenched and twisted by the gale. Lightning split the sky above the small town — yet it was not the sky alone that thundered. The ground trembled beneath the circling, violent drumming of innumerable hooves.

  Three unusually tall men stepped through the doorway.

  Since the western border had opened, the townsfolk had grown accustomed to strangers appearing from time to time. Some were merely peculiar, even astonishing, their every step followed by curious eyes. Others stirred unease among the simpler folk. But never before had such silence fallen upon the inn.

  The air froze.

  These men were known.

  A few patrons sprang to their feet, heels snapping together, fists pressed to their chests.

  “May the God of the One True World bless the Order!”

  Every other face stiffened with dread.

  The strangers wore coats of mourning black that fell to their boots. Beneath them, at the left hip, a half-covered scabbard revealed the glint of a frost-pale blade — deliberately displayed, as though to remind the room that death stood among them. Their dull, near-black breastplates were shaped to broaden and harden their already formidable builds, giving them a stony, unassailable presence.

  Beneath the left shoulder of each, a complex rune-like sigil had been engraved with meticulous sharpness into metal that appeared thin and light — and yet unbreakable. A similar mark, coin-sized, had been burned into the side of their necks.

  When their coats shifted, a whip studded with jagged metal fragments flashed at their right side, bearing mute witness to fates worse than death.

  There was no anger upon their faces. No hatred.

  What chilled the room was something far more terrible.

  There was no emotion at all.

  The thick wooden door closed with a calm, ominous click. The pounding of hooves dulled. A suffocating stillness settled over the hall.

  One of the three — his coat edged in gold — stepped forward with slow, weighted footfalls. The other two, inquisitors in silver-edged coats, took their place at either side of the door, clasped their hands behind their backs, and stood rigid.

  The gold-edged rested his hand upon his sword hilt. On the index, middle, and ring fingers of his left hand gleamed silver-bright rings, each set with a faintly luminous pale-blue stone. When the candlelight caught them, they seemed to ripple gently, like the surface of a distant lake. A bracelet of similar stones circled his wrist.

  He appeared to be of middle years. Though lean beneath his long black coat, there was no disguising the lethal force contained within his tall, commanding frame. His cold, unmoving gaze swept slowly across the hall. On his long face the candlelight wavered; not a muscle stirred.

  “I am the Judicator of the Erebus Order. I am called Father Ruben.”

  His voice was quiet, measured — and as dreadful as a graveyard swallowed in fog. Everyone understood that such tranquillity concealed fatal danger.

  “In recent days, one…” — he seemed to recoil not with his face, but with his gaze — “… individual… passed through the eastern border. Most assuredly westward. Most assuredly without hindrance.”

  His eyes swept the room again.

  “We shall assume, for the moment, that this occurred without fault on your part.”

  His cold, grey lightless gaze passed over them. Each felt it settle personally upon them; and when it truly did, their blood ran cold.

  “However, we expect your unconditional cooperation. The individual poses a threat to all who cross his path. Therefore, for your protection and in faithful service to the sacred teachings of the Worldfaith, our purpose is to find him… and execute him on the spot.”

  With each word he turned his head slightly, as though interrogating them all at once.

  “If anyone knows… has seen… has heard… anything unusual… suspicious… or merely out of place… step forward. Now.”

  His gaze rested upon them like the mouth of an open grave.

  “If anyone conceals information that comes to our knowledge — or attempts to mislead us — we shall discover it in due time. We shall find that person. And we shall administer a punishment of exemplary severity. No deceit escapes the eye of the One True God. Nor my own.”

  Time stalled.

  Even the candle flames did not move.

  Then Jasu groaned.

  With effort he pushed himself onto all fours and rasped:

  “You bastard… now you’ll die…”

  The judicator moved.

  Three strides — and he was there. His boot crushed the back of Jasu’s neck; with a sharp motion he drove his head into the floorboards. Jasu’s face struck wood with a sickening crack. A violent choking sound tore from his throat; blood spilled from nose and mouth. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs would not answer him.

  Terror fell upon the hall like a solid weight.

  Anne lifted her hand to her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. Several women cried out. The men’s shock curdled into taut, strangled anger. Even those who had stood with fists to their hearts lowered their hands. One or two began to rise in fury — but the silver-edged men at the door fixed them with a look sharp as a spearpoint and pinned them back in their chairs.

