"Is there a problem here?"
The deep, masculine voice cut through the growing tension like a knife, calm and authoritative in a way that demanded both attention and obedience. As soon as they heard it, all three men turned to see a figure emerging from the carriage at the rear of the convoy.
Inquisitor Diarmuid stepped down onto the frozen road, his crimson and gold robes immediately marking him as a member of the Church's most feared order. The crimson cape around his shoulders billowed in the faint winter breeze, giving him an intimidating, larger-than-life appearance, and the golden embroidery of suns and flames felt almost alive as they caught the cold, winter sunlight.
His coal-black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, emphasizing the sharp angles of his hawk-nosed face, and when his dark eyes swept over the scene, he gave the guards the impression that he'd seen through their hearts.
