That evening, William came rapping upon their door, bearing a roast and vegetables. Within his twine belt was held a rolled parchment: Armen's reply from Cathedral. "Lo, friends! I have supper for thee, and I also bring the letter for thee as well, Armen." he hushes his voice as he leans to Armen, whom holds the door aloft for him to enter, "It's been holding a long unused place upon my desk for some time now. Worry not, for I know that you hath been... preoccupied with certain events..." William spoke with a deterred tone, not wanting to pull the scabs off of any wounds but still needing to relate his thoughts to someone.

  "Thank you, William. Thou art much too kind to us, if only we could repay you in some manner." Armen beckons him in, "Come, come. Mariette, I'm certain, is elated to host your presence this eve. As am I."

  William hobbles inside the room, swaying upon his stout legs like he were drunk. He places the roast upon the table at the side of the bed, pulling the spare plates from underneath the tray of food and handing one to either Armen and Mariette. Then cuts the meat, and disperses it between the three of them. They all sit in their usual spaces; Armen near the table, William near the foot of the bed, and Mariette bounces in the cushion of the bed, excited for new stories or jokes from her beloved pal.

  The evening wears on into the mid of night, and they all participate in speaking, joking, laughing. Spending time together as friends or family might. Armen, however, wore a facade of joy. On his mind weighed what he might read from the letter from Cathedral. There was no inclination of what it might behold to him, and that is what haunted him most. Would he be recalled to Cathedral? Would he be instructed to leave Mariette behind and never see her again? Would he be told to stay and complete his charge? Forced to be around her more? He simultaneously wanted both of those outcomes, but even then, the letter may have instruction entirely different from either. What could it say? What would he do?

  "Armen???" a gentle voice prods him from thought, pulling him out of his mind and back to the conversation that he now realized he had listened nothing of.

  "Pardon? I'm sorry, I was in thought..."

  Mariette notices his deliberate vagueness, the cocking head and single ear that folds down illustrating her curiosity. She pried not, however, and instead repeated the initial question, "Where have your travels taken you? Surely you can add to William's repertoire of tales, no?"

  "Oh, right... Of course. I have gone to mostly only lands of my own kind. The council of the Inquisition usually sends us to realms of our own kind, so that we might find a more willing populace to help our search, if we need it, of course. Most notably I have been to the Vatican, and Prague. They were splendid. The architecture, the people, history. All grand. If I were not employed when I had sent there, I likely might have stayed."

  "The Vatican? Vatican city, you mean?" Mariette and William both chime in unison.

  "Indeed: The human version of Nemurnet."

  They look at Armen, their interest like a child that had seen a tower for the first time. "Tell us more! What were you doing there?? I've heard the Pope is a kind man." - "What was your task there?" - "Is it as big as they say it is?" the questions from either of them pelted Armen like a hailstorm.

  "Hold, hold now... I'm sure you have fantastic questions but I'm afraid I can only answer some of them. I cannot tell you my charge then, and I never met the Pope or even his bishops. It is, indeed, a grand city. The people there are more fervent in faith than most others I have met. The Vatican cathedral was... Immense. Certainly rivalling that of Cathedral itself. The city was more or less, bigger than this town here five times over. I got lost often. The little map I was given by my officer was my truest friend there." he speaks light-hearted, a gentle chuckle at the end of his words.

  "Wow! Truly I should visit some day!" awes William. "Do they allow manolons within their walls?"

  Armen, shaking his head gently, "Nay, I'm afraid anyone other than human is barred from entry, save for the most dire of circumstances. Like I had said, it is just the human equivalent to Nemurnet. Just as humans are never allowed inside those walls: manolons are not to be inside theirs." He finishes his reply with a shrug, indifferent to the fact that despite being ultimately the same faith, there were limitations to the hospitalities between different sects of it. "Ever since the Hundred-Year war, they've closed their churches and cathedrals and homes to all of those from the opposing kingdom."

  William, disappointed but understanding, looks down at his plate, only holding a few florets of broccoli. After a moment of awkwardness, William sighs and hops off of his chair. "Alright. Well, I suppose it is getting late. I should get myself to bed before much longer. And I know you are aching to read the letter that was sent to you from Cathedral." He collects his dishes and the tray with a half-eaten roast upon it. Armen stands and walks him to the door of the room, and as he opens it for William, asks, "Do you wish for an escort tonight? It is no trouble if you should want. I would be obliged to help if I may..."

  "Oh no, no. It is no concern for me tonight. It isn't nearly late enough for me to worry about cretins in the dark, for they still sleep! HAHA!" William laughs at his own joke, heartily and deep.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Armen chuckles at his antics, "Alright, mister William. If you should ever need either myself or Mariette, we would be more than eager to assist you. No matter the time or situation." Shaking hands, they part. Armen closing the door behind him and William disappearing around the corner of the hallway and down the stairs.

  After the room belongs again to just the two, Armen grabs the rolled sheet of parchment from the table, where William had left it for him. He stares at the neat ribbons that tied around it, his fingers pressing the sides so it crinkles slightly. Mulling over the contents of what may be inside, he stands still. He could feel his blood leaving his hands and begin to visibly shake with anticipation as he pulls the ribbon away. It slinks from the roll with a whispering announcement.

