Forly was already executing his plan at this moment, and the king... was finishing his preparations.
Here is the account of the council meeting regarding the necessary actions to keep each one in their position of power. In a long room behind the main throne hall, around a large round table, sat five powerful men on chairs with 1.5-meter high backs, who, above all others, cunningly governed every corner they could.
And one of them was Deormmund, who initiated the council.
"Gentlemen, without delay, for I believe the walls have ears; you are well aware of the situation we find ourselves in. The boy, the Thatcher heir, possessed the letter that would bring us to ruin, written and signed by the former king, as we well knew it to be."
"You, and I myself, do not wish to lose any office; therefore, on Cyneweard's advice, and with our surprising help, we have incriminated the Thatchers and eliminated the entire blacksmith family from our path. Forwin Thatcher is imprisoned. Now, Truman, allow our members to see your incredible plan."
Truman was the youngest, but also the smartest; the king's nephew, and his friend in the kingdom's most complicated endeavors. He had firm features, well-defined and proportional facial lines as if they had been custom-made; he sat almost perfectly erect with both hands crossed in front of him.
His voice was low, but perfectly audible, as well as very political, proper, and full of pauses, with minimal mannerisms. A projection of someone perfect, as Forly would say. He began to speak:
"Very well. Gentlemen, first, I want the utmost discretion in all areas I will mention here, and I need your strict attention to every detail so that you will have no further questions. That said, let us begin."
He relaxed his hands and let out an almost imperceptible breath.
"As you well know, the scapegoat is imprisoned, and certainly dead; and, as the king has already informed you, he will make an inciting proclamation, so that we can finally solidify the villainous idea we have created. But... so that there is no room for error in the plan, and the fervor does not die down, I suggest an addition of great value to us."
"We need a hero. An idealization; someone they can trust. Someone the people can be inspired by, that is, someone who stimulates praise for the king, and is at the same time, an abstraction of an entire nation, an invitation to love one's nation. In the 'heroic' act of killing the evil that afflicts the people; Forwin."
The men, including the king, who already knew, were impressed.
"In this way," he concluded, gesturing with his hand, "we will have a people who trust their superiors, and they will have NO reason to be suspicious."
Those present applauded, saying Avoir du génie!; "Bravo!"; "What would we be without this young man!"
After the heat of the moment subsided, they returned to their usual contemplative rationality and began to question again. And who should be the hero? It didn't take long for them to conclude that youth would be best... yes! The people sympathize more with someone who is good-looking, energetic. And they finally decided it would be Truman. But soon, he himself argued against it, and suggested someone the people knew among them... of course! Elmer, The Famous. He was someone neither old nor young, a skilled warrior who had proven to be of great value to the kingdom.
Later, they gathered again to celebrate with the same old beer. They talked and ate until they could no more. And before they toasted, each of the five: Edmund The Wise; Cyneweard, The Experienced; Elmer, The Famous; and Truman, The Noble; and last and most important, King Deormmund.
Deormmund rose victoriously from his chair and raised his large glass high, with a smile from ear to ear.
"MY FRIENDS! In two days, we will gather the people in the grand palace courtyard at noon and announce the 'hunt'. And then, our friend Elmer will reveal himself! We will. not. fall. WE WILL NOT FALL! Cheeeeers!"
"CHEERS!" they all toasted in unison.
***
Two days of great happiness passed in the palace. A ticket to their freedom had been bought. And nothing seemed likely to change that... I mean, seeming isn't so difficult... so many books that seem real, and so many things in life that seem unreal.
And so we return to the king's grand speech.
The great crowd of people shouted in unison in great appeal to the king's strong and echoing words; though many were doubtful of what had happened. Suddenly, in the middle of the crowd, someone had arrived. He wore dark clothes. His face was covered by a hood, and in his arms was a body covered with a beige wool cloth.
With every step he took, the people made way for him to be in the king's line of sight. He stopped, crouched, and placed the body on the ground. The wind blew the cloth covering the body, which was apparently still breathing. The people cleared a space almost like a glade, afraid of the mysterious man.
The man stood up, and threw off his cloak and hood behind him.
A tall young man, with noble features, though his face was marked by wounds, with toned arms, despite also being heavily injured. He raised his hand. The crowd fell silent. The king couldn't believe what he was seeing.
The young man began to speak.
"Many may not know me. But this is me!"
He tore his shirt, stretching his arms, revealing a small gray pouch and a knife on his trousers... without delay, he continued with his lips slightly pursed. His voice reached a power and a boom that made everyone there tremble.
