The winter evening was exceptionally cold. As Murphy passed through the castle gate, he immediately sensed an unusual tension in the air.
The guards' eyes were more alert than usual. They stood ramrod straight, all of yesterday's laziness gone.
"Murphy? You're back?"
Hank spotted him in front of the public stables and hurried over.
Knowing Murphy had just returned and wasn't aware of the situation, he lowered his voice. "Something big has happened. Norton was killed last night."
Murphy's expression tightened. "What happened?"
Hank pulled Murphy into the deepest corner of the public stables, where high stacks of hay were piled and a few packhorses were quietly chewing their feed.
Bart was already waiting there. The three of them huddled together for warmth from the packhorses' bodies, speaking in low voices in the shadows.
Hank's voice was a bare whisper. "In the main stables. His neck was sliced clean off with one sword stroke."
