Night clung to Witchrum like a bruise.

  Smoke rolled through the narrow streets in slow drifting ribbons. The wind carried it from the hill where the Monastery of the Silent Saint had once stood. What remained of that place still burned in dull red pockets beneath collapsed stone and charred timber. The smell hung heavy across the district. Wet ash. Burned cloth. Old blood.

  Warplayer stood at the base of the hill for a long moment before moving.

  His cloak stirred in the cold breeze as he watched the ruined silhouette against the sky. The monastery had once been quiet. A place of prayer and sealed archives. No banners. No soldiers. Only stone walls and men who believed silence pleased their god.

  Now the silence came from death.

  He climbed the hill slowly.

  Each step crushed gray ash beneath his boots. The ground near the monastery gate had turned into a thick powder that clung to leather and cloth. The wooden outer gate had collapsed inward. The hinges hung twisted and blackened.

  Lantern light flickered along the road.

  City watchmen stood guard in pairs around the ruins. Their armor looked dull beneath the soot drifting through the air. One of them raised a hand.

  “That is far enough.”

  Warplayer stopped.

  The two guards stepped forward. Their faces looked exhausted. One had a bandage wrapped around his jaw. The other kept his hand resting on the pommel of his short sword.

  “This area is sealed,” the guard said.

  Warplayer studied them quietly before answering.

  “I am here on Imperial business.”

  The guard snorted.

  “So is half the city tonight.”

  Warplayer reached slowly inside his cloak.

  The guards stiffened.

  He removed a folded parchment bearing a heavy wax seal. The emblem of the Imperial Wizard Council pressed deep into the red wax.

  “Lord Draumbean sent me.”

  The guards exchanged a glance.

  Neither spoke for a moment.

  One of them finally stepped forward and took the parchment. He held it close to the lantern.

  The seal caught the light.

  His expression changed slightly.

  “Well,” he muttered. “That explains the night.”

  The second guard looked uneasy.

  “You should know the Templars were here earlier,” he said. “They made it clear they did not want interference.”

  Warplayer’s voice remained calm.

  “Lord Draumbean does not request permission.”

  The guards studied him again.

  Something in his tone carried weight.

  The first guard handed the document back.

  “Fine,” he said quietly. “But you speak to the inspector first. No wandering around.”

  Warplayer nodded once.

  “That suits me.”

  The guards stepped aside.

  He passed through the broken gate and entered the monastery grounds.

  The devastation inside the walls told a clearer story than the smoke rising above them.

  Roof beams had collapsed inward across the main chapel. The stone arch above the entrance had cracked and sagged at an angle. Lanterns hung from iron hooks driven into the ground where the watch had set up a temporary perimeter.

  Black scorch marks climbed the walls like claw marks.

  Several bodies lay beneath cloth sheets near the fountain in the courtyard.

  Warplayer slowed his steps.

  The monks had died before the fire. That much was obvious.

  He had seen enough burned structures to recognize the difference between death by flame and death before it.

  This place had been murdered first.

  The fire had come later.

  Voices drifted from the chapel ruins.

  Warplayer followed the sound.

  Inside the collapsed archway, several lanterns illuminated a grisly scene.

  A man knelt beside a charred corpse, carefully turning it with gloved hands.

  His coat bore the brass insignia of the city inspectorate.

  Inspector Horshan.

  Warplayer had heard the name before.

  A man who preferred evidence to politics.

  Which meant tonight would irritate him greatly.

  The inspector spoke without looking up.

  “That will be all, Wyber.”

  A young squire standing nearby hesitated.

  “But sir the Commander—”

  “Leave.”

  The boy swallowed and hurried away.

  Horshan finished examining the body before finally standing.

  Only then did he turn toward the newcomer.

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  His eyes moved slowly across Warplayer’s cloak, boots, and weapons.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Another official visitor.”

  Warplayer stepped forward.

  “I represent Lord Draumbean.”

  Horshan rubbed ash from his hands.

  "And how do I know you are telling the truth my friend?"

  Warplayer studied the man for a moment before responding.

  "Because I have this," he held the letter up with the wizard's seal upon it and tossed towards the man who deftly snatched it out of the air.

  "And this," he tossed the man a very shiny silver coin. Again, the man snatched it deftly out of the air.

  "An Imperial coin from the court of the Ozark Empire', he said clearly impressed. "Worth three times that of ours. The letter would have been sufficient, but I thank you all the same."

  Warplayer crouched beside the corpse.

  The monk’s robes had burned away along one side. Beneath the damage, a deep wound split the ribs open.

  Clean work.

  A sword thrust.

  “This one died before the fire,” Warplayer said.

  Horshan crossed his arms.

