Dusk hung like a thin veil of dirty gold over the wilderness outside the Imperial Capital's north gate.
Two scrawny horses mingled with the sparse stream of people entering the city, their hooves crunching dryly over frozen mud crushed by wagon wheels.
A middle-aged man wrapped in a linen cloak rode the horse in front. Its edges were frayed and coated with dust from the road.
He pulled his hood low, as though unwilling to let anyone's gaze linger on his face.
His name was Varius, and he was a Viscount.
Cassian, the Knight riding beside him, wore no cloak, only a coat buttoned tightly shut.
He had been silent throughout the journey, suppressing even his coughs, his eyes constantly sweeping the crowd and the edges of the road.
Varius knew Cassian did not trust comforting words. He trusted only the sword in his hand.
As for Varius... he preferred to believe in something else.
He kept one hand inside his cloak.
There lay a stack of documents wrapped in oiled paper, more than one volume.
The topmost was one of the revised drafts of the New Imperial Charter.
During the Fourth Imperial Prince's regency, he had been summoned to the palace Ministry of Justice to revise and compile the original draft.
He had checked and deliberated over every clause, grounding overly idealistic wording in reality and dismantling and rewriting provisions that might cause chaos.
When the great war broke out, he had not been in the Imperial Capital.
At the time, he had been investigating the enforcement of local court rulings in one of the Empire's most remote territories.
The roads were inaccessible. By the time he heard the news, different banners already flew over the Imperial Capital's gates.
He had not dared return. The scraps of news that