At dawn, the frost on the turnpike was shattered by the thunder of twelve iron-shod hooves. A amazing four-horse carriage rolled to a halt outside the Old Willow Inn. Its black-lacquered panels shone like polished black glass, its silver-rimmed wheels throwing up sprays of rime.
Painted upon the door was the huge silver insignia of the Imperial Black Eagle—the sovereign crest of the Regent of the Realm.
An royal pursuivant dressed in heavy broadcloth and sable fur stepped down from the carriage box, with four mounted guards of the Imperial Royal Guard with drawn broadswords.
The Pursuivant strode into the taproom, his iron spurs jingling softly on the timber floorboards. He stopped before Tomas Reed, removed his sable hat. Then he presented a black leather dispatch case stamped with three royal seals.
“Tomas Reed, Master Tax clerk of Unfinished Claims,” the Pursuivant said, his voice ringing through the quiet room. “I bring an emergency mandate from His Imperial Highness the Regent.”
Tomas stood up, his stance upright, his hand resting on the buckled strap of his field satchel.
“The victory of the Iron Line has reached the capital,” the Pursuivant continued. His eyes were wide with gravity. “The Regent has inspected Captain Danel’s lead plates. But what happened on the frontier is only a drop in the ocean of corruption that threatens this kingdom. The High court of Escrows is numbed. More than a million crowns in dormant sovereign bonds have been hidden for fifty years in the underground vaults…
