The Book of Knowledge
Part Two -Arhyn's Tale
I have taken up the pen to add to this, which is not my story.
If you have read it, however, than you will know and recognize who I
am.
My name is Arhyn, and I've long since dropped any addendum to
that. I have no last name; I've not truly had one since the magic
came upon me.
The last few hours have been occupied reading that which
Bethany wrote, at my request. She did not know when I handed her this
bound book of pages that it could never be filled, no matter how long
or much it was written in. It's pages are infinite, and will never end,
though she began them.
I've been touched by many emotions as I reviewed her words.
Sadness, nostalgia, humor, and yes, anger at some points as I recall
those times she was almost taken from us.
Most of these things I already knew, some I did not. None of
them, of course, did I know as she knew them. There is no other insight
into one's mind, no matter how close to you they are, as to their true
reaction to events - their true feelings towards happenings, regardless
of what they might outwardly show - than writing. In writing, they come
out, perhaps even more than the writer intends. I shall have to be
very careful that this does not become too much of an insight into
myself; I have my reasons for keeping my soul hidden and dark.
As this is not Bethany writing this, and in regards to the final
words of her eloquent narration, I can only assume you believe her dead.
She may very well be; I try not to think too much on it.
Many have died in this war, though only two days has it gone.
Still, it seems our enemies are retreating, and we have won. But at what
cost? Many are slain, perhaps among them dear Beth. Her father Gareth
has been grievously wounded and even now lies in his bed, close to his
own eternal rest. He lives through will alone, hoping for some word on
his daughter, be it good or bad, before he surrenders. So far, no one
has been able to provide news.
It is maddening, not knowing whether or not she lives,
whether or not she fell! Especially since I know her sheer power where
death is concerned.
What power, you ask?
Surely you gained from her words that the one thing she truly
and well fears is death. Her own, surely, and that of those she loves.
When she thought Vincent dead, she grieved hard and viciously, nearly
driving herself to the same fate. When she discovered him alive, it only
enforced and strengthened her terror of losing him.
Yet her fear of it gives her a unique power over it. Read once
again her tale of her birth, strangled by her own cord! She was correct;
I did whisper to her, and she did indeed whisper back. It was
what she told me that drew me to her, though she does not remember her
words at that time. Her mother heard none of them, for I am uniquely
blessed by my gifts to understand the language of babes. I know only
too well what she told me, but I cannot reveal them to you in such a
crude form as writing. She was as good as dead at her birth, but already
she feared the end of a life only seconds old. Through sheer will she
brought her body to life; I only aided her efforts.
I must admit, I had not known of her cognizence during the time
of her poisoning, and nothing about her narrative horrified me more than
to realize the truth of her consciousness at this time. She recalls it
painfully well, jest not intended, and the things she relates as being
spoken are truth. What she does not know or recall is that when she
fell into dark that second time, the time before she woke to me asleep
in a nearby chair, she did, in fact, die.
Here is how it happened.
We were gathered about her bed, her parents and I, dear Lion,
with the priests chanting the rites about us. Her sisters waited in the
hall for word. Her father did not want them in, and even had he allowed
it, there was scarce room. Gareth was understandably angered, and when
he spoke so I gently admonished him, telling him that Beth might still
hear and not to let her leave this life with such a memory of him.
This you, of course, already know. You know of the weakened
groan she gave, which brought us to fear that she had passed. I was
already beginning to weep when I felt for her pulse and breath, both
which I incredulously found. They were fading swiftly, however, and
even as I claimed she still lived I knew that life had only minutes
left to it.
I closed my eyes, unwilling to face the death of she who was as
good as my daughter to my heart. I took up her hand, feeling her fever,
and opened my eyes again to her yellowed face, her sweat-drenched hair,
the dark purple rings about her eyes and the pale slash of her mouth.
How could she be taken from us, and by such a cruel and seeming
pointless fate?
