The Imperial System: Architect of an Empire

Hadran Selk’s legal review concluded the next morning with an answer Kael disliked for several different reasons.

That was probably a good sign.

The written recommendation arrived while Kael was in the manor study reviewing the latest construction expenses for the Adventure Guild. Edwin placed the document beside the account ledger without comment, then stepped back.

Kael looked at the seal.

”Finished?”

”Apparently.”

Galahad, seated across from him with three pages of proposed Guild procedures, immediately abandoned his own work.

”That expression suggests you expect disappointment.”

”I expect complexity.”

”That is healthier.”

Kael opened the report.

The legal administrator had divided Hadran’s conduct into three separate questions.

First: Had Hadran violated Blackwood law by failing to report Berren Coil’s body?

No.

No law clearly imposed that responsibility at the time.

Second: Had Hadran violated commercial regulations by allowing his employees to harvest monster materials without a local contract?

Also no.

Independent monster-material collection was permitted outside protected land, private estates, military zones, and specifically restricted hunting grounds. The ashmaw ridge fell into none of those categories.

Kael frowned.

Galahad leaned forward.

”Still waiting for the part you dislike?”

”There are several available.”

He continued reading.

Third: Had Hadran violated conditions attached to his commercial standing by failing to report a dangerous monster concentration after receiving credible information that ashmaws had migrated into an area used by farmers, hunters, and travelers?

Possibly.

That was where the administrator had found something.

Hadran’s merchant permissions included an obligation to disclose certain hazards directly connected to goods he traded when those hazards created a foreseeable public danger. The provision had originally been written for contaminated materials, dangerous alchemical substances, diseased livestock products, and monster parts carrying poison or disease.

It had never been written for migration reports.

But the administrator believed the language could apply because Hadran had possessed multiple reports suggesting ashmaws had moved north, had profited by selling that information, and had continued commercial activity connected to the creatures without forwarding the same information to local authorities.

Kael read the paragraph twice.

Then a third time.

Galahad watched him.

”You found something.”

”I found an argument.”

”Different?”

”Very.”

Edwin nodded approvingly.

Kael looked toward him. ”You enjoy when I say things like that now.”

”I appreciate evidence of development.”

”That sounded worse.”

Galahad reached for the report.

Kael passed it across the desk.

The recommendation did not call Hadran’s failure criminal.

Instead, it proposed a formal administrative finding that he had failed to meet the information-disclosure obligations attached to his commercial privileges.

Penalty:

A modest fine.

Temporary suspension of preferred merchant access in Blackwood for thirty days.

Mandatory disclosure procedures if he wished to renew those privileges afterward.

No confiscation of wagons.

No imprisonment.

No permanent exclusion.

Kael leaned back.

”I expected more.”

Galahad looked up from the page. ”Why?”

”A man died.”

”That is an outcome.”

Kael looked at him.

Galahad tapped the report.

”You spent three days insisting we should not punish people based only on how terrible the result became.”

”I know.”

”Apparently you meant it until the punishment felt small.”

Kael frowned.

That was irritatingly accurate.

Edwin moved toward the window.

”The administrator is not deciding what Hadran morally deserved.”

”No.”

”He is deciding what Blackwood can justify under rules that already existed.”

Kael looked back at the fine.

It still felt small.

Berren remained dead.

Meya had survived days beneath the ruined charcoal shelter.

Rellis still carried burns that might mark him permanently.

Hadran paid a fine.

The imbalance bothered him.

Darius entered before Kael could decide whether the feeling was useful.

The commander took one look at the three men and the open report.

”Hadran.”

Kael nodded.

Darius held out a hand.

Galahad passed him the document.

He read quickly.

Kael waited.

”Well?”

”Reasonable.”

”That’s it?”

Darius looked toward him.

”What were you expecting?”

Kael almost said justice.

He stopped himself.

”I don’t know.”

Darius folded the report.

”You want the consequence to feel proportional to the harm.”

”Yes.”

”It cannot.”

Kael frowned.

”Why?”

”Because not every harm was caused by one person.”

Darius placed the report on the desk.

”Berren chose to continue after the burned boar. Rellis agreed. Toll failed to disclose uncertain danger. Hadran sold information without ensuring local authorities received it. Tern and Joric prioritized harvesting over investigating the blood trail. Hadran failed again after learning they found a body. Provincial response thresholds delayed official action. Local volunteers withdrew because the danger exceeded what they could safely handle.”

