Lord Siln awoke, confused and bleeding, aching and dazed. A gash spanned across his forehead, and a light stream of blood flowed from it. His head spun, like waking from a wild drunken night. A sharp rock pushed into his back, as he lay, looking up into the blue morning sky. A warm breeze blew across his head, setting his wound on fire. The sting coursed through his face and made his head pulse. It pushed the blood down his face and into his mouth. With each gasp for air, the thick taste of blood covered his tongue.
After some time, Thomas had regained enough strength to bring himself up from the dirt on which he laid. He drew from his pocket a handkerchief, and pressed it tightly against his wound. And as he sat with his back rested again a tree, he began to remember.
An attack in the alley. His mind began to focus and his eyes began to sharpen. But the Nobel District was nowhere to be seen now. Now trees surrounded him.
He searched the ground, on his hands and knees, scouring through the blood and dirt for some sign of what had happened. As his fingers scanned about, until Thomas felt something irregular. He brushed back the dirt and revealed a dull iron Sigil, hands at prayer. He raised it close to inspect it. The Sigil of the Royal Servants.
Where he had been stabbed was now nothing more than a dried wound, crusted with old blood. The breeze picked up, and brought with it the sound of wrestling branches and scattering leaves. The woods looked familiar, and Thomas suspected he was not so far from Ferenor.
The headache returned. It pulsed from his forehead down through his neck, like an axe splitting a tree. His knees buckled and fell back to the dirt, where he sat with his back against a tree. The sounds of the gentle breeze and dancing leaves, were replaced with a terrible ringing that pierced his ears. His sight became hazy, and skin chilled. Soon, Thomas was again unconscious, and alone.
"Hello there. Hello, friend. Are you alive down there?" Said a voice.
"He may be a drunk, Hatteras. I don't like the thought of waking a drunkard in the woods," Said another voice.
"We are a bit behind schedule, Hatteras. They'll bury him with or without us. The funeral is tomorrow," Another added. Thomas could hear the voices, but he was still stuck in a black haze, drowned inside a state of subconsciousness from he could not quite escape.
"Here, Antony, let me see the water." Suddenly, the shock of cold water crashed into Thomas' face, and pulled his soul from the darkness. He awakened in a desperate state, gasping for air, and flailing, like a newborn.
"Aha! And there we have it. I had a good feeling that he was alive. Help him up, help him up!"
Thomas had just barely caught his breath when he felt two hands grasp him by his arms and lift him to his feet. He stood, soaking wet and vulnerable. "Where are we?" Thomas softly muttered.
"You're in the Canstein, friend." Lord Siln looked up to see a man, no taller than himself. He had dark hair, long to his shoulders. His face was shaved clean, and he wore dark blue robes, as did the other three men with him. One of the men offered some water to Thomas, which he took and drank as quickly as he could.
"Forgive our lack of manners, and allow us to introduce ourselves. I, am Hatteras Croft. This is Antony Cres, Victor Demar, and Aliester Ednor," Hatteras said.
Thomas looked about at the men. Antony was shorter than the rest. He wore a long black beard and a bald head. He looked to be a strong man, his arms were large, but so was his belly. Victor wore no beard. His skin was dark, tan like Hatteras and Antony. His jet-black hair was pulled back and hung down towards the middle of his back. His face was thin and his right ear seemed to be missing, or at least a large piece of it.
Aliester was a pale man, he looked different than the other three. His hair was red and did not quite reach his shoulders. He had a scar in the shape of a crescent moon, that spanned from the center of his forehead, round to his left cheek, and down to his chin. It seemed that the men in blue robs were a group of priests.
"We come from the Southern Suns, the island called Blackstone. When we heard the Grand Preceptor was near death, we came to offer our best wishes. We do not serve the same Gods, yet we all fight against the same one. The God of Death shows no favor, but comes for us all. And it seems that death has reached him before we were able to," Hatteras explained.
"And you friend, what is your name?" Victor asked. Thomas did not want to reveal himself to the men. They may recognize his name and see him for what he truly was. Would they spare him, or would today be the day that Thomas Siln finally received justice for his crimes? Thomas wanted to go back to Ferenor. He wanted to reclaim what was his, what he had established there. But someone wished him dead, more than likely, it seemed, the King and the High Council. If he were to return to take what was his, his gold, his power, his revenge, he would need to do so discreetly. And maybe, the opportunity for revenge was standing before him.
