Hildebran awoke with a great pain in his left leg. He jerked upright, not knowing how long he had been out. His mind flickered back to the dream he had just had. He had not seen the face of the man in his dream before, but something told him the man bore great power. He couldn't quite remember what the man had said, just that he was making it clear that they meet soon. He remembered dark hair, a trimmed beard and a large cloak. Yet, when he thought back on his central features, they were fuzzy in his mind.

Hildebran peered around and nowhere did he see his men and the women. Panic struck him and he dashed out of the inn, out onto the street. It was deserted. Based upon the position of the sun it felt about midday. Why was nobody out and about? He heard faint music coming from down the dirt road. He trotted past stables and animal pens. Animals glanced from their pens with nervous eyes at Hildebran. A man who ran a fruit stand stared with a toothless grin, one strap keeping his overalls from falling. Hildebran kept walking but couldn't help but look again and the man was still staring, still smiling.

At the far end of the street was a green steeple with statues of the famous saints of the past decorated around the front of the building. He made for the front door and put his ear to it, but the music was fainter—farther away. He ran back down the cobble stone path leading up to the steeple door and turned the corner to head farther down the main road and towards the distant sound of bells and tunes. It became clearer when he got to the other side of the steeple. He was now facing the King's palace. It must be coming from there. Hildebran made it to the front steps leading in where he found he was just thankful to see men. He felt as though he would never see a normal person again.

"Who are you and what do you want?" One of the two guards spoke, both of them stood with fully plated armor and the crest of Scourden across their chest. Just as Hildebran was about to answer, two lines of king's guards on either side of the king's palace came trotting around the palace with fully plated armor and spears in hand. Hildebran glared in disbelief at the overprotective nature of the confrontation.

"I'm Ser Hildebran of Fereton, I've already spoken with the King, I'm a friend of his."

"You're no friend of the King. Get lost you dark magic uttering twat."

Hildebran put his hand to his hilt, but his palm slipped down into the empty holster where there was no sword any longer. "What did you do with my sword?"

"Nothing, Ser Hildebran. My job is simply to keep you and the other magic whisperers out of the palace and away from the people."

"I'm not a magic whisperer you dog. I am—" just then Hildebran received the butt of a spear right to his rib cage and felt the crack of his rib take the wind from his lungs. He stumbled back; the first guard he had encountered jutted him in the spine to ensure he wouldn't be recovering so easy from the first blow. Hildebran hunched over grunting, his breath coming in wheezing gasps.

"Where are my people? I brought them here, we just got here." He struggled to regain his breath from the hit. His voice was harsh and raspy now.

"Your people are with us now. They no longer pledge their allegiances to you; they are one people with Scourden and follow orders from King Levin."

"King Levin? What about King Leocreid? He is the king, Prince Levin is only his son, I talked to him yesterday." Hildebran's arrogance of the matter clearly annoyed the guard.

"That was days ago twat. King Leocreid is dead to the hand of dark magic ever since the day it was said you were found negotiating with the Dark Knights of the Dundor."

"This is preposterous! I didn't have a hand in that. You must understand, this same thing happened in Fereton, necromancers are lurking all throughout these lands of the north. Let me speak to King Levin. There must be an inside man here."

"No, be gone or we will ensure you are gone. Wasn't it you who comes from Fereton? You're probably the scum who brought upon that black magic curse into your own land, and you're not about to do that here. Be gone." The guard now held the tip of his spear to Hildebran's wavering gullet, as did the second guard now. The host of a dozen knights behind Hildebran escorted him away from the palace and towards the gated walls of the Scourden Kingdom, located in the bottom of the pitted hill.

"Your leadership is disgusting. This kingdom will rot with that swine of a Prince. I bet it was him, he probably killed his own father."

"A liar and a murderer. This is what makes you so dangerous Ser Hildebran. They cleared out the entire front sector of the Kingdom until you awoke from your little three-day slumber. I hope you at least slept well, because it's going to be hard ground and cold nights for you from now on."

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Hildebran was thrown from Scourden's kingdom and out into the bitter cold outside the gates. He winced and muffled a yelp as he felt a sharp twist of pain from his rib. His leg was throbbing again now. Hildebran watched forlornly as the gates closed, never for him to be welcomed back.

It was those darned fools that came and made a ruckus of our interaction. Hildebran allowed a few sullen tears to glide down his face and let his feet carry him as far as they could towards nowhere. The wind blew and bit at his face. He became lost in his thoughts, and soon he was numb. Nothing entered his mind, and nothing occurred throughout his thoughts except putting one foot in front of the other. Soon the pain in his leg prohibited even that until he plummeted to the ground in despair. All he had was gone. His beloved Fereton was gone. The people he loved had followed him to new land, and then his people were taken from him. Sorcery ruled the day, he knew. Savok was probably revolutionizing Fereton this very moment, turning it into a new land ruled by dark religion and old magic. There must be an inside man, unless it was Levin himself that murdered his father.