It was then she went, surrendering to the poison. As if her life
were a slight vibration I could feel through her hand I felt it go, the
vibration ceasing. She made no sound, but went quietly. The others, her
parents, were unaware that she had gone, whispering softly to each
other, Gareth comforting and assuring his wife. Without alerting them,
I again felt her throat. There was nothing, nor did her breath stir
against my hand when I checked that, as well.
Bethany was dead. There was no denying it.
My first sob must have alerted them, for their voices were
suddenly frantic, questioning me. Lion crouched by my side, one arm
sliding about my waist as his hand took mine and hers, where they were
joined.
"She's gone." The words rode out of my mouth without bidding,
and made me weep all the more hard. "She's gone."
A cry, but not from Lauren where I expected it. Instead, the
desperate, denying sound came from Gareth's throat. He was there
instantly at her other side, taking her hand and then dropping it for
her shoulders, shaking her lightly as he began to cry himself, touching
her face and urging her to wake. I pressed my forehead to her fingers,
lost in my despair, which compounded only with the king's grief and
that of her mother, who by this time was wailing herself. The sounds
were punctuated by harsh coughs.
Then, the vibration. I could have sworn I felt it. My voice came
sharp and harsher than I intended as my head jerked up. "Hush!"
All sound stopped, and it amazes me even now how they could
so sense the urgency of my word that it cut through their urge to utter
voice and denial. In that silence I felt again the returning vibration,
the desperate pulling that was Bethany's soul, struggling against the
call of death. So did she fear her fate that she was literally ripping
herself from it!
My hand to her throat in time to feel the first, frantic spasm
of her heart. Her breath gasped again into her throat as life returned
fully to her.
This was the power that was hers. This is why I hope even now,
a day and a half after she's vanished, that she lives. Alas, though, that
even she could not pull herself back from an impossible death.
She is strong, but she is not a goddess. Were she run through
the heart or given another, equally grievous stroke, she could not
return herself from it. Not even she.
Her father will soon join his wife in rest. There is no denying
this. His wounds are extensive, and already he would be dead from them
had not his will held him living, as I've before mentioned. However, he
is not as strong as she in this, and if she is not found soon, he will
go without knowing her fate. There are men out, overlooking the slain
of which there are countless hundreds. They search for the princess as
well as wounded which need care. They search into the night, their paths
lit by torches as they go about their solemn business.
Vincent is one of them.
I must get to the point of this, the reason why I have sat in
her very chair at her desk, three fresh candles lit as I write with
the selfsame pen she did. I came to tell you of the battle, and how
it was won.
Bethany was called from her rooms at dawn, and I could tell
the instant I laid eyes on her she had not slept. I had not really
expected her too, what with the task I had laid her and the nature of
the morning. I had not slept either, nor had her father. Few in the
castle had.
I was there at the door when she opened it, her eyes slightly
haunted with the memory of what she'd penned and her lack of rest. She
took her sword from the guard as she stepped out, tying it to her waist
before regarding me.
"I have done what you asked." She said, many things in her grey
eyes. This morning, in the torchlit dark of the corridor, they seemed
brown, with dancing flecks of gold.
"I know that you have." I replied. "Your father awaits you in
the courtyard. The four kingdoms have stirred their armies. The time
has come."
"How will this come out, Arhyn?" She asked me. "How will it all
end? Tell me, so that I may lend hope to my father as well."
This is something she denied to tell you in her tale. She often
asked me the results of things and decisions. She came to me the night
after she had kissed Vincent at the pond, to ask if there was hope in
such a union. She always wished to know the outcome of events before
she committed herself to them, and she always hoped I held the answers.
Sometimes I did, and told her them. Other times, I did and withheld the
information. Many times, I did not. This was one of them.
"I cannot say." I answered her. "This day is not open to my
eyes."
"Is not, or do you not wish me to know the outcome, because it
is unpleasant?" She probed.
"I tell you truthfully, dearest. I do not know."
She resigned to this. "Very well. Walk me down, would you? This
is not one walk I wish to make alone."
Of course I did! I could not leave her on this, what could be
my last chance of seeing her alive and strong. We moved down the halls
in silence, ever descending, until we reached the courtyard. The morning
was cold and already bright, the sun striking through the mists of it.