  “Yes.”

  Warplayer studied the wound.

  “Single strike.”

  “Yes.”

  “Precise.”

  “Yes.”

  Warplayer looked up.

  “A trained killer.”

  Horshan’s mouth twitched slightly.

  “Now we are both stating the obvious.”

  Warplayer stood.

  “What happened here?”

  Horshan picked up his lantern and walked toward the ruined archway.

  “Many things,” he said.

  Warplayer followed.

  They stepped through a section of fallen roof where the chapel ceiling had collapsed inward. Ash crunched under their boots.

  Horshan gestured toward the bodies covered with cloth in the courtyard.

  “Every monk in the monastery was killed,” he said.

  “How many?”

  “Sixty-three.”

  Warplayer nodded slowly.

  “Execution?”

  “Mostly.”

  Horshan lifted one cloth with the lantern.

  The monk beneath had a deep cut across the throat.

  “No struggle,” Horshan said. “They were surprised. Some likely in prayer.”

  Warplayer watched the lantern light flicker across the corpse.

  “Efficient work.”

  Horshan replaced the cloth.

  “Yes.”

  They walked deeper into the chapel.

  Burned benches had collapsed into black heaps. The altar had cracked from the heat. Melted wax covered the stone floor like frozen tears.

  Warplayer studied the room.

  “You found nothing?”

  Horshan laughed softly.

  “You are not here for bodies.”

  “No.”

  “You are here for an object.”

  “Yes.”

  Horshan turned toward him.

  “A scroll.”

  Warplayer said nothing.

  The inspector shrugged.

  “You Imperial people always look for scrolls.”

  Warplayer spoke carefully.

  “Did you find one?”

  Horshan shook his head.

  “No.”

  Warplayer stepped closer to the altar.

  The stone surface showed fresh scorch marks.

  The fire had burned hot here.

  Too hot.

  Someone had burned something deliberately.

  “Everything destroyed?” Warplayer asked.

  “Most of it.”

  Horshan walked to a cracked pillar and leaned against it.

  “Strange thing about fires,” he said.

  “They hide truth.”

  Warplayer glanced at him.

  “But not from you?”

  Horshan smiled faintly.

  “I try.”

  Warplayer waited.

  Horshan studied him.

  “You are not one of Draumbean’s usual scholars,” the inspector said.

  “No.”

  “You carry weapons.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you stand like someone who expects trouble.”

  Warplayer shrugged.

  “Trouble tends to arrive.”

  Horshan chuckled quietly.

  “That sounds like experience.”

  Warplayer gestured toward the burned altar.

  “Who came here tonight?”

  “Many people.”

  “Start with the important ones.”

  Horshan lifted the lantern and moved toward the chapel door.

  “Lord Chronos's men arrived first,” he said.

  Warplayer followed.

  “The Templar Commander?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long before the watch?”

  “Not long.”

  “Did they search the building?”

  Horshan nodded.

  “Very thoroughly.”

  Warplayer stopped walking.

  “And what did they take?”

  Horshan did not answer immediately.

  Instead he turned slowly and studied Warplayer again.

  “You assume they took something.”

  Warplayer’s voice remained steady.

  “They would not search a monastery at midnight without reason.”

  Horshan nodded slowly.

  “True.”

  Warplayer waited.

  The inspector sighed.

  “They did not find what they wanted.”

  Warplayer watched his face carefully.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they left angry.”

  Warplayer considered that.

  “Angry men break things.”

  Horshan gestured around the burned chapel.

  “They did.”

  Warplayer stepped outside into the courtyard again.

  Cold wind drifted through the ruins.

  “Something was here,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “And now it is gone.”

  “Yes.”

  Warplayer turned toward Horshan.

  “Where?”

  The inspector smiled faintly.

  “Now we reach the interesting part.”

  Warplayer waited.

  Horshan walked slowly across the courtyard and stopped beside the fountain.

  “The monastery had one survivor,” he said.

  Warplayer raised an eyebrow.

  “Who?”

  “A monk by all accounts.”

  Warplayer’s attention sharpened.

  “He lived?”

  “For a short time.”

  Horshan leaned against the stone edge of the fountain.

  “He crawled out after the killings.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “To a tavern.”

  Warplayer stared at him.

  “A tavern.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Horshan shrugged.

  “Perhaps he wanted a drink before dying.”

  Warplayer frowned.

  “Or he had something to deliver.”

  Horshan nodded slowly.

  “You are catching up.”

  Warplayer stepped closer.

  “What did he give away?”

  “A package.”

  “Describe it.”

  “Wrapped cloth.”

  Warplayer’s voice hardened.

  “A scroll.”

  Horshan spread his hands.

