The Kingdom of Fereton was in upheaval. The King's Council was busy dealing with the mysterious visitors who had ridden in late a fortnight ago, the people were full of hostility towards King Arynda, who they did not accept as their new King, and the other half of the people demanded an explanation for the latest rumors of two evil demons who had ridden into town and sat inside the castle walls with the king and the council.

The door to the basement of the Middle Tower creaked open slowly, resisting stubbornly with its rusted hinges. The tapping of quick footsteps echoed down the stairway; a couple of the steps gave off a slosh as boots met standing puddles. Down in the farthest, smallest cell sat the Necromancer. His pointed hat sat over his eyes, with a purple feather twined to the side. It was in poor condition, but nonetheless it remained, covering whatever hair he may have had underneath. His clothes were filthy, covered in dirt and dust. It had collected enough dirt to become a dark brown color, unrecognizable from what its original color might have been. His feces bucket had tipped over, having been filled to the brim. The necromancer showed no sign of life, sitting against the back of the cell, his legs crossed and his features frozen.

Ser Hildebran dragged his boots over the glazed flooring, passing by prisoners to his left and right as he went. Some sat quietly, some appeared dead or asleep, and a few called out taunts and curses. Ser Hildebran was uninterested, but the guards that trailed gave taunting faces and snobby looks right back at the prisoners, snickering to themselves when they got a rise out of the rotting prisoners.

Shouts rang out under the dim, green light of the dungeon.

"Your King will rot just like his own father did!"

"The East will return for its land and you will be the meat of choice when we celebrate!"

"Let me out of this hell hole or I'll slit your throat when I escape!"

The onslaught of insults and curses rang out, filling the musty air. When the men arrived at the cell of the necromancer, they stood a moment and stared, expecting some sort of remark like most the other men. The man just sat; his eyes invisible under the cover of the hat. His beard was turning to streaks of gray but a portion of it was fighting to keep its brown coloring.

Hildebran stared for a moment, and silence sat between the two of them.

The necromancer spoke first, his lips barely moving.

"Thank you arriving so soon, Ser Hildebran of Rednork. I didn't think you would heed my call."

"I came because the King sent me. That is all." Hildebran grit his teeth.

"Oh, he's your King now? I thought you would never serve a fool—a child. Or maybe I overestimated you, Ser Hildebran."

"I'm not here to quarrel, Savok. Spare me the games. Get up from your putrid hole, as much as I know you belong here."

The necromancer gave a low chuckle.

"Resorting to insults now, eh? Maybe I should throw you some magic. I know how much you love it when we play magic."

Hildebran ordered the guards to open the cell and they obliged. Savok remained seated in the back of his cell. Aside from the movement of his mouth to speak, Savok remained limp and motionless all the same.

"Let me guess the nature of my summon. There are some mysterious visitors to Fereton and if I can solve the puzzle, you'll give me something I want."

Hildebran still stood at the doorway to the cell, but his left hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

"That is essentially the sole purpose of a necromancer, is it not?"

"Yes, Hildebran. You think much with your blade rather than your head. Do you miss your people, theKi'vatsu? Think you belong there? I think so. You had a pretty convincing dream the other night, didn't you? That woman from home, what's her name—"

Hildebran unsheathed his sword in the blink of an eye and the guards barely had time to grab a hold of each of his arms and keep him from slicing the head off Savok's shoulders.

Savok hadn't flinched in the altercation. He finally did slowly rise to his feet, however.

"Good men you got there, Hildy. Don't reckon my head would still be attached if it weren't for the noble efforts of your men. Didn't you kill one of the guards a couple years back on accident, but the King swept it under the rug because there was a war going on?"

Hildebran clasped Savok by the back of the neck and carried him from his feet by the scruff of the neck. Savok's cloak caked in dirt fluttered under his struggle and suddenly dry dirt was floating through the thick dungeon air as Hildebran dragged him towards the steps, his guards trotting to keep up.

Hildebran flung him down to his knees in front of King Arynda in the throne room. Noise could be heard from outside the main doors where a handful of protestors wanted to give the King a piece of their mind. A group of the king's guards were struggling to bat people away with pikes and the flats of their swords.

The men in the Throne room ignored the shouts and protests. The King stood in the middle of the large room, Master Elder Grantel and Elder Rattar to his left and right.

"These are unusual times, Savok. It is unfortunate that I must pain myself to gaze upon your poisonous and deceptive face. Yet, I am giving you a chance."

The necromancer remained quiet, his facial features more visible now since his hat had flew off when Hildebran dragged him up the stairs and across the lawn of Middle Tower towards the Throne room. Master Elder Grantel gazed upon his face, studying every detail in fascination. Hildebran observed it and wondered if Master Elder Grantel had ever even seen a necromancer in his life, having always been sheltered away in the comfort of the Castle of Fereton at the King's aid.

Savok had no hair on top of his head, but long stringy gray hair that snuck down the back of his head to shoulder length. His beard clung to a bit of color, but even that was a patchy as the gray streaks seemed to be longer and reached almost halfway down the front of his neck.

King Arynda continued, "The situation is plain, yet difficult. We have two former servants to my father who have come to the castle. I would like to know why their behavior is so queer, they have demonstrated some supernatural behaviors since returning."

Master Elder Grantel was nodding enthusiastically to show off his approval. Elder Rattar stood sullen faced.

"Do not be speak unless speech is granted." Master Elder Grantel threw in his two cents for good measure, although unnecessary. King Arynda gave a subtle look of irritation but pursed his thin purple lips and returned his gaze to Savok.

"For your help, I would grant you the opportunity for trial."

"Your grace, I don't know If you—" the necromancer was cut off.

