“ALL HAIL THE KING !”

And so they did, in echoing waves of adulation. The cry was taken up again and again, all the way from the Gate of the Wastes to the royal palace. To return a conquering hero is a heady thing.

But King Ferrious III felt no cause to exult. His eyes remained fixed foward, locked on the upper spire of the West Tower. Seven years at the campaigns, slaying his enemies, outwitting their generals, and suffering every privation, had left him a stranger to his own throne. Or more aptly put, left his throne a stranger to him.

Yellick the mage met him midway across the drawbridge with a deep bow, “Your return graces us as a testament to the gods’ favor on our kingdom.” The conniving man’s tongue flitted about his mouth as if he had not engineered a near total usurpation over the past two years.

King Ferrious dismounted, drew his sword and kicked the man to the ground, “Vile dog!”

From the ground he feebly attempted, “All hail the king?” before being run through by a royal blade.