  “Most likely.”

  Warplayer exhaled slowly.

  “Who received it?”

  “Witnesses say an elf.”

  Warplayer closed his eyes briefly.

  Of course.

  Elves.

  Horshan continued.

  “Not alone.”

  Warplayer looked up.

  “Who else?”

  “Three companions.”

  “Names?”

  “No names.”

  “Descriptions?”

  Horshan counted on his fingers.

  “Another elf.”

  Warplayer nodded.

  “A dwarf.”

  Warplayer almost smiled.

  “And one more man.”

  Warplayer said quietly.

  “That would be Turmonge’s group.”

  Horshan raised an eyebrow.

  “You know them?”

  Warplayer ignored the question.

  “When did they leave the tavern?”

  “Not long after the monk died.”

  “Direction?”

  “North road.”

  Warplayer began pacing slowly across the courtyard.

  “Did the Commanders men follow them?”

  Horshan watched him.

  “Yes.”

  Warplayer stopped.

  “How many?”

  “A dozen Templars, maybe less."

  Warplayer muttered under his breath.

  “That will slow them.”

  Horshan studied him.

  “You care about these people.”

  Warplayer turned back.

  “They carry something important.”

  Horshan folded his arms again.

  “Important enough to burn a monastery.”

  “Yes.”

  The inspector looked back toward the ruined chapel.

  “You know something strange?” he said.

  “What?”

  “The monk who escaped.”

  Warplayer waited.

  Horshan lowered his voice slightly.

  “He was already dying.”

  Warplayer frowned.

  “From what?”

  “Sword cuts.”

  Warplayer blinked.

  “Sword cuts.”

  “Yes.”

  Horshan gestured toward the front gates.

  “Would have bled to death.”

  Warplayer stared at him.

  “Then he was lucky indeed.”

  Horshan nodded.

  “That is what I thought.”

  Warplayer walked toward the cellar entrance.

  The wooden door had burned away.

  The stairs descended into darkness.

  He crouched near the threshold.

  The smell drifting upward was foul.

  Rotting flesh.

  Blood.

  Something else.

  Something unnatural.

  Warplayer stood again slowly.

  “You inspected the body?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  Horshan spoke carefully.

  “The wounds were strange.”

  “How?”

  “Too clean.”

  Warplayer looked at him sharply.

  “Rats do not cut flesh like knives.”

  “No.”

  Warplayer glanced back toward the cellar.

  “Someone staged the scene.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Warplayer rubbed ash from his gloves.

  “The monk was silenced.”

  Horshan nodded.

  “Likely.”

  Warplayer turned back toward the inspector.

  “You seem remarkably calm about this.”

  Horshan gave a tired smile.

  “I solve murders all over the empire.”

  Warplayer almost laughed.

  “Fair.”

  Horshan held up the silver coin Warplayer had tossed earlier.

  “You bribed me quickly.”

  Warplayer shrugged.

  “Time matters.”

  Horshan flipped the coin through his fingers.

  “You know what interests me?”

  “What?”

  “Why commander Chronos wants that scroll.”

  Warplayer said nothing.

  Horshan watched him carefully.

  “You serve Draumbean,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “And the commander opposes the Emperor.”

  Warplayer remained silent.

  Horshan nodded slowly.

  “Which means that scroll holds power.”

  Warplayer met his gaze.

  “Power attracts enemies.”

  Horshan smiled faintly.

  “I gathered that.”

  Warplayer began walking toward the gate.

  Horshan followed.

  “Where will you go?” the inspector asked.

  “North.”

  “To chase the elves?”

  “Yes.”

  Horshan studied him again.

  “You will not catch them tonight.”

  “No.”

  “Then why hurry?”

  Warplayer stopped near the broken gate.

  “Because Chronos's hunters will.”

  Horshan leaned against the wall.

  “You think they survive?”

  Warplayer looked out into the foggy streets.

  “Turmonge is stubborn.”

  Horshan chuckled.

  “That sounds promising.”

  Warplayer pulled his cloak tighter.

  “You helped more than expected.”

  Horshan tossed the silver coin once more before catching it.

  “Buy me that drink someday.”

  Warplayer nodded.

  “If the city still stands.”

  Horshan watched him leave through the ruined gate.

  Ash drifted behind him in the wind.

  The monastery ruins settled into silence again.

  But the fire had not hidden everything.

  Somewhere beyond the northern roads four fugitives carried a scroll powerful enough to burn monasteries and anger powerful people.

  And now half the realm was hunting them.

  Warplayer disappeared into the dark streets of Witchrum with one thought heavy in his mind.

  If the scroll truly held what Draumbean feared…

  Then tonight’s massacre was only the beginning.