“And nothing lived in the Void, only darkness eternal.”

  —The Book of Six

  Jazrin Nael sat in the Hall of Judges, bored as the Justiciars lost themselves in the minutia of governing an empire. He lounged in his ornate, high-backed chair, one leg hanging over the arm rest, and tried not to doze off as their words filtered in one ear and out the other.

  Today, the topic was a trade dispute between Talonar and Kholvar. Something about grain shipments disappearing. Was it a storm, or pirates? Regardless, Jazrin didn’t really care. It was all rather dull, and he thought these meetings were a waste of time. Justiciars were, after all, the most powerful sorcerers in the world. Didn’t they have better things to do than argue about economics and the finer points of the law?

  Jazrin took a deep breath and fought to stay awake. This wasn’t how he wanted to spend the day, but he was determined to do his duty and sit through the entire meeting—even if his mind frequently wandered. He glanced around, searching for something, anything, to keep his interest.

  But it was all just more of the same.

  The Hall of Judges was an immense domed chamber in the Ministry of Law. It was the epicenter of Rhovian rule, where Justiciars determined rules and ordinances and administered to the needs of the Dominion. Black columns supported a grand ceiling, upon which was painted a depiction of battle and gods being overthrown. The furniture, which was exquisitely crafted, was arrayed in a wide circle, so that everyone could lock eyes while they debated things ranging from the routine to the slightly less mundane.

  It wasn't that Jazrin didn't take his job seriously. He just didn't see the point of endlessly arguing about every little detail of every little law. The Dominion was vast. There weren't enough Justiciars to manage even a small portion of everything under the Holy Tzar's rule. Better to focus on the big issues, and let the regional governors take care of the rest.

  Jazrin stifled a yawn. I wonder what the servants are preparing for lunch. Surely, we must be close to midday at this point?

  He glanced out one of the tall glass windows. It was difficult to tell through the gauzy drapes, but it did appear that the sun was nearing its zenith. That was a good sign.

  “The famine is a serious matter,” one of the oldest Justiciars, a man named Valare, said. He wore the green robes of one of the druids. “I’ve directed many of our sorcerers to the Talon River Basin to help boost crop yields. But I fear the effect this delay will have on trade—particularly in the north. Perhaps our portal mage colleagues can assist on this matter?”

  Eda, a woman who appeared more horse than human, replied with a curt nod. “We will do what we can,” she answered, adjusting her flowing purple robes. “It will be a difficult task, considering we’re down a seat on the council. Our sorcerers are stretched thin, but we may be able to spare a few to facilitate grain shipments in the coming months.”

  Jazrin perked up. Had he heard that right? Down a seat on the council? He peered around the room and saw that, indeed, one of the chairs was empty: Harvor Kull’s. Fascinating. How’d I miss that?

  Valare nodded sagely. “We appreciate your efforts, Eda. The portal mages, of course, provide an essential service for the Dominion. And hopefully, His Holiness will see fit to fill the vacancy soon. We have enough to worry about without the derelictions of supposed malcontents.”

  Others in the chamber nodded along as if they understood what he was talking about.

  Now that’s interesting, Jazrin thought, sitting upright and paying attention for the first time that day. Malcontents? What on Aslon could he be referring to? And how could I have missed such important gossip?

  The truth was that Jazrin was a skilled storm warden and an adept politician, but he’d developed something of a reputation over the course of the last decade—mostly by design. While the other Justiciars were scheming and stabbing each other in the back—sometimes literally—he was aloof and indulgent, offering the occasional snide comment, but little else. That meant he wasn’t a threat. He didn't have any real enemies in the Ministry of Law, but neither did he have any close friends.

  He leaned in and started actively listening, trying to glean every bit of information he could from what his colleagues were saying.

  "An empty seat is one matter," a man named Lev, a flesh weaver, said. "But that's the Inquisitors’ problem now. I’m more concerned about the war brewing in the north. If the giants defy our expansion into Volgastar, then there could be some serious problems with our shipping lanes across the Umbral Sea."

  Jazrin gritted his teeth in frustration. Something noteworthy finally happens and they just gloss over it, he thought. Typical. Maybe I can steer them back in the right direction.

  He raised his hand, and almost everybody in the chamber regarded him with a look of surprise. Jazrin hadn't had anything to offer at these meetings in years.

  "Yes, Jazrin?" Valare said. "Do you have something you would like to add?"

  He nodded. “Wars are important, but the Dominion has been at war for more than twenty years. It’s nothing new. What is new is the fact that one of our brethren is missing from a council meeting. I’ve never heard of that sort of thing happening before. First, His Holiness goes missing, and then one of our own? I’d say that is more troubling than some distant war in Volgastar.”

  “The Holy Tzar is not missing,” Patriarch Eckart Bryl cut in. He was a skeleton of a man, with a bald pate and sunken eyes, and he represented the Rhovian Orthodox Church. “Don’t go spreading rumors on things you know nothing about, Nael.”

