The back doors gave way to a long brick walkway, flanked by regular pairs of columns and leading to a massive gazebo. Sculpted trees and flowers were discreetly arranged around gravel paths to either side, but clearly the path forward was the one intended: there was a human -- or humanish -- figure waiting in the shadows under the roof of the gazebo.
Oh, this is so very definitely a trap, Remant thought. Aloud, he said: "That is the former Viscount?"
"Lord Forzen, Dirimant Acklin," the servant confirmed.
"Then you've done his will and brought me here," Remant said. "You should go back inside and close the doors."
The man swallowed. "Do you mean to kill him?"
Remant shook his head. "Not if I can help it," he said quietly. "I'd rather work something out."
The manservant touched his sleeve -- cautiously. "Then take care as you approach. The first two the solicitor sent here came armed as you are, and tried to put him down. Our lord was... not kind to them."
Remant sighed. "Legally, he's not a lord anymore. The dead cannot hold office; neither can they lay claim to the properties they held in life."
"He's still our lord," the manservant said, with a stubbornness that Remant couldn't help but admire. "And he's an accomplished spellcrafter."
"I'm walking into an ambush, I think," he told the man. "Don't follow me. Go inside and close the door. You've done your duty. If I die, that's on my head, not yours."
Remant started forward, holding his hands up as he approached the gazebo.
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