The "witch hunt" farce finally came to an end.
The ragged "knights" who fancied themselves righteous rode off through the mud on scrawny nags and stubborn donkeys, cursing as they went.
They had no idea that an invisible Phoenix was soaring high above them, wings spread gracefully as it watched them with cold indifference.
Will beat his wings and glided silently through the air.
The knights moved at an infuriating crawl, as if testing Will's patience. A full two hours passed before a gray stone castle appeared on the horizon.
The Castle was hardly grand. It stood alone beside a muddy river, surrounded by fields and pastures that looked bleak in the cold wind. Its main building was a square stone structure, with round towers at each corner.
A rundown town clung to the Castle's outer walls. Its narrow, filthy streets were crammed with low wooden houses and shops that looked ready to collapse in the next storm.
It was a typical layout for the era.
Will stopped following the knights. He folded his wings and streaked straight toward the Castle in a flash of light. First, he needed to find out whether any Wizards were there. Wizards serving nobles were as common as owls catching mice.
Twenty minutes later, Will stood in the Castle's most luxurious room under a Disillusionment Charm.
The air was thick with the cloying smell of cheap fruit syrup and lingering wine. Will watched Baron Hume brazenly flirt with a maid, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
Legilimency had already told him what he needed to know.
In the Scottish Highlands of 1608, the social structure was unusual: clan chiefs were effectively kings. Power rested in their hands, and they often held the rank of Earl or higher, like the Earls of Argyll and