After a healthy breakfast of fruit and wheat scones with butter and coffee, we took the platform down to the Boulevard, already busy with morning traffic. It was feeling like it was going to be a warm one, and out on the plains, it would be sweltering.
I had never been in the Royal Carriage and it was breathtaking. Lavender damask benches with cushioned backrests. Pewter oil lamps matched the pewter hinges, clasps, and knobs of the luggage bins hanging over our heads. All of the wood was mahogany polished to a deep shine that reflected everything.
Margrin and Janiver were already waiting. We looked like two wealthy couples going on safari with white linen tunics and sand colored breeches.
“May," I asked, "was the matching uniforms your idea?"
“Don't pretend to be so base for Margrin's benefit, it's creepy. We all know you were born into wealth. But if we're too stuffy for you, you're welcome to ride the backboard with Waldinor and Timmins.”
"Well I'm glad to see you didn't forget to pack your condescension, My Love.”
"Hush, Tendil. There will be time for levity later.”
"I see. Well just let me know when you have the itinerary completed. I don't want to laugh at the wrong time.”
In all honesty, we were all feeling the pressure of this trip.
“Margrin, we'll be going by the place where your caravan was waylaid as a child?”
"Just so, Your Majesty. But that was so very long ago. It shouldn't affect me.”
We rode in silence for several minutes, Margrin and Janiver making small talk, me sitting next to May on the carriage bench looking at the back of her hair. It’s always braided and it struck me, I've never seen her braid it. She doesn't have a handmaiden, she only has Greer, Waldinor, and a chambermaid.
I was lost in her hair and I had to break the silence, “May?"
No answer.
Again, “May."
She sounded very agitated, “What, Tendil?"
“I love you, May."
She finally turned to me, tightly hugged my neck and kissed me like we'd been apart for a month. “I love you too, My Beautiful Prince. I'm sorry, Tendil. I'm so anxious about all of this. It's one thing going up against mortal creatures. This is something completely different.”
“You never said last night, May, did you find anything at the Bard College?”
"Yes, Love, yes I did. I had a very productive conversation with one of their deans, an older Elf named Pharrod. Called himself a Master Jongleur of all things. Anyway, Pharrod is a collector of what he calls ‘Forgotten Songs,’ which is not what it sounds like.”
"What do you mean, Love?"
“Well it's rather involved. Imagine you've done something bad or there's something you're ashamed of. Or perhaps there is slander being put out there into the public consciousness about you. Well, there are a number of Bards who lead double lives. They call themselves Amnesists. If you want to stop the talk about you or someone else before it becomes widespread, an Amnesist will track down the source of the talk, or if it's being spread by Bards in song or poem ask them to stop.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
If they don't then there's a brief campaign of intimidation. If it continues, it could result in deaths. In the meantime, the Amnesist will keep the song alive but with altered lyrics, and that gets passed from Bard to Bard until the offending song or poem is gone from memory.
I guess they're a combination performer, public reputation defender, and assassin. As you might imagine, it's lucrative side work.”
“Amazing," I said, “and Pharrod’s collection?"
“He's an idiot for telling me, but he has hundreds of these ‘Forgotten Songs.’ He didn't say it openly, but I got the impression that he uses these for bribery and blackmail. It's a dangerous game he plays.”
She continued, “One set of these works, song and poem, was dedicated to the slander of one Mister Syndial Nur-Hajisti when he was a captain of one of the mercenary groups with whom he associated.
Word spread that he had raped and killed a young peasant girl when some pillaging got out of hand. It was by a group over which he had command. There were many such atrocities that day, but no one cares about the actions of a foot soldier. It's a different story when you're discussing officers.
These things remained attached to his name. When he came back to Kruklig and tried to enroll in their School of Necromancy, they denied him admission and called the constabulary when he tried to bribe them. Nobody wanted to associate themselves with a baby killer or worse.”
So he packed his things and headed West. He paid an Amnesist to clear his name and turned his back on his life in the Orcish Barony. Good riddance.
But he didn't wait to see if the services he paid for had been successful. When the Amnesist heard that Syndial was leaving town. She simply held on to the materials and bided her time. Eventually they sold.
Syndial ended up on the Central Hard Coast in the Kingdom of Lyridia and their capital of Meska. This time he had no problems. He graduated with honors and moved into an ancient, crumbling citadel, high on the chalk cliffs overlooking the Baric Ocean in utter seclusion. This is where he started to build a small army, a skeleton army, and he set about perfecting his craft.
He sent for his Dark Elves, built a library to further his research, and had his skeletons work day and night to patch up his new home. It's said that he found a woman during this period, one of his Elves, a relationship that lasted over 50 years. But she broke his heart. This is likely the time around when Syndial was introduced to the included amber, because his powers began to grow exponentially and he became focused on nothing but lichdom.
Also, during this period, Syndial began to spend an inordinate amount of time in the Taliswood, even going so far as to build a small keep near the former home of the Dark Elves, as a sort of second home.
It wasn't long after that he ascended first into lichdom, then became a demigod, and finally the deicide that allowed for his ultimate ascension.
Obviously, he no longer has need for his old homes. The Dark Elves live in or near the citadel, the skeleton army has been traded for battalions of Bone Devils, and Syndial is now the Black King.”
I just stared at her.
"Show off,” I said, finally.
But she continued, "Interestingly, the Amnesist who had double crossed him was found dead at an inn weeks later, after he had left Kruklig; her body had been inverted — turned completely inside out. They only knew it was her because of a guest log book and a friend who recognized one of her many fake names on the ledger.”
I was in awe. My wife was something of an investigative genius, her memory encyclopedic. Margrin and I had barely cobbled together one page of chicken scratch.
“It would surprise me little if your Bard friend, Pharrod, were to be found in an inverted state for holding on to those materials like he is.”
I had to do some heavy thinking,
"So now, with all of this information, we need to find out who introduced him to the included amber and why, and we need to figure out how to restore communication with élois unless we fancy the prospect of fighting the Black King with our woefully insufficient abilities.”
Out on the plains as we were, you can see the sunrises and sunsets rather vividly, basically all of the land being a horizon. Coming up to around seven bells, the sun was beginning to set behind us in a glorious conflagration, turning the sky a dozen shades of brilliant fire fading into dusk in the East.
We were approaching an area where the flat fields of tall grass were segueing into a small range of hillocks. The only topographical feature of note for more than a hundred miles.
We seemed to be making good time, expecting to reach Yis-Gláz in two hours or less, when the carriage came to a jarring stop.
There were shouts and much activity going on outside of our luxurious sanctuary. Standing on the foldout stair outside the carriage’s door, Timmins was peering in. He was mouthing something through the glass and making gestures with his hands that we should come with him.
When we opened the door, Timmins breathlessly said,
“Lieutenant Marval requests your presence at once, Your Majesties! We've got trouble!”