"—You don't speak unless the King tells you." Master Elder Grantel jutted out his wrinkly neck and chin on this one.

"As the same for you, Master Elder Grantel. I am the King and I say that he may speak—we are in conversation at the moment, for heaven's sake!" His voice had started out calm and ended in a roar as his tempter was boiling. The shouts from outside had grown louder as well as more protestors congregated outside.

Savok cleared his throat, "First I would require some water. I'd prefer a change to the usual dog urine that fills my bowl day and night. Secondly, allow me a feast—and once I feel replenished, then we shall speak."

Savok had the King at that, Master Elder Grantel was rolling his eyes. The King ordered his servants to bring out a feasting table with great cups of wine, rolls of warm garlic knots and bread. Ice cold water and roasted lamb was served with rabbit soup and chopped carrots. The smell of the cooking was a welcome treat to Savok's nostrils after being accustomed to the smells of human feces and decaying human parts down in the pits below.

King Arynda even had a servant fetch down a new cloak for Savok, allowing Savok to have his choice in color and material. His hat was retrieved, much to Hildebran's silent dismay.

Hours had passed and Master Elder Grantel had not touched a piece of food. He ate little as it was with his age, but he was disgusted at the treatment of a wizard from neighboring nation Adrossi.

The talk began again, this time more civilized. Arynda told of a woman he used to love and how she had mysteriously disappeared one day when he was just fifteen. He told of how he still dreams of her today and joked that any sorcery to bring her back to him one day would be welcome. Savok had only chuckled lightly but pursued it no further.

Hildebran spoke this time, "It is a great honor to jest and to sup with the king. Perhaps it is time you honor his time and speak well."

Savok had just tossed a juicy piece of lamb into his mouth, the grease smearing along the outsides of his lips. He wiped the grease with the back of his hand.

Savok spoke, "The two who have entered your kingdom here, in this place, Fereton. Those two men have seen a great horror, and it is their own hands that have caused it. I cannot see exactly what that horror is, but you must be warned."

Master Elder Grantel could not stop himself, "Oh please you imbecile. I could have told you that if I was mute. You're a deceiver, clearly, they have seen something back there and carry some sort of curse amongst them."

Savok's face had no hint of amusement or warmth any longer. The food sat motionless on the table.

"Now as for you, my friend, I do see clearly what is in store for you. I will say, I don't think you'll be around much longer. And that's just the sorcery speaking." Savok was staring down Master Elder Grantel now, but Master Elder Grantel was not backing down his gaze.

"I serve the King, but I could still have you out those doors with your head on a stake in the middle of the courtyard. Would you like that, little wizard? Would you zap me with a lightning bolt from the sky?"

King Arynda was about to speak but Savok was back at it, this time removing his narrow hat. The purple feather swaying lightly.

"I'd be careful when mocking a man such as myself, I have an odd way of making my wishes come true. Especially, when it's someone who opposes my will." Savok had folded his fingers together and the ends of the cloak arms enclosed over each other as they rested in his lap. Hildebran looked to King Arynda, whose eyebrows were raised questioningly, as he stared at Master Elder Grantel. Master Elder Grantel noticed the disapproval from his peers.

"What, so now you're on his side? My king, I fully support you, but you are so young. You must learn to be wise and intelligent with these things. Your father would never have respected a man from Adrossi in this way—specifically a necromancer! Men of this kind are outlawed in Fereton, let alone most of the Modena continent. You must grow up quickly. Learn to take control."

King Arynda said naught. He nodded his head slowly and pursed his lips, his gaze down towards the ground and he replied, "maybe you're right, Elder Grantel. Maybe you're right."

The next morning, Hildebran awoke into his usual routine. The sun had just begun its ascent over the horizon, and he made hastily for the King's throne room, summoned by the King's squire. The king must really have an agenda for our next step. Or maybe the two guests from Mestrane have done something again. He hurriedly passed by stables and blacksmith shops, but the real attraction was the center of the courtyard up ahead in front of the royal palace throne room. A large crowd was gathered, but Hildebran could not see what everyone was looking at. He considered pushing his way to the front but decided against it. It was probably just another protest gathering outside the throne room. They were quite tame, it seemed to Hildebran. He nudged a man on the outside of the large crowd.

"Hey, you got any idea what's gone on in there? Anything interesting?" Hildebran tried to sound casual.

"Aren't you one of them King's Council members? I can't say for myself what's happened but hopefully you're not next! It got really ugly up there."

Confused, Hildebran shrugged and made his way up the long steps towards the large guarded doors of the throne room. When he arrived inside, he found King Arynda, his squire boy, and Savok the Necromancer standing at the foot of the throne in discussion with a couple of the other council members. Hildebran approached, eager to hear the latest discussion amongst the council. After a while Hildebran peered around...where is Master Elder Grantel?

Hildebran had to interrupt Elder Rattar to get a word in, "Your grace, my king, I was wondering where I might find Master Elder Grantel?"

A look of arrogance came over the face of King Arynda, "Oh, you won't find him in here, not anymore."

"Well, where is he? He left his dagger out in the courtyard with his royal mark on it."

"Yeah, he won't be needing that anymore." Savok gave a subtle snicker.

"What have you done to him?" asked Hildebran.

King Arynda was addressed directly but instead looked to Savok the Necromancer, who stood taller than the King.

"Oh well you see; your King has become wise. He decided to take control."

Ser Hildebran began to furrow his brow. He remembered walking past the large crowd gathered in the courtyard earlier. The bells went off in his head. Two guards tried to obstruct his path as he made for the door, but he shoved them both to his ground. He burst his way out to the courtyard, shoving his way beyond villager and peasant until he got to the center of the commotion. Hung on a noose was the body of Master Elder Grantel.