Kael said nothing.

Darius continued.

”If you make Hadran’s punishment equal to the entire tragedy, you pretend everyone else’s decisions disappear.”

Galahad nodded.

”And you teach future officials to find one person large enough to carry the anger.”

Kael looked between them.

”That sounds convenient for Hadran.”

”It is,” Darius said. ”Law often protects people you dislike. That is one of the reasons it matters.”

Kael stared at the report again.

He hated that answer.

Which probably meant it mattered too.

Edwin asked, ”Will you approve the recommendation?”

Kael did not answer immediately.

His authority allowed him to reject it.

That was not the same as having a good reason.

”What happens if I increase the penalty?”

Edwin answered. ”You would need to state the basis.”

”Public negligence.”

”The administrator already addressed that.”

”Failure to report.”

”No clearly applicable reporting duty existed.”

”Commercial disclosure.”

”That produced the recommended sanction.”

Kael exhaled.

There it was.

Authority.

Again.

He could increase the punishment because the outcome angered him.

And everyone would understand.

Perhaps even approve.

Berren’s family might feel better.

Blackwood might think their prince had been strong.

That did not make it right.

Kael picked up the pen.

”I approve the recommendation.”

Edwin stepped forward.

Kael signed.

The act took less than five seconds.

The discomfort remained.

Galahad collected his pages.

”You look disappointed.”

”I am.”

”Good.”

Kael looked at him.

Galahad shrugged.

”If punishment always made you feel satisfied, I would worry.”

Darius almost smiled.

Kael pointed at both of them.

”I dislike how often people in this territory agree when it is inconvenient for me.”

Edwin took the signed report.

”That may be one of Blackwood’s strengths.”

He left before Kael could respond.

The hearing with Hadran took place shortly before noon.

Kael did not sit as judge because he was not one.

The legal administrator, Master Edrin Sol, occupied the central position in the small hearing chamber. He was a narrow man in his fifties with thinning hair, plain dark robes, and a habit of pressing his lips together before speaking as if every sentence first had to survive inspection.

Hadran stood opposite him.

Kael sat to one side with Edwin and Galahad.

Tern and Joric had already given written statements and were not required to attend.

Rellis had declined.

Meya had done the same.

Kael respected both decisions.

Master Sol read the finding without performance.

Hadran listened quietly.

When the fine was announced, he nodded once.

When the thirty-day suspension of preferred merchant access was announced, his expression tightened.

That mattered more.

Preferred access gave Hadran reduced entry fees, guaranteed commercial space during market congestion, faster inspection for approved goods, and the right to reserve warehouse storage ahead of unregistered traveling merchants.

Thirty days without those privileges would cost him substantially more than the fine.

Still survivable.

Not trivial.

Not ruinous.

When Master Sol finished, he asked, ”Do you understand the basis of the finding?”

”Yes.”

”Do you intend to challenge it?”

Hadran looked toward Kael.

Kael deliberately gave him nothing.

Hadran returned his attention to the administrator.

”No.”

Master Sol studied him.

”You are entitled to appeal.”

”I know.”

”Then why not?”

Hadran’s mouth shifted slightly.

”Because you’re right.”

That surprised Kael.

Master Sol showed no reaction.

Hadran continued. ”I did not think the migration report was my problem once I sold it.”

Galahad leaned back.

Hadran noticed.

”Yes. I hear how that sounds now.”

Master Sol asked, ”And the body?”

Hadran looked less comfortable.

”I was wrong.”

”That is not a legal answer.”

”No.”

”Do you have one?”

Hadran thought for several seconds.

”I believed responsibility moved to the next person once my men told me.”

Kael felt the sentence again.

Joric had said almost the same thing.

Once we handed it upward, it stopped feeling like ours.

Hadran continued. ”I assumed the searchers would find him. Or the village. Or whoever was already looking.”

”There was no organized search at that time,” Master Sol said.

”I know that now.”

”Did you know it then?”

”No.”

Master Sol nodded.

That distinction remained important.

Hadran looked toward Kael again.

”What happens to the new rule?”

Kael answered this time.

”There is no new rule yet.”

Hadran frowned.

”You are not requiring reporting?”

”We probably will require some form of it for certain commercial operators.”

”Then why not write it?”

”Because we are still deciding what exactly must be reported, to whom, how quickly, under what conditions, and what happens when reporting itself creates danger.”

