The knight's table was opened up for the first time since King Arynda's father ruled as King. The last council meeting to be held in the room was just before his King father had departed with his men to embark on their journey to the Meadows of Mestrane.

King Arynda had called upon the old council to rejoin, but out of the twelve men a few had died since before the war of the Last Kings. A few seats sat empty, and the room still had some debris left from the chaos of the recent war.

"Your majesty, you cannot elect yourself as the King in the manner you did out there. That's just not kingly!" An older, wiry man exclaimed with some frustration.

"I understand your frustration Master Elder Grantel. However, to keep calm I am going to ask you one more time to keep my title out of this or I'll have you out of the council."

King Arynda could not tell if he was becoming senile or if he really was so adamant that he kept pressing the matter.

"Elder Rattar, I will hear you speak." The King motioned to a younger man who appeared to be in his thirties. He had a strong, chiseled face with a slowly receding widow's peak.

"Thank you, your grace. I am of the opinion that is in the utmost importance to this Kingdom and this nation that we call upon a necromancer to decipher the meaning of all this madness. The two men have returned with an odd sense of sorcery about them. A curse mayhap?"

A man across the table named Ser Ovald invited himself to speak, skipping the King's introduction, "Are you suggesting we bring forth one of the imprisoned necromancers we fought so valiantly to capture from the war? Are you mad Rattar? Those men are foul, cursed beings. I would not see their dark magic inflicted upon us." His wrinkled face curled into perplexed expression.

Master Elder Grantel chimed back in, "I'll sooner be back to my retirement from the Kings service as I was, rather than hear talk of folly such as releasing a necromancer from the dungeons. That is most preposterous talk, such magic does not even exist!"

A man who had seemed entirely disinterested until this point began, "Master Elder Grantel, please do not trouble the council with silly discussion of the existence of magic. Those of us who were beyond the safety of these castle walls know very well of the mysterious happenings of the war. I saw a man with my own eyes sew up a gash in his face with the swipe of his forearm!" A look of bewilderment lingered on his face far too long, and he realized how foolish he must look.

"A simple trick, Elder Esegar. The necromancers of the Eastland continent Aina are notorious for their mind tricks in battle." Elder Esegar's foolish look had returned to his face and his head was already shaking in disagreement.

"The two riders we hauled in are from that envoy that went to Mestrane, you said, King Arynda? In regard to the squire and the brute that are being attended to by the potions masters?" Ser Ovald questioned.

"Yes, I am almost certain. The two were a part of my father's leadership that took many of our men to the Meadows. That is where the squire boy and his brute were last known to be, but the state of their return certainly peaks the interest of this council. It was to our best knowledge that all of my father and his men had perished somewhere along the way."

Suddenly multiple side conversations overtook the room at the mention of Mestrane. It was no wonder, considering its mystique. Master Elder Grantel was in a heated screaming match with another man who appeared much older with excess neck skin hanging low to compliment his row of chins. The two were drowned out by all of the side conversations that continually rose in volume in order to be heard over one another. After five minutes of the madness, King Arynda rose from his seat.

King Arynda shouted, "I will have quiet in this council! This council is what we have at the moment. This kingdom needs leadership, and I am trying to steer us in that direction. All council will be heard, even the most ridiculous of notions." Silence hung in the air for a time. Men shifted in their large wooden chairs and the old wood creaked underneath their weight—the only noise in the place of silence.

A few men who had not spoken yet were given the chance to speak and King Arynda made certain each man of the council had a say. A few spoke of the opportunity to take back Adrossi now while the land is under times of uncertainty. Others spoke out against taking action and admitted it would be unruly to start up conflict with the new neighboring nation of Adrossi. One man with a black beard as thick as coal and eyes as bright as the ocean spoke up.

"The state of the squire boy down below with the potions master is disarming to me. The potions master expressed his concern to me earlier, and he said he hasn't seen anything like it. If I didn't believe in the power of the necromancer, now might be the time to have a second thought. Whatever the squire saw, it looks like it's got a proper hold of him now. I say we send men to seek out one of those Magi Knights. This would certainly be something for them to investigate."

"While I do agree that would be ideal, Ser Bjarna, I do feel that the Magi Knights are most certainly busy with the state of the realm. The war wiped out probably a fourth of Modena's population. I would be almost certain that they are busy with internal affairs," Ser Ovald had returned to his usual state of uncertainty. All became silent when Ser Hildebran of Rednork spoke.

"Send me and a couple men of my choosing. We will go to the Magi Temple to seek them. A matter of the Meadows of Mestrane is worthy of the attention of the Magi Knights."

Men of the council nodded in agreement, peering around calmly at one another calmly for once. None dared disagree with Ser Hildebran. Ser Ovald appeared to be content for the first time that evening.

Ser Hildebran met the eyes of King Arynda and the king lowered his gaze shyly.

"I agree with Ser Hildebran, but it might be wise to give the potions masters their time. It would not be wise to waste the time of the Magi Knights." Master Elder Grantel made his voice heard yet again. He had a way of inserting himself into the center of discussion.

As if on cue, the door to the room of the round table burst open and Potions Master Francis and Healer Cheron stood, the door swinging on its hinges.

"What news?" King Arynda rose anxiously.

"The squire has finally calmed down and seems to be in a state of sleep, but he is muttering something that sounds like he has slain the...the uh...the king."

"What King?" Arynda spat out the words like venom.

"I don't know my lord King, but he...he uh...he said..." The Potions Master trailed off and collapsed to the floor. The room gasped and rose from their wooden chairs. Healer Cheron was at his side shaking him, but he wasn't responsive.

Men rose from their seats to inspect the scene. The guards who stood outside the doorway rushed in, but they were pushed aside by Master Elder Grantel who had to be in the middle of it all.

"Healer Cheron, what in the Blades of Rednork, just happened here?"

"I...I don't know, m'lord. He was acting funny ever since he tended to the two men and then he just raced up here and fell ill."

"Healer Cheron, are you alright yourself?" Master Elder Grantel watched Healer Cheron take a few steps back.

"M'lords, take a look!" Healer Cheron was stunned. The council crowded in closer and by this point more guards were rushing in, as ushered by King Arynda. The Potions Master was convulsing on the floor, foam was flowing out of his mouth. His face turned to a pale green and his eyes roll backward. He muttered one last line.

"The boy...cursed, he is." And with that, the Potions Master rolled over, and his life was over.

The council stood in shock.

"Guards, fetch me the necromancer."