[b]Hunter[/b]

The High Council was older than its white-haired members. It was formed over a hundred years ago to serve as the king’s advisors and trusted allies. It was composed of the lords of the four most influential houses in Westlands. Their power and wealth was borne from the fact that the King chose them to be among the privileged member of the High Council. However, a position in the High Council was not permanent. It was all dependent on the ruling monarch’s whim.

Hunter thought that there was therefore no reason for the old men of the High Council not to take advantage of the King’s last proclamation. 

The assassin stood amidst the crowd of peasants before a well-dressed noble. The man was standing on a platform with knights in polished armors at his back. He was reading a copy of what Lord Hallowgem had been signing the morning that the lord sent his assassin away on a mission. This meant that the head start was over and everyone who was ambitious enough to take the throne would be on the move.

He waited until the messenger dismissed the crowd. He walked with them, senses alert, and listened to every conversation within earshot. It was a good time to gather information, because the people would be brainstorming what they knew about the legend. 

That night, Hunter sat with middle class men inside the Twin Head Pub. It was not the best place to spend the night after a full day of research, but he was not yet done with research. He learned that men were more cooperative when possessed with the spirit of alcohol. This was why he had been the one paying for the food and drink of his new found friends.

[b]Lilliana[/b]

Lilliana fell off her perch on the log. Her bottom hurt, possibly bruising, and she scraped her palm against the bark of the tree. If she landed the wrong way, she could have broken a bone. On the other hand, the red-haired woman fell from the sky. Lilliana’s gaze lifted to the clear blue sky spread above the leaves of the trees then back down to the woman who had affirmed that she was fine. 

“You fell from the sky,” she said, just barely a whisper. Her heart was hammering in her chest from the shock of her fall and this stranger’s. There was much difference between her fallen log and the sky. She was hurting, this red-haired woman should be too. 

Sensing that she was gaping at the stranger, Lilliana took a steadying breath, brushed dirt from her skirt, and lifted her chin high. “I am sure there is a good explanation for all of these,” she said in her imperious voice. “You are in our property, my lady, in Bromwich. My name is Lilliana Ironsmith. I am afraid you are trespassing in our territory.” It was not their territory, of course. She was not that rich as to own the woods. “However, if you would tell me where you are from, and,” she looked the stranger over, from her read head to her toes, then back to her head again. “And what are you wearing? Did you need a tailor? My mother knows excellent tailors that she may introduce to your mother. And – and I am blabbering, am I not?”

She sighed and bent down to pick up her book. The pages were soiled, but thankfully the letters were still readable. “I cannot believe what I saw. You fell from the sky, miss, and it is just not possible.”