Hadran stared at him.

Kael smiled faintly.

”That expression is exactly how I feel.”

Master Sol did not smile.

Kael suspected legal administrators were trained specifically against it.

Hadran asked, ”Will it apply to everyone?”

”Probably not in the same way.”

”Then merchants get more obligations than ordinary travelers.”

Galahad answered.

”Merchants with commercial privileges may.”

”Why?”

”Because privileges can come with responsibilities.”

Hadran looked toward him.

”So if I give up preferred access?”

”Then some obligations attached specifically to that access may no longer apply.”

Hadran frowned.

”That sounds easy to avoid.”

”Possibly.”

Galahad shrugged.

”Then we learn whether the privilege is valuable enough that merchants prefer keeping it.”

Kael watched Hadran process that.

Not every system needed force.

Sometimes access itself created leverage.

Hadran looked toward Kael.

”And monster reports?”

Kael answered carefully.

”If your business makes money because you learn where dangerous creatures are moving before everyone else, I think Blackwood has a legitimate interest in ensuring some of that danger information reaches people who may be harmed by it.”

Hadran did not immediately disagree.

”But,” Kael continued, ”I do not want to punish merchants for every rumor they fail to repeat.”

Hadran nodded slowly.

”Then mark confidence.”

Galahad looked toward him.

Hadran continued. ”You already started doing that.”

Kael became interested.

”Confirmed. Reported. Suspected. Unknown.”

Hadran nodded.

”If you make merchants report everything, you’ll drown whoever receives it in nonsense. Hunters exaggerate. Farmers misidentify tracks. Children see dragons whenever a large bird flies over a hill.”

Master Sol finally showed the smallest sign of amusement.

Hadran continued. ”But if you ask what we heard, who we heard it from, and how confident we are, that is useful.”

Kael looked toward Galahad.

Galahad was already writing.

Hadran noticed.

”Am I being recruited into my own punishment?”

”No,” Kael said.

”Good.”

Galahad looked up. ”You could be.”

Hadran stared.

Kael laughed.

The hearing ended without anger.

That felt strange too.

Hadran paid the fine before leaving.

He accepted the suspension.

He also submitted a written request to meet Berren’s family if they permitted it.

Kael did not know whether they would.

That choice belonged to them.

Outside the administrative building, Blackwood had developed another problem.

A crowd.

Not an angry one.

That almost made it worse.

At least thirty people stood near the main road facing the nearly completed Guild headquarters. Several carried tools. Others carried rolled bedding or small packs. Two wagons waited behind them.

Kael stopped.

”What is this?”

Lily approached from the opposite side of the road looking irritated enough that Kael immediately knew none of the people belonged to the manor.

”Applicants.”

Galahad stopped walking.

”For the Guild?”

”Yes.”

”It is closed.”

”I told them.”

A broad man near the front raised his hand.

”We know.”

Galahad looked toward him.

”Then why are you here?”

The man seemed confused by the question.

”To register.”

”You cannot.”

”We can wait.”

Galahad looked toward Kael.

Kael looked away.

Not his problem.

Galahad noticed.

Coward, his expression said.

Kael smiled.

The broad man stepped forward.

”Word says you’re opening soon.”

Galahad folded his arms.

”Word is wrong.”

A woman behind him called, ”The building’s finished.”

”It is not.”

”It has doors.”

”That is not the standard.”

Several people laughed.

Galahad did not.

Kael watched the crowd more carefully.

They were not all fighters.

One wore a healer’s satchel.

Another carried a hunter’s bow.

A heavily tattooed woman had a short sword at one hip and carpenter’s tools tied across her pack.

An older man stood beside a teenage boy with no visible weapon at all.

Kael immediately began categorizing them.

Then caught himself.

Cassian would have been insufferable.

Galahad asked, ”How many of you came to Blackwood specifically because you heard the Guild would open?”

Nearly half raised their hands.

Kael’s stomach sank.

Lily looked pleased.

Not because the situation was good.

Because she had warned him.

Galahad looked toward Kael.

”Still think housing pressure has nothing to do with us?”

”I never said nothing.”

”You thought it.”

Kael hated everyone.

A young woman near the rear raised her voice.

”We’ve been paying tavern rates for six days.”

Galahad looked toward her. ”Why did you come before an opening date existed?”

She shrugged.

”Because if we waited, everyone else would take the contracts.”

