Thomas Fendril's Guide to Overthrowing the Government

Chapter One- Hide or Die (Thomas)

Running from a man with a giant spear was not exactly how Thomas Fendril had planned on spending a Sunday morning- or any morning, really. Especially not with how early it was. This was the fourth time he'd had to wake up before the sun did. The air was crisp and cold, stinging his skin as he sprinted away from the approaching royal guard. However, royal was not how Thomas would describe men of that "profession." The man chasing him was certainly not royal.

The guard worked for the tyrant of Albanaesia- Emperor Azazel. There was no empress in his kingdom, as the rumors spread that he executed his last one, along with his only child. Nobody knew much about his late wife but her name- Bellona.

Of course this was all before Thomas's time, but he had seen the violence of the emperor in his years. He'd seen his mother burned at the stake when he was eight years old. That was the reason he was running now. He'd been orphaned, abandoned by his father, out of ignorance, and his mother, stolen by the black jaws of Death. Death was as good a thief as any, perhaps better than Thomas, as Death got away with it and he was being chased up and down the square.

"Get back here you peasant scum!! Drop the goods!" The guard's booming voice scared Thomas and he jumped, nearly letting his worn down leather satchel tumble to the ground. Another one of Thomas' grievances against Emperor Azazel, his security had eyes on the back of their heads, it seemed- though they had no idea of the resistance forming right under their noses.

Thomas decided to take a shortcut. He'd been chased this way before. He'd escaped via a back route to the forest, only slightly near the gate that separated the kingdom from the outside. It was only opened when someone was being exiled or executed, but they were basically the same thing. Anyone sent out stayed by the gates for a day or two then disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Of course, there were other kingdoms but the people were forced to dig underground routes for trade and traveling. Anyone with half a brain stayed as far away from the gate and kept as squeaky clean a record as possible. The gates kept the "beasts" out and the people in.

Thomas knew the consequences if he were caught- exile or execution. Or being burned as a witch! He reminded himself. For others this may not be something they'd have to worry about, but given his family record, Thomas was fully aware of the possibility he'd end the same way his mother did- especially with their likeness. Although no one besides Thomas knew why he was in danger or what happened to his mother.

"Sickness..." Eight-year-old Thomas weeped to the boys in the underground. "I could smell the stench of death clinging to her." He lied. Of course no one but Thomas knew of his falsehoods. He had to keep his new friends safe and the only way to do so was to hide it. He'd curled up in a ball, and buried his face in his knees. His tears half over the haunting image of his mother, fighting to stay alive, and half from the pain of having to suppress it all.

Thomas slowed down slightly, hoping to save energy. He usually didn't like to use his backup plan unless he absolutely had to. He wasn't absolutely sure it would work and he'd never had to do it before.

"Halt in the name of your Ruler! Halt in the name of Azazel!" The soldier shouted after him, his footfalls slightly faster than Thomas'. He sped back up, hurtling towards his escape route. "Not so fast!" The guard nearly caught up to him as there were many people about the square- glancing at Thomas with confused expressions, and parting, terrified of the guard.

We might have to use plan B... Thomas warned himself. He clenched his jaw, pushing past younger men and women on their way to work. The guard began closing in on him. Thomas wasn't sure what it was but something in him pushed him to go faster. His heart and feet burned from the exertion but he was too afraid to stop. The forest drove him faster, the rope, the fire he imagined scorching his bound feet. These images caused his heart to thump, violently, and his body to shake. The nerves in his stomach made him feel sick.