The Tales of Miriela: Shadowborn

Chapter 11: Thomas Siln

It was morning and the cold air of the night still lingered in the breeze. The crisp smell of morning rolled through the grassy plains that separated Ferenor from the Grounds. It was not a scheduled visit for Thomas Siln, not an ordinary one either. He rode South due to word brought to him from a message boy. Messengers would arrive weekly at his estate in the Noble District, and bring with them export reports. Outposts along the caravan routes would record inventory, informing Lord Siln how much of his goods were successful in their travels. Thomas could then review them and alter the trade routes, in an effort to steer clear of highwaymen and thieves.

This time, however, the message boy brought with him word of an injured Overseer and two lost slaves. Lord Siln was furious, to say the least. Each slave was purchased with Ferenorian coin, and to lose them was to lose the riches of the King. He had not yet informed Kline, in hopes that he could take care of the problem himself.

In his anger, Thomas road with haste. He kicked his heels into the sides of his horse and pushed the beast onward. And as he arrived at the Grounds, he did not stop. He dashed past slaves and Overseers alike, clearing the road of any in his way. As he rode past, Overseers called out in shock to alert others of his presence. They were all unaware that the Lord would be passing through, and scrambled to make sure their slaves were working to standard.

"Attention to the Lord! There is a Lord in our presence!" They yelled. Thomas ignored the shouting. He was only concerned with one thing, hearing from Overseer Simmion.

He arrived at Simmion's post and dismounted from his horse, just outside of Simmion's tent. A medicine maiden who worked at the Grounds exited the tent and bowed her head.

"Lord Siln," She said.

"Where is Overseer Simmion?" Thomas asked.

"Resting, My Lord. He is injured, a stab wound."

"I need to speak with him immediately," Lord Siln said, as he started to enter the tent. But the medicine maid stepped in front of him, preventing his entry.

"The Overseer needs rest, My Lord. He is healing and he should live, but not without rest. Surely whatever it is you have to say can wait until he's well," The medicine maid attested.

"Hold your tongue, woman. I will speak with Overseer Simmion when I choose. The convenience of my arrival is no concern of mine." Lord Siln shoved the medicine maid aside with his right hand and made his way into the tent.

Inside, was an injured man laying out across a cot. Simmion was bandaged at his side, his eyes closed, as he tried to sleep through a cold sweat. The tent smelled of rotting flesh, and the bed sheets were covered in dried piss and sweat.

The Overseer forced a grin through the pain and opened one eye to gaze upon Lord Siln. "I told the bitch it didn't matter whether or not she kept me alive. I knew death was coming for me soon enough."

Lord Siln stepped towards the bed and examined Simmion's condition. His legs were wrapped in a blue blanket, stained yellow from sweat. It looked as if he had been battling a fever for several days. Charred red blood stained the cot, and had dried to a crust all along the Overseer's hands. The tent's thick air hung over Simmion, settling down upon his frail white arms, which were so thin that bone showed through his skin.

"I've never heard of an Overseer who allowed two of his slaves to escape and live to talk of it. So, whatever it is you're here to do, Thomas Siln, go on and do it," Said Simmion.

Thomas finally looked the man in his eyes, as the Overseer fought to breathe through the pain. "You're a smarter man than I thought, Simmion. How is it then, that not one, but two slaves escaped under your watch?" Lord Siln asked.