Slaying the Silence

Prologue

April, A.D. 1683

    The Marquis de Jacques brought his knife forcefully down on the table, piercing the map. "Nine raids, Monsieur – nine raids in the last month! Who does this man believe he is?

    The captain of the guard cleared his throat, willing his trembling legs to remain still. "He is a wanted thief, my lord. Not much is known about him," he answered in as cool as voice as he could muster.

    "Obviously," the marquis snapped, glaring at the other man. He drew several deep breaths, however, and then continued in a quieter tone of voice. "Our lord the king is at war to extend the borders of France – this you know. Therefore while he is absent, it is the solemn duty of men like you to protect his kingdom." His eyes narrowed, the hostile look returning. "You are not living up to His Excellency's expectations."

    The man simply nodded. He was a chevalier, a nobleman. This man could not be permitted to patronize him, regardless of his higher status. Forcing his chin up, he stared level into the marquis's eyes. "What do you propose we do, Monsieur le Marquis?"

    Before answering, the marquis wrenched the dagger out of the table and set it to the side.  He then leaned closer and spoke in a low, menacing tone. "Map out the robbed areas and post guards wherever this thief may strike next. See all, but do not be seen. Catch the reprobate and have him hanged."

    Swallowing the lump in his throat, the man gave him a shallow bow. "It shall be done as you say."

    Immediately he turned on his heels and marched out of the room. The marquis watched him leave, his eyes narrowed. When the man disappeared from sight, the marquis heaved a sigh and glared at the map in front of him. Red markings taunted him, all areas where the murderous thief had struck.

     Suddenly, his eyes were drawn almost willingly to a portrait that hung on the far wall. Its subject – a lady – smiled warmly at him. He walked over to the portrait and fleetingly caressed the woman's ivory cheek. "You made me promise, my dear," he whispered. "You told me to keep the land you loved pure and beautiful." His expression hardened. "I will keep my promise, even if it is the last thing that I do."

    His gaze again wandered to the map stretched out on the table. He frowned and walked over to it, retrieving the dagger that lay upon it. "Lord God," he entreated, glancing heavenward, "help me fulfill my vow."

    At that moment, he noticed for the first time an unopened envelope that lay partially hidden beneath the map. He drew it out and examined it. On the front were written the simple words 'to the Marquis de Jacques,' scrawled out in an elegant, albeit rushed, cursive.

    Brows furrowing, he hurriedly opened the envelope, pulled out a letter, and scanned its contents. Once he read it, he threw it against the table and unleashed a cry of frustration. The letter, from another one of the king's nobles, detailed another raid that had been made, this time on an entire town. 'The town was sleeping when he came,' the letter began. 'He set the homes aflame. They easily caught fire, distracting the villagers. The man was able to steal away half of the local treasury – enough to heavily burden several horses.'

    The letter went on to describe the raid, and ended in a plea for help. The marquis stood quietly, quavering with indignation. These days, letters such as this were arriving constantly. Sometimes the exact methods were different, but the result was always the same. Destruction and loss, dealt efficiently and mercilessly. None had seen the true face of this man, for those who set eyes on him were either killed or frightened into madness.

    A ghost, the man was now called. There were rumors floating about, of course. Some said he was tall and thin – others he was stocky and solidly-built. But all agreed that he wore a mask, pale and cold. "Why," they asked, "would he wear a mask, but to hide his spectral identity?" In fact, the man was now known as 'the Silent Phantom.'

    But the marquis knew better.  He had dealt with such men, and hated them all. They seemed to feed off of the fear and chaos they created. Unable to control himself any longer, he rushed to the chamber's window and stared out into the darkness. "Your reign of terror will end!" the man cried, shaking a fist in the air. 

      "Silent Phantom," he growled, glaring out at the forest. "You will indeed be silenced."