Lion was there, waiting. His arm slipped into mine as I halted, watching
as Beth went out to her father. I tied my fingers into his.
Gareth embraced his daughter there in the yard. The rest of his
children were gone, and we'd received word via pigeon that they had made
safety without hitch. The only of his offspring that remained was Beth.
"There will be much death today." Lion said, as if any fool
could not see it! My fingers tightened in his, and I lifted them to
my lips, kissing his knuckles when I knew none were looking upon us.
"There will be much survival, as well." I whispered.
"Some will flee in cowardice." His gentle tones continued.
"Others will prove great heros."
"May God let her return."
"Amen." I answered. They were on their horses now, my little
Bethany like a warrior of old, so beautiful in the mist she may have
been a mural of a saint brought to life. Even the color of Winter was
one popular among the painters of such murals.
And so they rode for battle; a battle we could not see or hear
from the castle, for it was miles away, far past the woods and the cliff
that led to the sea. We would not know the progress or outcome if a
messenger did not return to inform us; our first indication would be
the reapparance of our army, or the appearance of theirs. If the latter
happened, those in the castle would flee, Lion and I with them. There
would be no defense of the castle; Senoth would have been gone, and such
an effort would have been pointless. If we did, we'd rejoin the rest
of the royal family in their sanctuary, and undertake the long journey
to Nahvar and Amethyst.
The gates were closed, the courtyard emptied. Unobserved, I
turned in Lion's arms, laying my head to his chest though I did not
weep. I very rarely did; it was not in my nature. He held me tightly,
comfortingly, whispering words that had no other meaning than they
were from his lips. Together we went inside.
No one knows of Lion and I. Our affections are always kept away
from any eyes, and we are more than careful never to reveal our
relationship to anyone. Even Beth thinks us naught but lifelong friends.
I am not worried about her or others reading these words and discovering
it; I have lain a spell on what I write and to their eyes these things
I have penned will be invisible. If she returns to take up her story,
she will find nothing but blank pages that her quill will not be able to
mark. This was not meant for her or any that live now, but for the
others who will come. If you can read this, then you are one of those
others. And chances are more than likely that I am long since dead.
Why, you ask, keep your relations with Lion a secret? I cannot
tell you the true reason; you do not need to know it. It is not because
he is Fairie and I human, and some would frown; all who know us would
accept it without question, for they love us both. It is not because
it shames me or him, or for any similiar reason. Let it suffice to say
that love is powerful, and leave it be. You must be content only to
know that my heart is his forever, and his mine, and that is that.
I would not even have mentioned this about how I loved Lion,
were it not that he was the only reason I made it through that battle
alive, and that I owed a revealing of my heart to him, even in such
a slight matter as this.
Yes, that battle almost slew me, though I never was there.
Only an hour after they had left to meet the fray did I leave
the castle, fleeing through an entrance in the rear designed to help
smuggle out the royal family in disasters. They had used it the previous
night, I used it now.
Even Lion did not come with me for this; he knew what I was to
do was a private thing, and respected it. He was not hurt by it; for
none understood me more than he!
I ran in my crimson cloak, my brown curls loose behind me, until
I reached a far and quiet glade deep in the woods. I fell to my knees
in this glade, removed a dagger from my sheath. With this, I fully
intended to pierce my own heart; my intent had to be real or it would
not bring him.
I lifted the blade, clasped in my two hands as I turned my face
to the now unhindered sun, and sent it driving with all speed towards
my breast.
It was stopped, of course, by a golden spiral caught in the
crossbar.
I could spend hours describing that spiral before my eyes. It
was as if it were made of gold, yet to say such is like saying ice is
likened to a true diamond. It was bright, and reflective, and I could
see my own image in the spirals. The length of it was nearly three feet;
the very sharpened tip and first six inches were what had halted my
blade. I lowered the knife as the spiral moved, and looked upon him,
who had caused my whole being.
