The inquisitor's bedraggled figure disappeared through the doorway.
The gates of Count Lyman's estate slammed shut again with a clang, and the bar dropped into place.
Inside the study.
The curtains were drawn once more, shutting out every prying eye outside.
Count Lyman stood before the window with his back to the door, a glass of wine in his hand, though he had no desire to drink it.
He watched the estate's guards and the Church's watchers facing off outside.
Farther away, the Church's priests were setting up some sort of array to block magical communications. Silvery light traced a magical cage in the air.
Just then, the intelligence officer hurried over and stopped at the door.
"Tell me. What's the situation?"
The intelligence officer bowed.
"My lord, the Church chose an exceptionally difficult moment to strike."
"Several of our key allies are absent from the Royal Capital. Marquis Connolly is inspecting his lands in the north, and the admiral of the Western Sea Fleet has yet to return from sea."
"The preliminary jury list... is extremely unfavorable to us."
Veylin's brow twitched.
These matters were only vague impressions in the original owner's memories. He knew little about them.
To get a clear picture of the situation as quickly as possible, he interrupted the intelligence officer's report.
"What is the Duchy's judicial procedure for hereditary nobles?"
The intelligence officer immediately explained, "Young Master Veylin, the trial will be heard by a jury of twelve nobles whose ranks equal or exceed the count's. A standing member of the Nobles' Council will serve as judge."
Count Lyman paused thoughtfully. "Who's on the preliminary jury list?"
"The situation is dire. Of the fifty candidates, twenty have close ties to the Empire and the Church. Another five belong to families whose businesses our merchant