"I am William, William Rasputin," Thomas responded, as convincingly as he could muster.
"And what are you doing, unconscious in the Canstein Woods, William Rasputin?" Aliester questioned. Thomas thought quickly, and forged as best a lie as he could.
"I'm a farmer, from the South of Kessex. One of my sheep was lost in a storm, some days ago, ran off frightened. I traveled North to search for it. I believe I was attacked, mugged by highwaymen while I walked the road through these woods. Forgive me, my memory is still quite hazy," Thomas said.
"You came all this way for a single sheep?" Antony asked.
"Well of course. I would never let another take from me what is mine. I'll travel all of Miriela if that's what it takes," Thomas insisted.
"A determined man, of that there is no doubt, William. But you're in no shape to travel alone, that's for certain. Travel with us. We are also going North, maybe you will find this sheep near Ferenor," Victor suggested.
"I agree. You shouldn't be out here alone. You were nearly dead when we found you," Said Hatteras.
"I'm afraid I cannot travel with you all. You see, I haven't been exactly honest with you about who I am," Thomas said. The others stood in silence, waiting for an explanation. "I have lost sheep before, they have traveled North and been taken by others, farmers of Ferenor. But I know my sheep, I know them well. And so I simply, took back what was mine," Thomas said.
"You've stolen sheep," Aliester said.
"Not stolen. How could I steal what was mine? Unfortunately, Ferenorian guards seem to feel otherwise. Therefore, I cannot walk through Ferenor. I must be a bit more elusive," Said Thomas. He knew that he could go no further North on the road. For the road eventually reached the Grounds, before entering Ferenor through the Southern Gate. He would need to be hidden.
"Perhaps we can help," Said Victor. He reached into a satchel, which he wore around his back and pulled out another blue robe. "Put this on. Walk with us towards the Catredal. It should get you into the city, and then you can go wherever need be to find what is yours," Victor said. Thomas took the robe and tossed it over his head, pulling up a blue hood to cover is face.
"Ha! Very good William Rasputin! Welcome, to the Order of Eagles," Hatteras said as he watched Thomas dawn the blue robe.
"The Order of Eagles? Can't say I've heard of any such thing," Thomas asked.
"We are not a large Order. Not like the Catredal and its many members. But we are a devout one. We do not claim to know the Gods, or their intentions. What we do know is what we see. And what we see at Blackstone, are eagles. Wonderful creatures they are." The group began to slowly walk North through the woods, as Hatteras continued. "We believe them to be the messengers of the Gods," Hatteras explained.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't understand," Thomas said.
"The Gods, William. Their power is true, and they wish for us to attain it. It's the Eagles who bring it to us," Hatteras said. Thomas still wore a look of confusion across his face.
"William is quite confused Hatteras, perhaps we show him," Antony said.
"Show me what?" Thomas asked. The others all laughed as they continued walking through the Canstein.
"Look up, William," Thomas stopped and turned his eyes to the sky. The bright morning sun pierced through the treetops of the Canstein. His eyes squinted, hardly able to tolerate the sun's rays. Suddenly, the sun disappeared, then reappeared, and disappeared again. The pattern continued, like clouds traveling through the sky, and blocking the light of the sun. Thomas placed his hand across his forehead, and used his fingers to block out some of the light. And that was when he saw them.
They were soaring high in the air, following the group as they walked. They flew even higher than the clouds, though some dove down low, at incredible speed. They seemed much larger than any bird Thomas had seen in Miriela.
Thomas turned his eyes from the sky and allowed them to readjust. "Eagles," He said softly. Hatteras placed two fingers near his lips and screeched a whistle unlike any Thomas had heard. He stopped and waited. His eyes slowly turned from a light blue to a milky white hue.
A gust of wind began to swirl through the treetops, cracking branches and shaking leaves from each tree. It was not the gentle breeze of the Canstein, it was much more. Soon the thunderous sounds of powerful wings, heavily flapping, shook the ground on which they stood. Thomas could feel their power in his bones, as his legs shook to his core.