Those who describe unicorns as delicate animals have never set
eyes upon them; they are powerful, and radiate that power in body as
well as aura. He was as large as a cart horse, with heavy auburn
fur that all but obscured his silvered hooves. His muscles rippled under
his red-brown hide, which itself glimmered like water. His mane and tail
were strands of silk, and flowed together in a manner no natural
equine possessed. His eyes were wide, rimmed with long lashes, and were
golden brown. He stepped a pace back from me, his soft breath moving
from his nostrils as he looked upon me.
I dropped the dagger, rose to my feet. I took his muzzle in my
hands, kissed his nose gently. His air on my face was sweeter than any
summer breeze.
This was the creature that had decided my whole life; the very
colt that had appeared in the straw when my father's horse had birthed
had grown into this incredible animal. I had touched the tip of that
glorious horn when it was but an inch in length and he stood on shaky,
gangly legs. I had looked into those almond eyes when they were filled
with innocence. Much of that innocence was still there, but with it
was the same grief all unicorns bore; the knowledge of evil in the
world.
"Zhahn." I whispered. I only spoke his name in his prescence,
for to utter a unicorn's name to any save the bearer of that name was
to invite great evil. I do not mind writing it; even if you read this
aloud, you would not have hope of pronouncing it right, for it sounds
nothing like it is spelled. His answer to his name was to lay on the
ground, a looming form of power even in repose, and rest his head in
my lap as I sat. I was the only he would come to, though I was no
virgin, for our bond was a bond none had ever shared with unicorn
before. Even though, he would not appear unless my life were threatened.
That is why I had to attempt suicide to draw him; had he not stopped
my blade I would have driven it into my heart, for his noninterference
would have meant he was dead, and if that had happened I had no further
existance anyway. His death meant mine as assuredly as if we shared
the same heart.
I took his horn gently in my hand, feeling its warm metallic
surface. The warmth spread to my limbs and heart, and my eyes closed
as I fell into a swoon and a vision.
I cannot write all I saw or felt. I was many things at once;
I was the soldier that fought, I was the weapon that stabbed and bit.
I was the enemy, I was the friend. I was above and apart from the
battle, yet I WAS the battle. It was all chaos and flashes, underscored
with a horror of evil that I was feeling from Zhahn. He could not
understand battle, anymore than I could understand a heart completely
respite from evil.
This was why I could not fully understand Bethany.
I do not claim that Bethany hasn't committed sins. Yet she
is one of the purest, cleanest souls I have ever encountered. The stain
is so light on her soul that it may not have been there at all; many
saints did not hold such cleanliness. She states many times in her
writing that she had committed a great sin, that she was wicked and
acknowledged her wickedness. This is simply not true.
She is so...there is no easy way to explain this. She is so
clean that she percieves herself filthy, if that makes sense. The sins
of others, she accepts as hers; the wickedness she sees, she makes hers.
She is incapable of seeing herself as good, because to do so would be
a sin itself. Self-righteousness is what I speak of. Read her
words again, and see how she blushes at any call of her generosity.
See how she reacts to those who call her beautiful, which she is to
a level even greater than Amethyst, whom she does not hesitate to label
as gorgeous. She wept at the executions of those who tried to slay her,
and why? Not merely for their deaths, which she found hard enough, but
because their deaths were her fault! She felt they would not have died
if she had not been there to cause their anger to begin with. She
adds these deaths to the stains on her soul, as she doubtless will any
and all she slew in this battle. God, of course, will not see these
stains, for He well knows better.
I was moving through my visions when I felt a familiar and
strong darkness suddenly upon me. I gasped as it surrounded me, for it
was more powerful at this moment than it had ever been. I knew well who
it was, and that he would drag me down to my death at this moment of
vulnerability. I was sinking even as I tried to pull my way out of
the vision. I grasped for Zhahn's mind, but even the unicorn could not
halt my descent. My fear increased; what power was there that could
stop a unicorn?
I was dying, well and truly, and in moments I'd be gone. It
encompassed me, and all awareness stopped.
I woke to find I was no longer cradling Zhahn's head in my lap,
but in turn my head was cradled. The unicorn was there, several feet
away, a picture of grace and force. I saw him, wondered who it was that
held me, who it was that the unicorn did not flee immediately from, as
he always did.