There it was.

Expectation creating behavior before the institution existed.

Kael looked toward the Guild headquarters.

A building that had not opened was already changing rents, travel decisions, employment, and competition.

He had understood that intellectually.

Watching thirty strangers stand outside made it different.

Galahad stepped onto the lower Guild stair.

The crowd quieted.

”The Guild is not open.”

Someone groaned.

Galahad raised one hand.

”It will not open tomorrow.”

More disappointment.

”It will not open because people are standing outside.”

That earned several frowns.

Galahad continued.

”When it opens, registration will not be first-come, first-served in a way that rewards whoever can afford to live outside the door for two weeks.”

Kael looked at him.

Good.

A few people exchanged glances.

The young woman who had complained about tavern prices asked, ”Then how?”

”We are still finalizing that.”

The crowd became louder.

Galahad waited.

Eventually they quieted again.

”I would rather tell you I do not know yet than invent an answer because you’re impatient.”

Kael smiled.

Galahad glanced toward him.

Kael looked innocent.

Galahad continued. ”If you intend to remain in Blackwood, the manor administration is maintaining a temporary list of people interested in Guild registration. Your place on that list will not determine rank, privilege, contract priority, or admission.”

A man near the front frowned.

”What does it determine?”

”That we know you exist.”

The answer sounded almost exactly like the principle developed after Meya disappeared.

Kael noticed.

So did Galahad.

He paused slightly before continuing.

”When registration begins, you will receive notice.”

The broad man asked, ”What about work until then?”

”That is not the Guild’s responsibility.”

Several people looked disappointed.

Kael agreed with the answer.

The Guild could not become employer of everyone who arrived because rumors drew them here.

Galahad added, ”Blackwood labor offices are posting construction, caravan, agricultural, and workshop work separately. If you need temporary employment, ask there.”

Better.

Not the Guild’s responsibility.

But still information.

The crowd gradually broke apart.

Some approached Lily to ask about the temporary list.

Others headed toward the labor office.

A few simply left.

Kael watched the tattooed woman with the carpenter’s tools cross toward the eastern road.

He wondered what work she actually wanted.

Then smiled.

That question had become automatic now.

Galahad walked down the stairs.

”We need the opening procedure sooner.”

”Yes.”

”That does not mean tomorrow.”

”I know.”

”Or the day after.”

”I know.”

”Or because the prince gets excited.”

Kael stared.

”I have shown remarkable restraint.”

Lily coughed.

Kael turned.

She looked away.

Traitors.

They entered the Guild headquarters.

Inside, the noise had diminished.

Most major construction was finished. Workers were completing shelves, doors, storage spaces, and the last sections of the treatment station.

Milo Renwick sat behind one of the future registration counters.

Kael stopped.

Milo looked up.

”No.”

Kael had not spoken.

”What are you doing?”

”Testing.”

”Testing what?”

”The chair.”

Kael looked at Galahad.

Galahad closed his eyes.

Milo leaned back.

”Important equipment.”

”Get out of the registration area,” Galahad said.

”Why?”

”Because it is not open.”

”Neither am I.”

Kael laughed.

Galahad pointed toward the stairs.

Milo stood with great suffering.

”Oppression.”

”No one is oppressing you.”

”That’s what oppressive administrators say.”

He walked toward the staircase at the speed of a man personally betrayed by gravity.

Kael watched him.

”You know, for someone who hates effort, you spend a lot of energy complaining.”

Milo stopped.

”That is different energy.”

”How?”

”Renewable.”

Kael smiled.

A sharp sound came from the training yard outside.

Then another.

Then another.

Consistent.

Kael turned.

Through the open side doors, he could see Sera Venn standing near the far end of the yard with her longbow.

Three targets had been placed at different distances.

She was not aiming at the center of any of them.

Kael walked outside.

Galahad followed.

Milo did too, despite having been ordered upstairs.

Sera released.

The arrow struck the left edge of the farthest target.

Kael frowned.

”Miss?”

Sera lowered the bow.

”No.”

She pointed.

A small strip of cloth had been tied along the target’s side.

The arrow had cut through the knot without entering deeply into the wood.

Kael looked again.

”That was the target.”

”Yes.”

Milo leaned against the doorway.

”She hates circles.”

Sera ignored him.

A young Black Dragon soldier stood nearby holding several more pieces of cloth.