Suddenly, a beast, much bigger than Thomas assumed, came crashing through the trees and smashed its talons in the dirt before them. It was twice as tall as any of the men, its beak nearly as long as Thomas's leg. It reared its head and spread is golden feathered wings, as it screeched the same whistle as Hatteras had moments before. Thomas was awe struck, so much so he could hardly breath. He felt fear, but also an allure for the beast's pure beauty.
The eagle stomped is powerful legs into the dirt, as it continued to whistle. Hatteras, eyes still white, stepped close to the beast as he stroked his hand through its feathers. He spoke words which Thomas did not recognize, some ancient sounding language, and the bird burst back into the skies, and cut through the clouds.
Thomas saw Hatteras' eyes return to blue, unsure what to think of what he had seen before him. "You never heard word of the Grand Preceptor's death, only his sickness. His death you saw, not heard," Thomas said.
Hatteras simply smiled. "We share blood, us and the eagles, and they bring down to us, the power of the Gods themselves. We can call them, speak to them, lead them, see through them," Hatteras concluded.
Thomas was truly amazed. "Quite beautiful beasts they are, wouldn't you say, William?" Victor added.
"I had heard of the Blackstone Eagles as a boy. But I could never have imagined the Southern Suns could hold such majesty," Thomas responded.
"These are the Blackstone Eagles, of which there are only four. We have brought them with us. Each of us has our Eagle through which we can interact. Hatteras has Fastwind, whom you just saw. Antony has Atrina. Aliester has Sacheron, and I have Draiden. There are many other eagles at Blackstone, but only four are like these," Victor said.
"They wished to come along and hunt on the coasts of the Farsea. They won't hunt any further North, so don't worry, they won't be snatching up that sheep of yours," Aliester said, as he slapped Thomas across the back, and chuckled.
"This is about the point, Hatteras. If they head East from here, they should find a good school of fish off the coast," Said Antony.
"Very well," Hatteras responded. His eyes turned white again, as he stood. His lips moved slowly but no words were uttered. Soon after, his eyes returned to blue. "Fastwind will lead them. They will hunt until our return home brings us through the Canstein once more," Hatteras said.
"May I ask, why it is that you come to pay respects to a foreign priest, who serves other Gods?" Thomas asked. He had so many questions about who the men truly were.
"The world will present you with many enemies William, so make as many friends as you can. For when the enemies attack, it's only your friends who can save you." Hatteras said. Thomas found Hatteras to be a mysterious man, even more so than the others. The Order was very different than the church of Ferenor. Thomas felt as if there was more to them, but he was unsure of what it was. They all kept on North, as Thomas continued to speculate.
Eventually, the road through the Canstein lead North of the Woods, into an opening just South of the Grounds. Thomas began to feel a cold sweat pool against his skin, as he worried about the Overseers recognizing his face. He pulled his hood down tight over his eyes. The road sat East of the Grounds where it forked. To the West it traveled through the Grounds, but it also continued North towards the Southern Gate of Ferenor.
Aliester began to speak as the group looked towards the Grounds as they passed. "Can you believe it? I cannot understand how a city could allow such a thing," He said.
"It was not long ago that Blackstone supported slavery. Ferenor may open its eyes soon enough," Followed Victor.
"Those who are responsible will be met with the justice of the Gods, in time. The blood spilled will be returned tenfold. Good thing you can live free in the South of Kessex, William. Slavery is all too close to your doorstep," Hatteras said.
Thomas said nothing, as the undeniable sense of guilt held his tongue. Thomas hastened his step, eager to pass the Grounds and continue North towards the city. The others followed, and eventually, the order of priests found themselves in the Westbottoms.
The same stale stench filled the air, as the blue priests passed through. "Well, you've made it into the city unnoticed, William. Will you travel North to the farmlands? Or do you fear you'll find you sheep within the city's markets?" Aliester asked.
"My sheep never make it North of Ferenor. If it's still here, it will undoubtedly be in the market, where the Common and Noble Districts meet. It's where they've taken them before. It's there that I'll search," Thomas replied.
Thomas knew that he would be able to depart from the group, and quietly return to his home. He wanted to search it, along with the alley, in hopes he may learn who had tried to kill him just days before.
