Oerthe's Crown

Prologue

The whispers of legends from times long ago,

Everyone heard the stories. Words whispered in the flurry of gossip and school teachings. Sweeping the legends through every household, rich and poor. Words as timeless and invincible as they were.

The shadows of heroes from the days old,

They said they lived far longer than any mortal. That they were the reason the stories we told to the children were lessons meant to outlast lifetimes. Stories of the heroes, brave, bold, noble, from times where men desired honor over power.

Descendants of gods when they walked the land,

They were said to be able to do extraordinary things. Things no ordinary human could do, not even the royals were exemplified. Magic in its purest form, egregarious in every aspect. Gifted from the gods themselves, some say.

Characters of the stories yet to unfold,

There always seemed to be a new tale, somewhere. In the smallest villages or the castles, stories bloomed faster than flowers in the springtime. Rumours, yes, but the rare ones that spoke true followed in death and murder.

They are among us still.

"Morte para os mortos."

(Excerpt from "The Truth Behind The Tales We Tell." Located under the 'Magic' section of the Forbidden Library)

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The world was asleep, but Lukas Ferguson was awake.

It was purely business tonight, not that he minded. He liked his job, far too much for much any sane person to believe healthy.

As he walked out the door, he gave a short nod to the guards that stood by. They didn't acknowledge his movement, but he caught their stares of hatred nevertheless. It was foolish, their petty hate. Had Lukas truly wanted, the royal family would already be in their graves. His title wasn't only for show.

It was an excuse the captain often used, proclaiming his reasons on Lukas's restrictions were only for the safety of the royal family. The captain resented him, for reasons unknown to Lukas. They were opposites, fire and ice, earth and air, black and white. Lukas killed, the captain protected. But Lukas had always thought they were more alike than the captain would ever admit. They both did what they did for the king. Their code of honor was the only difference, truly.

Not that the royal guard follow it, he thought, pulling his black hood atop his head. He'd seen things meant to stay hidden. He'd told the captain before, but it fell to deaf ears. The grudge had crawled too far inside the captain's soul. 

The captain would have him thrown into the dungeons, had he his way and rightfully so. The things Lukas had done would be enough to be burned at the stake, if it hadn't been done under orders of the king. Oerthe was not nearly as prosperous as the neighboring kingdoms would say. Indeed, the empire crumbled slowly in front of his very eyes. Cracks in the castle. Cracks of which the king desperately tried to fix, the very reason he had a assassination to do.

Tonight, his target was a well-known aristocrat by the name of Giles Astor. It'd taken weeks to gain the trust of the cautious lord. Weeks filled with balls and gowns, one of the many things he hated. But he had been well paid, so it was of little matter the things he had to endure. Information had leaked into his waiting fingers, but it still wasn't enough. The file atop his desk spoke of a rebellion and of Astor's second occupation. Spies paid well, Lukas heard, but assassins paid even better.