A Land Without Kings

Chapter 13: Hildebran

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."