"It's funny the way life is, William. This morning, you sat alone, and unconscious under a tree. And now, not even a day later, you travel with four foreign priests and wear their robes," Hatteras said.
"And you have befriended a man who's traveled many miles to find a single sheep," Thomas joked, as the others responded in laughter. The Order had passed through the Westbottoms and reached the Common District. They had continued North, to the point at which the Noble District and the Common District met, the location of the market. Thomas slowed down as they approached.
"My friends, this is where I must depart. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. You are truly men of the Gods, if I have ever seen any," Thomas said.
"William, the pleasure was ours. Your company has been a blessing from the Gods themselves. Keep the robes, as a gift," Antony said, as he patted Thomas on the back. Victor and Aliester also exchanged handshakes with Thomas and kind words of departure.
"William Rasputin, I pray that you find what you're looking for," Hatteras added with a shake of Thomas' hand and a long gaze. Thomas liked them all. They seemed like men he wished he could be. Maybe in another life, Thomas could have been like them. If things would have been different, maybe he would have been one of them. It felt good being William Rasputin, and wearing the blue robes of the faith. It felt good to be someone else, for Thomas Siln had a heavy cross to bear.
The men went their separate ways. The Order kept North to head through the Noble District and make way to the Catredal. Thomas, however, had no intention of heading to the market. He needed to return to his home, he needed to search for any further sign of who may be responsible for what had happened. He feared it was the High Council, he feared it was Kline. He could leave the city, but to leave Ferenor, would be to leave his life's work. His wealth, his status, his power, they were only a reality within the city's walls. That was something which Thomas Siln was prepared to fight for.
Lord Siln waited for the others to disappear into the crowd. He slipped into the Noble District, and soon arrived at his home. The streets around his house were not busy, nor were they empty. Thomas kept his blue hood from revealing his thin face, or his greying goatee. There was always a spare key, hidden in a small pile of rocks, which sat near Thomas' door. He fumbled through them until the piece of brass shown through. He quickly opened the door and rushed inside.
He ripped the blue robes from his body and shuffled through his drawers and chests and put on some clothes of his own. Thomas began to look about, searching for any clue which may reveal who had carried out his attack just days before. But before long, four loud knocks rang at the door, one after the other.
Through the window, a familiar face could be seen. It was a minor preceptor, Martin Webb. It had not been long since Martin had last met with Thomas. The preceptor had been coming each day to Thomas' home. He blessed his house and provided for him sacraments of the faith. Thomas liked the minor preceptor, he had become a friend. he began to wonder if Martin had still been coming to the house during his absence. Maybe, Martin could provide him with answers.
It was custom that the preceptors carried with them fragrances, spices, and healing medicines during their travels in the city. They would use them to bless a house, or heal the sick. Thomas wondered if perhaps, Martin could further tend to Lord Siln's wounds. Though closed, they were still not fully healed. He rushed to the door and opened it.
"Hello, my Lord," The minor preceptor said stoically. Thomas had already removed his hood, yet his still beaten appearance did not seem to surprise Martin at all. Before Thomas had invited him in, Martin was standing in his kitchen. "Shut the door, shut the door. This is hardly the time to be drawing attention to yourself, Lord Siln," Said Martin.
The preceptor took from his satchel an assortment of herbs and medicines. "Take these. And hold this against the forehead wound." Martin tossed Thomas a few herbs and a rag soaked in something that smelled strongly.
"Have you been coming here? Have you been searching for me?" Asked Lord Siln.
Martin sat at the table in Thomas' kitchen. "Indeed, I have. I arrived to find a spill of blood. A trail into the alley. I looked everywhere for you, my Lord. I returned every day, for the last two days, and now on the third, you've returned. I thought you were dead," Said Martin.
"I cannot quite comprehend what has happened to me during these last few days. But I am certainly alive," Thomas responded. "You seem to doubt me quickly, Martin."
"Well, you see my Lord, it wasn't only your absence which lead me to believe in your death. As you know, I travel not only here to your home, but also to the Estate, at Overland. The Royal children are whom I visit. I am responsible for educating them, and teaching them the faith," Martin continued. "Rumors tend to travel quickly at the Estate, my Lord. And word has reached my ear about an attempt made to have you killed." Martin sat back in his chair.
