"My lords! My ladies! Today I come before you to declare a public enemy! Forwin Thatcher!"
The potent voice of King Deormund echoed, firm, flawless. The crowd was gathered, squeezed into the grand courtyard, with the king speaking from a higher part of the castle, on a balcony. Some time had passed since Forly's imprisonment.
The people were in an uproar. The King raised his voice and the tone of his speech even higher.
"This man! Yes! THIS MAN! HE! HE WAS THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF THE BLACKSMITH, THE LEADER OF THE SHELLSTROPS! OF A CITIZEN!"
The crowd began to shout and speak all at once. Some said:
"LIES!" said a resolute woman.
"Kill him!" said an incensed young man.
And there were still those who were more questioning:
"I saw him leaving the blacksmith's house, injured!"
"Me too!"
"Yeah! AND ME!"
The king became deeply irritated by this—as it seemed to challenge his wisdom and authority—and he raised his voice EVEN higher, in an uninterrupted and impassioned speech.
"MY PEOPLE! DO NOT BELIEVE IN FALLACIES! THIS MAN FORGED A STORY! DO NOT BE DECEIVED BY HIS LINEAGE OR HIS SURNAME! FORWIN THATCHER IS A VILLAIN! A PUBLIC MENACE, AND HE MUST AND WILL BE EXTERMINATED! NOW, I OFFER ALL OF YOU THE CHANCE TO BRING JUSTICE TO OUR NAME AND HUNT THIS MONSTER! BRING. JUSTICE. FOOOOR UUUUUUS!"
The crowd, convinced, surrendered in a great clamor; an entire nation now against a single person... The king had thought of every detail. They would search for years for someone who might not even be alive anymore, and they would have someone to constantly hate other than the king—although something seemed to be troubling his mind.
Until someone stood out in the crowd, shouting.
...
As you may have learned, nothing happens as it should in this story. Where bad luck is the rule and good luck is... Luck? So, where is our protagonist, and what is he doing now?
For that, we will have to go back (again?) in time.
***
"Hey, kid! I ain't your boss..."
"Boss, did you hit your head too?"
"Boy, I don't know who your boss is, but it ain't me!"
Forly—well, you know it was him—swam to the shore and asked for news, food (stolen)... and a hood, and left there as quickly as possible.
...
He thought he would have to walk, but he wondered where he would get the energy to return home; but there's nothing like a bit of luck sometimes to save you from a tight spot. His faithful horse and friend, Triggerheart, was on the west side of the Upper Side, at the entrance to the city, waiting for days, in the hope of seeing his friend again.
In the distance, in the late afternoon, near sunset, after days of waiting there, Trigger was already thinking of giving up when a figure emerged in the distance, unrecognizable to many, but the horse knew the boy from every angle.
Half-wit! Half-wit!
A deep narrator's voice was saying this word, pulling Forly's mind from its daydreams. He had started to think it was a delusion... but when he realized, he ran to the pure-blood.
He arrived, and they stood face to face in silence. Forly sighed and mounted the horse.
"Trigger, take me home..." Forly said, patting his flank.
"Always, master."
They departed from there against the wind, and in two days, they arrived at the manor. There, Alfred finally saw the whip wounds on Forly's back. His eyes widened when the young man took off his shirt, although he only had the opportunity to comment on it later; during the time Alfred was treating the wounds using his family's ancient medicinal techniques, Forly told him everything—and this time... everything for real.
The shock of so much information flooded the poor butler's head, and he could only change the subject in a strange way:
"Sir?"
"Yes, Alfred."
"When did you become so strong, Sir?"
"Well... I think it has to do with—"
"The system?"
"Yes... the system that is currently useless. I am at the mercy of an external force I don't understand... and other things... I think..."
A silence fell for a few seconds. Alfred broke it abruptly.
"Master, what will you do now? I mean, you will be considered a public enemy; at least that's what that horse said..."
"I know, he told me..."
"And what are you going to do? You're not inclined to seek revenge... are you?"
"Not exactly... I have plans."
"What do you mean by that, Master Forwin?"
"Let's just say that destiny will do its work in the natural course of things..."
"Master."
"Alfred."
"Sir."
"Alfred... speak!"
"If you'll permit me... I have reservations about a 'plan' that justifies itself with destiny... I mean, if it's destiny, what's the plan for?"
"Astute, Alfred. Very. Astute."
"Thank you, Sir... but that doesn't eliminate my concerns."
"Alfred, justice and vengeance are different... you see, the justice-seeking bat seeks vengeance... uh... yeah... I mean, never mind...."
Alfred was seized by even greater questions; what could a justice-seeking bat be?
"Master, just please, don't die trying."
"Of course... my butler friend. A faint at most." This time, he found it funny.
"Not funny, sir."
"Listen! Do. Not. Worry. I know what to do."
They finished their conversation there. Forly would need to sleep... he had an important plan, which, in a way, left no room for error. And first, he would need mystical help... of course, magic and witches? Nah... mages are better, and they are definitely more punctual, especially the ones with blue hats; if you know what I mean.
Forly ate everything he could. Practically the entire pantry; and it wasn't just because of excessive hunger. He had become bigger than he should be, stronger, and needed more energy. Alfred, having heard and seen so much, was no longer surprised by this.
I could spend hours listing everything he ate, but I believe you don't care... do you? DO YOU?!
...
He took a delightful bath in the tub and, for the first time, could see his body truly clean. He went to Trigger's small barn and talked about his plans. And Trigger seemed even more worried about him than Alfred.
"Forly... I mean... Master. Are you telling me you're going to..."
"That's right, Trigger... I know that mages aren't so different from witches."
"You don't understand, sir. Mages brought my race to life; witches took its life away."
...
"What I mean to say, Master, is that there aren't as many mages as there used to be, and the ones that are still around are reclusive and hard to find."
"Look, Trigger, if you're scared, it's okay... You can leave me before we enter Nealulu."
"Not at all. We will go, and I will protect you, Sir, because to be honest, I don't trust you alone, Master, after everything that has happened to you."
"Trigger."
"Master?"
"You know what... stop calling me Master. I'm Forly."
"Oh, I know... I call you that to lift your spirits. If I wanted to, I'd run away from here. And never come back."
With a sigh and a sentence, Forly said his goodbyes for the night. "Midnight! Mid. Night. Be punctual, horse!"
It was time to depart. He had had a hearty night that day, a fine rest in the morning, revision and refinement of plans in the afternoon, and the night had arrived. Preparations were made, routes confirmed, and courage mustered.
Forly said goodbye to Alfred and dressed in new clothes; over everything, he put on an old iron chainmail of his father's, which was a gift from the peoples of Lost Valle, heirs of the western dwarves in the Lands Beyond the Sea.
It went from his neck to a few centimeters below his waist, with short sleeves embroidered with red cotton.
He descended the stairs, with a tremor in his heart, and when he reached the last step, he looked back. So much had happened to him. He had even forgotten that he was in an Ordeal of Salvation.
But it was time to stand up and act, for the first time, for the sake of winning; to be the one who is intelligent, a match for the others. And nothing would stop him from doing it, even if he died trying, it would be with blood pumping and adrenaline coursing through his entire body.
This was the time. The time to rise up and fight.