Angir Tarquith jolted suddenly awake from his troubled dreams, a cold sweat covered his body and his hands were clenched tightly into fists. He blinked several times as his eyes readjusted to the murky darkness that surrounded him like an unwelcome smell, the memories of the dream already disappearing from his grasp. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair, as always it was a slightly tangled mess. He was breathing heavily and for a brief moment wonder if he had truly awakened, but soon had his question answered as he heard the sounds of shouting and fighting coming from the courtyard below his window. Scrambling out of bed and rushing to the window he cursed violently as he stubbed his toe on the bedpost and almost crashed into the wall beside his bed. Continuing to curse his misfortune he rubbed his deep green eyes as he quickly glanced down at the scene below, almost not being able to believe what he was seeing. The King’s royal guard were swarming through the open gate into his father’s castle, attacking and slaughtering all who stood in their way. As he watched one of his father’s most loyal guardsmen, Sir Howell emerged from the keep and charged forwards into the fray bellowing like a berserker wearing only his sleeping gown and wielding a huge ornate hammer. Sir Howell caved in the skull of the nearest men to him just as the cowardly man sunk his sword into one of the poor serving girls as she begged to be spared - she had lived at the castle her entire life and tried in vain to flee. He watched as Sir Howell rounded on the next guard and with a colossal swing he caved the man’s breastplate and chest inwards, causing a sickly crunching noise to echo throughout the courtyard as blood and assorted gore gushed from the man. Several of his father’s other guardsmen rushed forwards to join the battle, emerging from a side door into the keep. 

Finally tearing his eyes away from the melee the sickening realisation of what was happening hit Angir. ‘It’s me they are here for…’ he said in his own mind, suddenly feeling queasy as he realised the men outside were dying because of him. He rushed to the large wardrobe that stored his clothes and frantically dressed himself, throwing on his highest quality traveling clothes over his tall slim frame, and his most sturdy leather boots onto his feet before finally strapping on a large dark cloak. Moving back over to his bedside he grabbed his satchel and began stuffing it with numerous small books and pieces of parchment that littered his desk as quickly as he could. Throwing it over his should he took one moment to look out of the window once more, gasping in dismay as he saw that most of his father’s guards now lay dead or dying, Sir Howell being the only man left standing. Several cuts were apparent almost instantly, his blood running down staining his white nightgown in several places. As three men rushed the knight attacking him simultaneously another man rushed to attack him from behind. Sir Howell swung his hammer in a large arc at the three men, its sharpened head smashing the first man cleanly in the jaw, teeth and even what looked like a severed eye went flying as the strike continued through and crunched into the second man’s shoulder. The third man was too quick and managed to lunge in before the hammer stuck him, and managed to land a blow into Sir Howells side with his sword sticking fast. 

The heavily wounded Knight roared and dropping his hammer he grabbed the man who was beginning to try and withdraw his sword frantically, with one hand he grabbed the man’s throat and in an instant had crushed the man’s larynx, his other hand pulling the sword from his own side before he drove it through the heart of the man with the wounded shoulder. 

“Sir Howell! Behind you!” screamed Angir futilely from the window as the fourth man lunged forwards with his blade. The sword sunk deep into the Knight’s back and as blood began to ooze from his mouth he slowly turned and tried to stab the man with the sword. However at this point his strength had obviously left him and the man easily knocked it from his hand before he grinned savagely and kicked Sir Howell to the ground before taking a step over him and plunging his blade into the Knights body several more times. Once he was finished he looked up at the window, his eyes meeting with Angir’s for a few moments before he shouted “He is up there! Men, storm the castle and bring him to me.” 

Fighting back his tears and building rage Angir turned and sprinted into the castle as quickly as he could, determined to make sure that his father’s men had not been killed in vain. Any servants or guardsmen that he passed he warned to flee as he rushed up towards his father’s room. As he reached the staircase that lead upwards he was confronted by several king’s guards who were in the process of rushing up, one of them spotted him immediately and shouted to the others. Turning to run he was blocked from the way he had come by another guardsman with a fierce snarl on his face. Angir backed away slowly, now cornered with no way to go other than into the solid wall behind him. 

As the men approached he raised both of his hands and began to do the only thing that he could. He began to weave a spell together that would with any luck kill all of the men before him, targeting their hearts and the fragile system of arteries and other internal organs that would be most vulnerable – dark magic that he had been heavily studying for some time now, but had never been brave enough to attempt. Already he felt the strain of weaving, feeling his energy sapping directly from him and into the spell he was now creating with all of his concentration. As several of the men lunged forwards he released the built up power within himself and poured himself fully into it. As several of the men suddenly screamed out and crumpled to the ground he realised that he was nowhere nearly as strong to sustain the deadly magic and as it drained the last of his will and he felt his legs turn to jelly as he collapsed backwards, his vision slowly darkening as the remaining men rushed towards him. 

---

Extremely disoriented and weak, the next time Angir’s eyes opened he realised that he was now in shackles and several guards were stood closely by him, his body covered in several small cuts and bruises and his cloak torn away, his left eye also felt painfully swollen. He was now in the courtyard of the castle, the bodies from the earlier fight had been moved and thrown unceremoniously into one of the far corners. His head pounded and he tried to concentrate on what he was seeing. Several guardsmen were stood around all watching the scene before him, his beaten and bruised father kneeling before the guardsman who had killed Sir Howell. He faded in and out of consciousness as he realised that the man was reading a list of charges to his father as rain fell freely from the sky. 

“…furthermore, you are charged with harbouring spies, traitors and other enemies of the state, including your own son. As his father all responsibility for his crimes fall upon yourself as Lord of this castle and its surrounding lands, which include but are not limited to: unsanctioned use of forbidden sorcery, use of sorcery without appropriate licences, mass murder of lawful subjects of the kingdom, the spying and gathering of secret information, selling of said information, harbouring aiding and abetting other spies for the Nomadic Provinces of The Dunes, plotting against his Highness, sabotage and finally the brutal murder of several government officials. The only punishment for such treason for a man of your position is execution, to be carried out immediately.”

As Angir’s vision began to fade once more he watched as the man drew the same sword which was still stained with Sir Howells blood and raised it above his father’s head. He wanted to scream and cry out that the charges were false, that he hadn’t done any of those things, that the forbidden magic was his fault and not his fathers, but one of the guards nearby smashed his head savagely with a cudgel as soon as he began to move. As his sight faded the last sound he heard was the sound of his father’s head being removed from his body followed by a sickening thudding sound.