  Mariette watches with bated breath as she looks to Armen, his trembling hands instilling within her a sudden anxiety. She knew not what would come of the note, but she worried that it would call him away. Thus, leaving her alone in the world here. The thought runs through her mind; how might she fare without him? Would he take her back to the convent or would she be alone in her return? Would she even have the courage to travel that distance back, without her personal escort? What if along the way there were more heathens that might attack her? Abuse her? Could she fend for herself long enough to be again in the safety of the chapel's walls?

  Armen unrolls the small scroll, about a foot in length and no wider than his own hand. The writing shadowed through the parchment, though it was indiscernible from any view other than the front. Upon it, written in the black iron ink that caused it to fade into a deep brown, was the instruction for Armen, and he read silently.

  Mariette, overcome with anticipation, breaks the silence, "So? What doth you read? What news comes from Cathedral??" Armen, glances up to Mariette using only his eyes; eyes grayed with dismay. She furrows her brow, struck more with nervousness at his bereaved look. Armen takes a deep, shaky breath before he recites the words before him,

  "We bear grave news: the holy haruspex, the holy warden, and the high dominie have been slain within the walls of Cathedral. We are unable to send thee any aid or direction in your charge as we investigate internally this heresy. The timing of your "omen" from your slain beast, however, coincides well with the murder of our heads of state. Thus, our official decree: Sir Armen of the Inquisition of the Holy Covenant of Kingdoms, is hereby elevated through proxy of monk in Cathedral, to Eminent Justiciar of Antheron. Bestowed upon thee are rights to ignore any and all instruction of all heads of office or royalty, including King Maireinut. Thou art immune to any and all trespass that would otherwise be considered against thee. Thou are now judge, jury, and executioner, with any and all arraignments falling unto your discretion. Complete authority in your charge as the sole eminence within these borders falls to thee, both religious and martial therein. Thine authority has been relayed to the king and dukes of the kingdom in which you endeavor. "

  There is a footnote, separated from the bulk of the letter,

  "Complete this charge as you see fit. Thou art alone in this, the bulk of our resources are sent north to the pagan lands. There is none to spare. God be with you...

  Signed bishop: Arennamin, Second warden.

  Signed witness: Biron, First monk.

  Signed Authority: Imietta, First judge."

  Mariette looks to Armen with incredulity. "W-what does that all mean? Who died? What-"

  "It means a great deal... This news is... terrible. If my charge is connected to this horror, then I have stumbled upon a fantastic and vile conspiracy. For the holy haruspex, warden, and dominie to be slain: is a nearly inconceivable terror. They are three of the most holy and highest ranking persons in service to the Lord. Ye may not realize, but they are the final and ultimate bridges to God. His direction, outside of the Bible, comes through them. Without it, we may be lost to this world of Satan. If there is no one to replace them..." his words trail into nothing, the implication of his rambling filling Mariette with a sudden dread. She gasps at his foreboding words, her hand covering her shocked agape maw. "But... but what shall you do now?"

  "I am now the sole person in this land that holds any religious authority in this matter. Free to command and impose any direction upon the people so long as it relates to my task. If I need men: the armies are mine, if I need priests: the church belongs to me. I may knight anyone as I see fit and call them to my side whenever I deem necessary." He explains, not looking at her so much as he does the scroll. Seemingly rapt by the information he had been given, disbelieving of the contents within.

  Mariette watches his halting head, his view never separated from the parchment. She clears her throat before inquiring further, "That... seems like a daunting responsibility... How.. What is to stop thee from allowing such power to corrupt you? Surely there are safeguards in place, yes?"

  He doesn't reply, instead her question lingers in the air, taunting the next person to speak up. After a few moments of nothing, Armen jostles his head as he finally hears and understands her query, "Cathedral is that safeguard. The High council oversees all endeavors and if one of our own falls to corruption or villainy, they are swiftly dealt with by the Shadowed Light."

  "Shadowed Light??"

  "The assassins that service the council. They are never known to be used, but I grant that to their immense secrecy..." Armen paces the floor, his chin wedged between his thumb and forefinger, thinking of his next course of action. Mariette watches him silently, rocking from side to side on the bed, nervously fidgeting with her hands, waiting for him to say something, do something, even look at her.

  She ponders audibly, a light whimper of concern emanating from her breast, "Armen?"

  "Silence. I must think. Allow me solitude, please." he retorts, curt and sudden. After a while, Armen sits down in the chair with a deep sigh as his head lulls over the back of the chair. More like he was distraught than exhausted. "I know not what I might do... I've never been granted such powers. I've never done so much as this... I have no clue where to resume my investigation..."

  "Mayhap, ask the Lord for guidance?"

  Armen raises his head to look upon her, coming to the realization that the answer was so easy he couldn't forgive himself for neglecting it. "Of course... I cannot see the forest for the trees..." he remarks, attempting to excuse his absence of mind. He steps away and kneels within the closeness of the usual corner, holding his rosary within his gloves as he begs the guidance of God. Silently, within himself, he prays. After a short while, if even ten minutes, he finalizes his request of the Lord and lays down. "Goodnight, Mariette. Perhaps I may have answer in the morn."