  With swift precision, Ruben drew his long, frost-bright blade. In one smooth turn he positioned it point-down above Jasu’s head — then drove it downward in a movement almost too quick to see.

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  The blade buried itself deep in the floorboards.

  Mest, staggering backward, dragged Jasu by the legs, the young man still half-conscious.

  “Beg pardon, reverend fathers,” he said with effort, bending his voice into foolishness, as though he’d just lost a tooth. “My poor daft little brother’s gone and disturbed your holy discourse merely by being alive. I’ll drag him off straightaway. He weren’t cursing your reverences — only me. I had to cuff him earlier. Sometimes a body’s got to keep order. Poor half-wit’s been that way since he first came squalling into the world, and I bear the burden of him. We’ll warm ourselves a spell and be on our way. To another village. Begging.”

  Omba was at his side in an instant, helping to lift Jasu into a chair while berating them loudly.

  “You stinking, root-brained, ragged peasants! I give you space on my cart and share my food so you don’t freeze to death out there, and this is how you behave before such worthy reverend fathers? Try that once more and you can slog through the mud on your own two feet!”

  For several long seconds the judicator watched them with an unmoving gaze.

  One could feel him weighing whether they were worth the trouble.

  No matter the age, the people, or the order of rule — whether under tyranny or the guidance of councils — there has always existed, and always will exist, a class of souls so wholly disregarded that most scarcely acknowledge their existence at all.

  To speak of them fills the air with the same unease as mention of a dead relative or a grave illness. Even when custom compels the performance of sympathy, be it friend or stranger who listens, no one truly wishes to dwell upon such discomforts.

  Should one chance to glimpse one of these ever-forgotten, faceless figures — like a passing ghost — a harsh word or a pitying coin is enough before forgetfulness settles once more.

  They are the wretched. The cast aside.

  And it seemed Mest had succeeded in sinking himself among them, into that dim and formless mire.

  Like ants drowning in a drop of water, or gaunt dogs still nosing behind a house in hope before frost or hunger claims them.

  They were not worth the effort.

  Ruben turned away and slid his blade back into its sheath.

  “Who is the leader of this establishment?”

  Behind the counter, Hobb’s fist had tightened into stone. Yet he bowed slightly, forcing into his voice the deepest humility he could manage.

  “Father Ruben, forgive our silence. We are overwhelmed that the revered Order honours our small town with its presence. Welcome. May I offer food or drink?”

  “Facts,” Ruben replied flatly.

  Hobb bowed again.

  “Earlier in the night, a large figure clad in armour was here. He purchased provisions and was gone again within minutes.”

  The Judicator’s gaze sharpened.

  “I see. Thank you.” His voice remained colourless — and dissatisfied. “Belor, the port city, lies scarcely more than two days’ walk from here. As provincial capital, it houses one of the Order’s principal seats. Accordingly, there is a garrison near this ’shard’, as in most… true… cities. Had you dispatched a courier eastward to the nearest garrison, we would likely have encountered them upon our approach. Since this did not occur, I assume no one was sent. Why?”

  The calm question hung in the air like a scythe.

  Hobb swallowed with effort.

  “We believed him a travelling mercenary. His appearance was unusual, but it never occurred to us he might flee the Order. Many strange travellers pass through here at the crossroads. If we reported every such matter — especially at night…”

  Ruben’s gaze pinned him as though a blade hovered at his throat.

  “No one sensed… anything irregular in his presence?”

  The warmth of the tone sent a chill through Hobb, though his eyes did not waver.

  “No. Nothing beyond his size and his reticence. Might he be the one you seek?”

  “Which direction did he take?”

  “I cannot say. No one followed. When the door closed behind him, there was relief. We let the matter rest.”

  Ruben studied him a moment longer — then turned away and spread his hands.

  “All may rely upon the protection of the Order and its demon hunters, in every place and at all times. Our brothers and sisters who live in purity need fear neither worldly nor otherworldly peril. The safety and future of mankind are our highest charge. There shall be no mercy for those who would bring ruin upon the world we guard.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk between the tables. His calm voice filled the room like frost.

