<div>


    Kiol stepped into Ruadhan’s office and closed the door. The man didn’t look up from his writing. Kiol seated himself in front of the desk and waited. Another two minutes went by before Ruadhan finally set his pen aside and wordlessly handed the scroll he just finished across the desk. Kiol took it and read it over thrice, slower each time, memorizing the information, then he handed it back. Ruadhan rolled the scroll up and stuck it into the lantern flame. He twirled the burning paper slowly, his eyes never leaving the glowing line that spread up the roll and left only black crumbling ash in its wake.


    You kill without question. Perhaps you should start. Why would Ru want me dead? I did my job too well. That is why. That is all. Is it worth death? Death is worth as much as the killer is willing to pay. What a shame Ru is my killer. I should not have taken those portraits from the Archbishop. If you can question, find the portrait in the library before


    <div>


    Kiol sighed and started back to the main floor, but a few steps up and a realization made his blood run cold. The Archbishop had looked fifty, sixty years younger in the portrait. Ruadhan had looked exactly the same.