"I am Forwin Thatcher of Thatcher, son of Edith Thatcher; son of Beorn V Thatcher, heir to the name of the oldest family in Muntcynigas, and faithful servant of the true king, Beorn IV Thatcher."
From where he stood, he took a pouch from his trousers and threw it on the ground. The instant it touched, it exploded; and smoke rose with remarkable speed, filling that small space for a short period with a supernatural kind of mist.
The smoke was gone in a matter of seconds as if the wind had blown it away. The crowd was stunned, screaming in despair, others ran away, and there were those who began to call him a demon and other words in unknown tongues.
It didn't take long for a wind to blow in the ear of the king, who was paralyzed, not understanding what was happening, staring at Elmer's unconscious body.
***
It had all begun when he asked the mage for a way to teleport. As it was not a very difficult thing for the mage—although if it had been a witch, she would probably have given him something that would kill him, with her usually rebellious intentions—he did it with pleasure, even though he had asked many 'Ingram-style' questions.
With that, the second part would be unpredictable; Forly needed to infiltrate the castle, and for that, he also asked the mage for help—something that was also, in a way, simple. All he asked for was something that resembled the magic that had made them sleep... something discreet and less flashy; only in this case, it was so they wouldn't recognize his face in the palace.
He spent a good part of the time observing them, hidden in the corners of the castle, and this he already knew from his own experience on Earth after stealing food here and there so many times, although sometimes he was caught; but this time, fear and the will to survive sharpened his senses in every aspect.
Soon, he determined that he needed to find who looked most like him: and the chosen one was Truman for obvious reasons; even if it was magic, it didn't mean it worked just any way, so with some tips from Trigger, he chose a moment when he could knock him out using some poisoning techniques.
With everything done, he took the young man's clothes and returned to the mage, who cast the spell and returned to the shadows once more, saying that bad times were coming and that he would appear at the right time. That was the last time Forly saw him. They had a very important conversation that would further sharpen Forly's desire for justice as Forwin.
Old Ingram told him that while he was away, he had been researching among his materials—which he pointed out were sufficiently hidden, due to their category of content that would entice even the simplest to seek them out like treasure—and had found the reason why Forly was a friend. He was the son of Beorn V, who was the son of Beorn IV, the former king of the kingdom, a friend of his deceased brother who had passed away a few months ago. The oldest mage of the group, and the second to last of his race.
Many thought that something different had happened, and that in fact, the former king had deserted his destiny. It didn't take long for Forly to connect one dot with another.
The king wanted to eliminate factual witnesses of what he had done, which is why his father and mother had disappeared. The letter was certainly the reason; although he wondered why the letter's content would change—a rather useless one, as Forly had rightly said—and if the sponsors could interfere in the course of events that happened in The Ordeal of Salvation.
Despite the doubts, what he had was enough. The suffering would finally be cut away. A new era would come, he thought.
But nothing would prepare him for what was about to happen.
***
The cold wind howled words in his ear.
With each passing second, it grew louder and louder; closer.
But audible, unintelligible... until finally, it was present.
A mist took over the balcony, and Forly appeared; the king felt cold metal on his neck... not just freezing, but sharp. It was a dagger, ready to cut.
"I don't care about the rest... I can leave here... but you... you deserve to pay for what you did to me, and to my family," he said softly in Deormmund's ear.
The guards didn't even move, afraid of causing the death of the great royalty.
Forly sniffled and breathed non-stop. His heart accelerated more and more with each second. And he shouted:
"MY PEOPLE! THIS MAN IS A MURDERER! HE KILLED THE FORMER KING SO HE COULD ASCEND AND TRIED TO DO THE SAME TO ME! HE WHIPPED ME! HE WOUNDED ME MERCILESSLY! HE ORDERED THE BLACKSMITH TO BE TORTURED IN COLD BLOOD! DOES HE DESERVE TO DIE!? OR NOT?!"
That was enough for several confused heads to enter a state of euphoria, and it didn't take long for the crowd to split into two sides. People punched each other, trampled, screamed, and a great uproar grew. Forly felt sick... his eyes followed the chaos, his mind clouded with so much information poured out... a feeling of emptiness... everything had become a blur of voices and sounds.
Until one that he knew very well came speaking calmly from the darkness of the corridor behind.
"Stop! You will know the truth now... ALL. OF IT. FORWIN THATCHER."