Kael recognized him vaguely but did not ask his name.

Progress.

Sera selected another arrow.

Kael watched her stance.

”Why practice that instead of the center?”

She drew.

”Centers do not move.”

She released.

Another knot snapped.

The cloth dropped.

Sera lowered the bow.

”Armor gaps do.”

That answer belonged to someone who understood exactly what her weapon was for.

Kael resisted asking how far she could shoot.

Barely.

Milo noticed.

His smile widened.

Kael glared at him.

”Say nothing.”

”I said nothing.”

”You were about to.”

”I was thinking.”

Kael stared.

Milo looked delighted.

Cassian’s infection had spread.

Sera selected another arrow.

Galahad asked, ”How long have you trained with that bow?”

Sera glanced toward him.

”Eight years.”

Kael looked at Galahad.

”That was an assessment question.”

Galahad frowned.

Milo laughed loudly.

Sera’s expression almost softened.

Almost.

The next arrow struck.

Kael left before the conversation became another investigation into the original fifty.

He had already promised himself he would get to know them naturally.

Naturally did not mean interrogating everyone with an interesting weapon.

By late afternoon, Blackwood’s legal administrator sent the first draft of a possible commercial reporting rule.

Kael gathered Edwin, Galahad, Darius, Iris, and Master Sol in the study.

The draft was short.

That made Kael suspicious immediately.

Master Sol read it aloud.

”Any person or organization operating under a privileged commercial license issued by Blackwood who, during the ordinary course of that licensed activity, becomes directly aware of credible evidence indicating substantial and immediate danger to life within Blackwood territory must report that information to a designated authority at the first reasonable opportunity when doing so does not create disproportionate risk.”

Silence.

Kael looked around.

”Questions.”

Iris raised one immediately.

”What is substantial?”

Master Sol nodded. ”Needs definition.”

Galahad added, ”What is immediate?”

”Also needs definition.”

Darius asked, ”What qualifies as directly aware?”

”Observation, reliable first-hand report, or repeated independent reports were possibilities.”

Kael leaned forward.

”Reliable according to whom?”

Master Sol looked toward him.

”Exactly.”

Edwin smiled faintly.

Kael saw it.

”Do not.”

”I said nothing.”

Galahad tapped the page.

”Designated authority.”

”Yes.”

”Who?”

”That may depend upon location.”

Kael leaned back.

The simple rule had survived less than thirty seconds.

He felt strangely pleased.

Darius noticed.

”You enjoy failure too much.”

”This is useful failure.”

”Those words are dangerous together.”

Master Sol continued.

”A designated authority could include Blackwood officials, recognized local guards, military posts, Guild offices once established, or other institutions formally authorized to accept reports.”

Iris looked toward him.

”Church houses?”

The question made Kael think of Solmara.

Master Sol nodded slowly.

”Potentially, if the Church agrees.”

Edwin added, ”Some Church establishments already accept emergency messages along major roads.”

Kael became interested.

”Across the Empire?”

”Not consistently.”

Of course not.

Common principle.

Different method.

Again.

Galahad looked at the draft.

”This works for Blackwood.”

”Maybe,” Kael said.

”Do not start thinking Empire-wide.”

”I wasn’t.”

Everyone looked at him.

Kael frowned.

”I genuinely wasn’t.”

Darius nodded once.

”That may be progress.”

Kael chose to accept it as praise.

They spent the next hour narrowing the rule.

They changed ”immediate danger” to ”serious danger reasonably capable of causing death, major injury, or widespread destruction.”

Then removed ”widespread” because nobody could agree what it meant.

They added a protection stating that no person was required to investigate, recover bodies, enter dangerous terrain, or abandon necessary safety measures merely to satisfy the reporting obligation.

Iris insisted on that.

Galahad insisted that a person who genuinely attempted to report through a reasonable channel should not be punished merely because the message later failed to reach the correct office.

Kael supported him.

The whole point was to prevent responsibility from disappearing.

Not punish people for choosing the wrong desk.

Master Sol wrote a revised version.

Kael read it.

”Still not ready.”

”No,” Master Sol agreed.

Kael looked surprised.

The administrator gathered the pages.

”You expected resistance?”

”A little.”

”I was asked to draft law, not defend the first draft as if my honor depends upon it.”

Kael looked toward Darius.

”We should keep him.”

Master Sol paused.

”I already work here.”

”Good.”

He left.