  “Therefore we eradicate all that does not belong to this world — living or otherwise.

  “We hunt down and kill every demonic creature of the ’lost shards’, and all who consort with them.

  “Those who worship underworldly shadows as false gods.”

  “All who come from the nameless lands… or wander them.”

  “All who trade for gain in the twisted and mutilated remnants of godless worlds, or who by their means commit base and shameful witchcraft, thereby sundering the order of nature…”

  “And above all… those dark-souled profaners who cast aside their humanity and, through demonic practices, warp the Fabric of the World itself.”

  His gaze pierced Jasu. Mest. Omba.

  “And then we shall rid the world of all that is degenerate, without worth… or inhuman abomination”

  Omba’s jaw clenched. Mest, unseen, raised a finger in warning. After a taut moment, Omba exhaled slowly, and his face smoothed.

  Ruben resumed.

  “Our demon hunters will search every house. Anything that threatens our faithful children will be removed.”

  An elderly guest blurted before he could stop himself:

  “In the night? In the rain?”

  Ruben did not look at him.

  “If I judge correctly, the town’s worthiest are assembled here… in the brothel. Drinking. That spares us the trouble of posting guards during the search.”

  The old man persisted.

  “Our children and wives sleep at home. Some have already locked their doors.”

  Ruben turned to him at last.

  “There is no cause for concern. We shall manage.”

  The door opened quietly.

  From outside came the cracking of timber, heavy blows, and desperate cries. A third silver-edged entered, straight-backed, hand upon heart.

  “I report, Father.”

  “Speak, child. What have you learned?”

  “All ten companies are intact and on alert. Couriers have returned. The eastern and western borders are secured by watchtowers and gates. I dispatched small units at full gallop to both garrisons to ensure the gates remain closed. Should they resist, appropriate measures will be taken.”

  A low murmur rippled through the hall. Hobb lifted his hand; the sound died.

  “Well done, Aedil,” Ruben said, genuine warmth touching his tone for the first time. “Continue.”

  The inquisitor delivered his report with precise efficiency — patrols detained, horns silenced, forests watched, villages encircled, signal flares prepared.

  When he finished, Ruben addressed the room once more.

  “The Order has strengthened its laws and teachings. If we discover within a community anything opposed to the One True God, it shall be confiscated. Should anyone be judged guilty of sacrilege, the burden falls upon the entire community. However… if one reveals another’s guilt before we must uncover it ourselves, such honesty may spare the whole — and earn reward.”

  He turned to the silver-edged by the door.

  “Thirty brothers remain here with you. No one leaves until the searches are complete. Examine those present as well. Thoroughly. If necessary, use your swords.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I ride onward to Adern with my own detachment. The remaining companies will disperse northwest and southwest. Upon completion, you will divide into small groups and proceed to Adern. Should no report reach me, I shall assume grave difficulty — which will not end favourably for residents or for you. Avoid delay.”

  He paused at the threshold, listening to the storm’s endless roar.

  “Nothing will save you from us,” he murmured.

  He turned to the inquisitors and exchanged a few quiet words with them. Then he raised his voice so that all in the hall might hear.

  “My children. The Order rewards the pure of soul, and extends forgiveness to those who turn from their sinful lives and embrace the true faith. The hour of mercy — and of judgment — has come.

  Reveal the sins of your friends, that they may be granted the chance to atone. Confess your own transgressions while there is still time.

  But if… if that infinite sorrow should come upon the Order —” his voice darkened — “no… if that boundless grief and pain should strike my own heart — that our brothers and sisters of this town shelter an unholy demon of the shadow-realm, and refuse to confess before the truth is brought to light… then the guilt shall lie upon the whole community.

  And this fair land shall be made a place of warning, that others may learn to fear the wages of sin.”

  He turned again to the silver-edged.

  “If you find anything that proves it… burn this foul nest to the ground. With all its inhabitants.”

  Cries erupted.

  Ruben and Aedil stepped into the rain and vanished into the damp dark. The uproar was swallowed by the shrill of countless horses and the thunder of hooves. Torches flared in the mist, which dissolved into a molten golden torrent surging westward like poured metal.

  Beyond the infernal din, far to the east, a horn sounded — faint, desperate.

  Then another.

  Then silence.

  The inn door closed.