The arrival of a black carriage bearing the double-barred cross inspired a skittish uncertainty in the soldiers, guests and stable boys alike. They began to wonder if they’d done anything wrong, examining themselves for sedition. Just as it should be, thought Klyssen, sweeping the stable yard with a narrow gaze. He wanted to stretch, to relieve his aching muscles after the journey, but he resisted the urge. He was the authority here, and authority didn’t ache, or tire, or become irritated or impatient. Authority was inhuman and perfect.
