The banquet ended.
The candles went out, and the music stopped.
The guests dispersed in twos and threes, each harboring their own thoughts, leaving the great hall cold and quiet once more.
Philip returned to the residence where he was staying in the noble district.
The house had originally belonged to a wealthy knight of the Dawn Territory. Its furnishings were lavish, yet now they only irritated Philip.
He lit no lamps, standing alone before the floor-to-ceiling window in the second-floor study. Moonlight spilled like mercury across the courtyard.
A figure slipped out of the shadows of the colonnade and dropped to one knee.
He wore an unremarkable merchant's outfit. He was Philip's most capable spymaster.
"My lord, the men sent to the western stone bridge and the southern crossroads have all returned."
"Speak."
"They found nothing. Neither the western sentries nor the merchants and porters traveling north and south have seen or heard of a large Church contingent passing through."
The man took a parchment report from inside his clothes.
Philip did not take it.
"Nothing to be found," he murmured.
"Yes, my lord. Could it be... that the Baron of the Gray Marsh Fief is bluffing?"
"No." Philip turned, the moonlight illuminating half his face and making it look particularly cold and sinister.
"The most tightly guarded intelligence is intelligence that does not exist at all. This only proves that the parish has completely sealed off the information. Their route, personnel, and objective are all top secret."
He walked to the table and poured himself a cup of water. The cold liquid slid down his throat, but could not quench the restless heat within him.
"Go to Dawnlight City's slums, to the taverns by the docks. Find the vagrants and beggars. If Church personnel are heading south, monks