  “My apologies,” Jazrin offered, bowing his head ever so slightly. “Of course, I would never insinuate that anything bad has happened to our god king. But the fact remains... these are unprecedented times. And there is a vacancy on this council.”

  Muttering filled the chamber.

  “Are you just making an observation?” Eda asked, her disdain hidden by only a thin veneer. “Or do you have something more substantive to add to this matter, Justiciar Nael?”

  Jazrin shrugged. "Nothing in particular," he replied nonchalantly. "I just think that the topic is worthy of discussion."

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Argyle snapped. He was a brusque man in red robes and was among the most powerful of the storm wardens. In matters of debate, most Justiciars usually ended up siding with him. “Harvor Kull was an oath breaker, plain and simple. The Ministry is stronger now that he’s gone. I don’t think we should waste our precious time deliberating on the details of his betrayal.”

  Several of the Justiciars nodded their agreement, and the conversation shifted to other topics.

  Jazrin suppressed a smile and leaned back in his seat. He could always count on the brash Argyle to give up tidbits of knowledge. Oath breaker. Betrayal. It appears that our friend Harvor was embroiled in something serious. So serious, in fact, that nobody wants to talk about it openly. How interesting.

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  The minutes passed as did a dozen other discussions, but Jazrin’s thoughts remained on the open secret that he’d somehow missed. His mind was so occupied that he forgot all about his hunger and his boredom, and when Valare rang his bell, it came as a surprise.

  "Let us break for recess,” the old man said. “We’ll reconvene in one hour’s time to finish our discussion and review the day’s notes. For now, you’re all dismissed."

  The Justiciars and their secretaries got to their feet, many of them groaning and stretching after sitting in one place for so long. Jazrin, however, lingered in his chair, his fingertips drumming on the armrest as the others filtered out of the Hall of Judges.

  One other person stayed behind: a woman dressed in immaculate green robes. She sauntered over to Jazrin’s position, her delicate features quirked into a look of coy amusement. Greta Balakin was perhaps the most beautiful Justiciar in the Ministry—and one of the most ruthless. She had golden hair that hung past her shoulders, smoldering emerald eyes that matched her robes, and rich, full lips that were accustomed to small, secretive smiles. Her body was a perfect hourglass shape, a fact that was only accentuated by the thin fabric of her robes, and she wore enough jewelry on her wrists and fingers to bankrupt a city.

  As she approached, she placed both hands on her hips and asked, "Could you have been any more obvious?"

  "I don't know what you mean," Jazrin replied, getting to his feet.

  "None of us are stupid," Greta said. "In fact, this room is probably filled with the least stupid people in the world. It was patently obvious that you were fishing for information."

  Jazrin gave her a half shrug. "I guess I'm not caught up on all my courtroom gossip," he answered glibly. "I was just trying to get a little bit more informed. Information is power, after all.”

  Greta didn’t look convinced. "Uh huh. This coming from the man who was practically falling asleep all morning."

  "Can you really blame me?" Jazrin asked, starting toward the door. "If I had to listen to dusty old Valare talk about grain shipments for another half-hour, I probably would have conjured a bolt of lightning and put myself out my misery."

  Greta walked with him, her shoes clicking softly on the marble floor. "It almost sounds like you don't like being a Justiciar, Jaz. If I didn't know you better, I’d think that you were complaining about the high office the Holy Tzar has bestowed upon you."

  "Oh, I would never complain," Jazrin replied. "I'm just making an observation about one of my fellow colleagues. The old man might be one of the driest and most boring people I've ever met. And that’s saying something, coming from a lifelong bureaucrat."

  They walked into the corridor that led to the exit. There weren’t any stairs in the upper reaches of the Ministry of Law—sorcerers didn't have a need for such things—but there was a portal leading down to the lower levels. It resembled a glowing whirlpool, swirling like a circle of prismatic light. Most of the Justiciars had already left at this point. Only a few stragglers remained.

  Greta slowed her pace and Jazrin followed suit. Within a few moments, everyone else had gone through the portal. Finally, the two of them were alone.

  “So, what is it that you want to know about our dearly departed Harvor?”

  Jazrin arched a brow. “My dear Greta,” he said, “it isn’t like you to be so brazen about spreading gossip. Especially when there isn’t something to be gained.”

  “Who says there’s nothing to be gained in sharing it with you?” Greta asked, her red lips turning up into that familiar smile. “You didn’t answer my question, by the way. I’m not going to offer you this information again.”

  Jazrin held up his hands. “All right, you’ve seen through my clever attempts to extract knowledge from the rumor mongers. I’ll admit that I haven’t heard anything about Harvor, or why he’s gone missing. I’ve been rather busy with my merrymaking and debauchery. Would you kindly start from the beginning?”

  Greta rolled her eyes. “Surely you must have wondered why Harvor was missing from the last several ordinance meetings?”