"I can assure you that it was no rumor. Someone wants me dead in this city, there's no doubt about that, Martin. Are you suggesting that someone at the Estate knows who attacked me?" Thomas asked.
"I'm suggesting that the Estate itself was who attacked. The High Council, my Lord," Martin said. Thomas took the rag from his forehead and set it upon the table. His face drew a blank stare of disbelief.
"The High Council? How certain are you, Martin?" Thomas had always felt the High Council looming over him, watching him. He never could trust them. Even Kline, the only man he called a friend. Thomas believed the king would kill him if it meant keeping his throne. The council did not serve the city, nor did it not serve The Realm. It was only a group of men who served themselves. And if Thomas' death brought benefit to them all, well then certainly he would be killed.
"Well, I did hear the news from a trustworthy source."
"Who?" Thomas replied.
Martin stood from his chair. "The Queen. She tells me that the King himself called for your life. And he sent the Royal Servants to carry out his bidding," He said.
"Rebecca Wullmont," Thomas whispered back, as he thought intently. Suddenly Thomas remembered what he had found earlier that morning. "When I woke, this morning, after having been unconscious, I found myself in the Canstein. As I came to, I began to search through the soil around me. I found a sigil. The sigil of the Royal Servants." Thomas pulled the sigil from his pocket and held it before Martin Webb.
Martin slowly nodded his head, a simple gesture, which seemed to confirm Thomas' previous suspensions. Lord Siln felt a fire of rage boil from within him. He had built Kline's fortune; he was the Lord of Coin. The Grounds had given Kline Miriela. Thomas had done things which haunted him, things that made the skin on his bones crawl as he lay in bed at night. And for what? To be killed by the very man who reaped the benefits?
"If I may, my Lord, I would suggest that you gather your things now, and go. If Kline Wullmont learns that you are indeed alive, you will not remain so for long," Martin Said. Thomas shook his head.
"That is how the faith would see it, isn't it? That I should fear Kline Wullmont, because he sits on the throne, backed by the favor of the Gods. That I am better to set down all that I have established over the course of my life, my riches, my wealth, my power. No." Thomas paused for just a moment. "I will not only keep that which is mine, but I will take more. No, no I will not be packing my things, Martin."
Preceptor Webb took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. "But there is no way of taking, no way of keeping, Lord Siln. They will not allow it. As long as Kline sits upon the throne, and the High Council serves him, your life is in danger. The Queen, however, wishes to see you live. And so, she asked me to deliver a message," Martin said. He stood breathing heavy, his hands trembling, and his chest pounding. He reached into his satchel once more, and pulled from it a letter. He set the sealed letter upon the table and showed himself to the door.
"Good day, Lord Siln. And may the Gods watch over you," Martin said as he left.
The minor preceptor's words were filled with worry, and Thomas wondered what letter Rebecca Wullmont had written him. He took the letter from the table and opened it. And as he did, he could not believe what his eyes were reading.
The letter was a pardon, on his behalf, signed by, "The Queen of The Realm". The Queen had written to pardon Lord Thomas Siln from treason, on the account of murdering the King, on the day of the Grand Preceptor's funeral. The letter continued, to state the abolishment of the High Council, and named Thomas Siln the First of Ferenor. Thomas simply could not believe it.
Queen Wullmont would take the throne if Kline died, only until Kline's sons were of age to do so. But if there were no High Council to ensure the law was followed, well then Rebecca could keep the throne for herself. The Queen was asking Thomas to kill Kline Wullmont on the day of the Catredal funeral and promise him pardoning for doing so.
The letter was a way for Thomas, to not only keep what he had, but to take even more. Kline had sent others to kill him, so wasn't it only fair to return the favor? Thomas had come back to Ferenor searching for a way to take back what was his, and eliminate those responsible for his attack. He wouldn't back down, he wouldn't turn away, for there was nothing else he could turn to.
Thomas sat down at the table as the black ink ran off the page and poured into his sole. A flame of rage spread across his chest and filled his core. Thomas had nothing to live for outside of Ferenor. He remembered that life, and he would die before he returned to it. Unless, he could kill first. Thomas continued to read on. At the bottom of the page, right above the Queen's signature, was a final message. 'Timing is everything, Thomas'.