Darius shook his head.

The meeting ended near sunset.

Kael walked outside alone.

The manor hill overlooked most of Blackwood’s growing settlement. From there he could see the Guild headquarters, the forge, newer housing along the eastern roads, the clinic roof, and the distant fields beyond.

There were more people now than when he had returned.

More problems too.

That seemed unfair.

He had spent months repairing things.

Apparently functioning territories rewarded success by becoming complicated in new ways.

Kael smiled faintly.

Maybe that was normal.

Footsteps approached behind him.

Brother Caelen Orst stopped several paces away.

The Church clerk carried no documents for once.

Kael noticed.

”Are you lost?”

”No.”

”No paperwork?”

”Not presently.”

”That seems dangerous.”

Brother Caelen almost smiled.

Almost.

He joined Kael at the stone railing.

For a time, both looked toward Blackwood.

Then the clerk said, ”This territory is louder than I expected.”

Kael glanced toward him.

”What did you expect?”

Brother Caelen considered.

”Older.”

Kael laughed.

”That is insulting.”

”I meant quieter.”

”Still insulting.”

The clerk looked toward the Guild.

”You build quickly.”

Kael thought of Cassian.

That sentence no longer sounded automatically complimentary.

”Sometimes.”

Brother Caelen noticed the hesitation.

”Was that criticism?”

”No.”

”Good.”

”I have heard enough of it from my brother.”

”Which one?”

Kael smiled.

”Exactly.”

Brother Caelen looked north.

”Solmara will feel different.”

Kael followed his gaze.

”How?”

The clerk thought before answering.

”Blackwood feels like people are deciding what it should become.”

Kael remained quiet.

”Solmara feels like people are arguing over what it has always been.”

That was good.

Kael turned toward him.

”Explain.”

Brother Caelen sighed.

”I knew that was a mistake.”

”You cannot say something like that and stop.”

The clerk rested his hands on the stone.

”Many institutions in Solmara are old. Very old. A monastery may have rights granted by an emperor three hundred years ago. A town council may have a charter older than the current bishopric boundaries. A knightly archive may follow procedures written after a war nobody living remembers.”

Kael listened carefully.

”And people disagree about what should change.”

”Yes.”

”Church officials too?”

”Especially Church officials.”

That interested him.

Kael had unconsciously imagined Solmara as more unified than Aurelia.

Perhaps because religious institutions liked presenting doctrine as certainty.

Brother Caelen continued. ”Some believe preserving old forms protects legitimacy. Others believe traditions that no longer serve their purpose become burdens.”

Kael smiled faintly.

”Sounds familiar.”

”Probably.”

”Where do you fall?”

The clerk looked toward him.

”That is an unfair question for someone who works there.”

”Then don’t answer.”

Brother Caelen looked surprised.

Kael shrugged.

”I am practicing.”

That earned the closest thing to a real smile Kael had seen from him.

”Then I will reward the effort.”

He looked north again.

”I believe traditions should be forced to remember why they exist.”

Kael thought about knightly consecration.

The book.

The oath.

The Church’s question.

”Not abolished?”

”Sometimes.”

”But not automatically.”

”No.”

Kael nodded.

That sounded uncomfortably close to his own developing answer to Augustus.

What should never be standardized?

Perhaps the problem was not standards.

Perhaps it was forgetting what they were supposed to protect.

Brother Caelen pushed away from the railing.

”Archdeacon Malrec arrives tomorrow.”

Kael’s thoughts returned immediately.

”Morning?”

”Before noon, unless the road delays him.”

”Will he begin interviews immediately?”

”No.”

Kael relaxed.

”He will probably inspect the candidates first.”

Kael frowned.

”Inspect?”

”Conversation.”

”That is an interview.”

”Not officially.”

Kael stared.

Brother Caelen started walking away.

”Church distinctions.”

”Those are terrible words.”

”I hear that often.”

Kael watched him disappear toward the eastern guest wing.

Tomorrow.

Malrec.

Elias.

Marcus.

The House statement.

And perhaps, if both men passed the part of the examination that could not be measured with swords, Solmara after that.

Kael looked north one last time.

Until recently, Solmara had been a territory on a map.

Tomorrow, someone carrying its authority would walk through Blackwood’s gates.

For the first time, Kael wondered whether Malrec was coming only to judge Elias and Marcus.

Or whether the Archdeacon intended to judge the House producing them as well.