  “I’m not the most observant person in the world,” Jazrin replied, giving her a rueful grin. That wasn’t entirely true. His ambivalence was a part of his act—and the secret to his political success. But a simple glance told him that Greta wasn’t buying it.

  Even so, she continued.

  “Well, apparently Harvor has been corresponding with a group known as the Ardent Order. You’ve heard of them, I presume?”

  Jazrin nodded. He had indeed heard of them—extremists and religious zealots who held on to the old ways despite the fact that their gods were all dead. “That’s… unexpected.”

  “Right?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Everybody knows they want to overthrow the Holy Tzar. Even talking about them can be dangerous, but communicating with them?” She shook her head. “It’s like Harvor had a death wish. Or he’d gone crazy.”

  “I’ve known Harvor for years,” Jazrin said. “Not well, but well enough to know that he wasn’t crazy. He must have had a good reason to be speaking with them.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Greta pursed her lips and adopted a thoughtful expression. “Truth be told, I’ve actually spoken to Harvor a few times recently. He seemed... different. More reserved than usual. He didn’t outright say it, but I got the impression that he was having doubts about His Holiness and the Dominion at large. I figured that he was just waxing philosophical. No system of government is perfect. But now, with these rumors and his disappearance... it seems that our fellow Justiciar has become a full-fledged heretic.”

  Jazrin gave her a skeptical look. “A heretic? Really? That’s quite a leap, Greta. Maybe Harvor’s just sleeping off really bad a hangover.”

  “For an entire week? I doubt even you could drink enough to warrant that kind of hangover.”

  “Fair point.” He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment, then asked, “Valare mentioned that the Inquisitors were involved. Do you know anything about that?”

  “The Ministry of Order is being tight-lipped as usual,” she said, crossing her arms. “I have my contacts among the Inquisitors, but even they are being reticent. It’s like everyone is afraid to talk about what’s really been going on. And then there’s the matter with the flesh weavers.”

  Jazrin frowned. “What about them?”

  “Apparently, there’s something wrong with their magic. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s dire enough that it’s thrown their entire apparatus into a tizzy. But it’s all very hush hush.” She brought a slender finger to her lips to emphasize the point.

  “That is concerning,” Jazrin remarked. The flesh weavers were one of the four types of sorcerers in the Dominion—healers who specialized in curing disease outbreaks and binding the wounds of the Holy Tzar’s soldiers. They weren’t a particularly powerful faction, but their services were important to the function of the military. Jazrin found it strange that Harvor’s disappearance happened to coincide with such a strange and potentially ruinous development.

  “Any idea where he’s gone off to? Harvor, I mean.”

  Her knowing smile returned. “I have my theories. But I need to confirm a few things before I start gossiping. Rumors are most potent when they contain at least a grain of truth.”

  Jazrin grunted. “And was anything you just told me truthful?”

  She gave him a playful shrug. “Who’s to say? Though, I do consider myself to be an excellent source when it comes to Dominion politics.”

  He stared at her for a long moment and then sighed. “All right, then. I appreciate you sharing with me. Now, what do you want in return?”

  “Return?” Her smile turned sweet.

  “Yes. You said that there was something to be gained in sharing this with me. What do you want?”

  Greta laughed. It was a velvety sound, like an ornate sheath concealing a razor-sharp blade. “My dear Jazrin. What do any of us want? Consider this a sign of goodwill, from one devoted Justiciar to another. I’m sure that if you learn anything of note in the future, you’ll be more than willing to return the favor.”

  He gave her a thin smile. “Of course. Thank you, Greta. You’re always so... amenable to those less fortunate than yourself. It’s an admirable quality.”

  She patted his cheek affectionately. Her delicate fingertips brushed against his skin, and he could feel his heartbeat quicken. “I have many admirable qualities, dear Jazrin. But that, I’m afraid, isn’t one of them.” She turned and started making her way toward the swirling portal, her hips swaying with every step. “Do try to be a little more delicate in the future,” she said without looking back. “I have a feeling that things are going to get a little more interesting around here. A little caution might go a long way.”

  With that, she stepped into the magic gateway and disappeared from sight.

  Jazrin stood looking after her for several minutes before coming back to himself. He shook his head and straightened the front of his red robes, trying to regain some of his composure. What a strange turn of events, he thought, moving toward the exit. That wasn’t at all how I thought the day would turn out. Not that I’m complaining.

  He was grateful that he’d learned something that broke up the monotony of his governmental responsibilities. It gave him something to focus on, something to look out for. He doubted there was some grand conspiracy surrounding Harvor Kull. More likely than not, he got knifed in an alley somewhere and was decomposing in the gutter. Such is the way of things, he lamented as he stepped up to the portal. Reality is often more boring than conspiracy. But at least we can dream.

  His mind turned to his upcoming meal as he walked through the circle. The magic dissolved his body into mist and re-assembled it someplace else.