He remembered now, that cursed dirk blade the night he fell asleep. It had been an odd blade. It came from those Dark Knights that night. The same men who had gotten him a dark rep from the Scourden lords.

His leg panged with pain like sharp daggers cutting through his thigh. He squealed and wailed and cried. The cold swallowed him whole now. Snowflakes began to fall from the sky as he lay on his back, staring into the sky. His mind flickered back to the leader of the Dark Knights, "Meet me in a fortnight if you are interested. Think about it," he had said. Hildebran let the snow kiss his face as it landed. He let his mind shut down. What was there to live for? The north was falling, and the strength to fend off the dark sorcery was gone since the war of the Last Kings. Nobody had the energy nor the men to resist. Weak leadership was coming in place of old Kings. Soon there will be no true kings.

Hours may have passed, or maybe it was days. It might have been minutes. The snow came down in blankets now. Hildebran hoped it would consume him like a grave. Bury him until his body froze to death. Then maybe he wouldn't have to face the life that had been taken from him. He became vaguely aware of a presence standing over him. His eyelids were frozen halfway over his eyes so he could not move them. He thought he felt his shoulders get shaken but he couldn't be sure. He might be dreaming. Maybe it was Savok, he'll probably kill me. Please kill me, I'd be better off. Wait, this is my chance to kill Savok! Attack! His body didn't move. He laughed, or maybe this was his dream. You can't laugh in a dream; you can only think that you're laughing. He felt his ears struggle to pick up sound from the figure looming over him.

He awoke to a crackling fire. He was completely naked now, and he lay over a wooden bed made from wood. The crackling fire was below him. Am I being cooked for dinner? He screamed and jumped from the elevated wooden altar. He stared wide-eyed at the man who stood equally stunned now before him.

"I swear I'll kill you with these hands. I'll throw you into that fire and eat you, I'll do it!"

"Calm down, sir. I know what this seems like but I'm only trying to help you."

Hildebran laughed hysterically and maintained his stance, he was bent low, prepared to dive at the man at any second.

"With that leg you aren't going anywhere. You need to stay warm, sir."

Hildebran looked at his leg, it had crushed leaves lining the outside of long gash that stretched from his knee to his groin. Dried blood crusted along the line of the cut. He noticed his upper leg was quite purple.

Hildebran became aware of the sharp pain now and gasped sharply. "Help, help please, the pain is unbearable."

The man came closer and Hildebran saw youth in his eyes. He was young, very young actually. He put his arm around Hildebran's right shoulder, "take the pressure off that leg there and we need to get you back up on that altar, okay? It's going to keep you warm, sir."

Hildebran clambered back into his spot where the flames flickered hungrily underneath him, warming the surface of the wood where his back lay against.

The young man brought a wooden bowl over to where Hildebran lay.

"Drink this sir, it will make the pain go away."

Hildebran drank thirstily, eyeing the young man as he drank the milky substance. The taste was pleasant, and it was cool going down his parched throat.

"Can I have more?"

"I wish sir, but that would not be good for you. I can give you some water if you'd wish."

"Yes, that would be good. I fear my throat is closing up." Beads of sweat formed across his forehead and under his eyes, despite the chilling cold.

Snow no longer came down, but the cold nipped at his body vigorously. The underside of his body remained warm from the fire, but his chest shivered. The young man brought over a bowl of water and placed his cloak across Hildebran's chest. Hildebran felt the warmth surround his body. The milky substance worked wonders and his leg now felt pain-free. The young man had a youthful face, but something told Hildebran he had seen much already in his young life.

"Where are we?" Hildebran asked in a soothed tone, he hadn't felt this relaxed since he could remember. Possibly since the days before the war.

"The foothills of Weptswur, just east of Ulthrak. I found you a couple miles from here. You were buried so deep in the snow I almost stepped on you."

"Ah...yes. I was in a dark spot. I still am, I suppose. Who are your people, or, erm, where do you call home?"

"I don't have a people nor a home. I live for myself."

Hildebran eyed the young man, "I think I recognize you from somewhere. Were you formerly of Fereton? I know that face I swear."

"No. I am my own man, servant to none. My past is closed now."

Hildebran could feel the calming effects of the milky substance start to induce sleepiness. "One last thing, erm, friend, what do they call you, young man?"

"I am Terran, Terran the Slayer they call me now."

Hildebran's eyes widen, "I know you, you're him...you're the...the one who..." Hildebran's voice trailed away as he slipped off into restful sleep.