Of course, it was Lion.
I did not ask him what caused him to seek me, and he did not
tell me. All I knew was that he had come in time to use his power to
aide in retrieving me from that grasping darkness.
I looked up into his face, and he helped me to sit, gathering
me in his arms and holding me. "What has caused this?" He asked into
my hair.
"It was Dugan." I said softly, feeling safe once again in his
grasp. "He has found me."
His arms tightened with the emotion that statement caused. "It
could not have been. Not even Dugan is powerful enough to thwart a
unicorn."
"He has found a way." I said. "He has gained more power, and he
has been watching for me. I have grown contented in my safety, my love.
I have given him the chance to find me. He will not rest until I am
destroyed."
He stroked my hair, rocking me slightly as he quelled my fears,
though I knew they were his as well. Dugan would not hesitate to slay
Lion anymore than I, for they held a strong grudge from years past.
Finally, he lifted me to my feet, his arm around my waist as he led me
back towards the castle. Zhahn had long since vanished; he'd disappeared
as quiet as a song as soon as he saw me recovered.
We regained the castle in time to accept the first of the
wounded, the first of the news of the battle.
"They far outnumber us." One soldier said in grief as I bound
his wounds, murmuring spells to chase away spirits which would incite
infection and madness, and aide in the pain. "They beset us on all
sides; it was all we could do to avoid being surrounded."
"And the king? Princess Bethany? How fare they?" I asked.
"The flag was still raised when I fell." He answered. "I caught
sight of the king for a while, and he fought with all the strength of
a bear. He had no wounds I could see, last I knew."
"And the princess?" I pressed slightly.
"At his side, urging the flag bearer to keep the colors aloft.
Unwounded as well. Do not gain too much hope from this, lady. The
battle has only begun and already we fall like so much wheat."
How could I not gain hope from it? Not half an hour before,
both my king and my princess were alive and unwounded. All I could do
was gain hope.
I swiftly managed to forget Dugan and his evil that almost cost
my life in the coming hours. Throughout the day more wounded were
brought to us, all bearing news. Some rumors conflicted each other, as
battle is a wild place and it is easy to mistake what one sees. Some
men said that the enemy was fleeing, and our hope rose, only to be
dashed when some other men said that the flight was a ruse and that
they even further decimated our numbers. Many claimed to have seen
the king fall, and my heart dropped each time I heard it, only to lift
when a report was given saying he lived. He'd been wounded, he'd not
been wounded, he'd been captured, he was still free...I heard it all
on that day. We would not know the truth of it until the battle was told
and if we lost, we may never know the truth of it. I chose to hold
to the positive rumors, and ignore the rest.
We heard the same things about Bethany, as well. I almost
dissolved into sickened tears when one fellow, mad from pain and
bloodloss, swore with his dying breath he had seen her captured by the
four armies, raped on the field, and gutted to die beneath their
horses hooves. I was inconsolable for hours from this, despite
Lion's arms and comfort. Only a succession of reports saying that
she still lived and fought valiantly did anything to banish this
vision.
The end of the first day saw our army returning. They were not
victorious, of course. There was merely a hiatus in the battle as
the four armies retreated to rest and feed. The threat was still very
real, and the coming morning would only see a renewal to the fight.
I ran to my king when I saw him enter; he was wounded but not greatly,
and he was stoop-backed on his horse in his exhaustion. I took him to
his rooms immediately, treated his few injuries, and settled him for
sleep.
"What news of Beth?" He asked, his first words since I had
gone to him.
"All conflicting, sire." I responded. "You know how rumors
during battle fly about. She has not yet returned to the yard, to my
knowledge."
"You should have seen her, Arhyn." he whispered as he fell
unwillingly into sleep. "She has the soul of a lion."
"I know this." I replied quietly, though he was already asleep.
"Rest well, Gareth."
Bethany did not return that night, and the next day the battle was
rejoined. And would have been lost, had not another army appeared, sweeping
past the castle without slowing to meet the fight that was in the distance.
I recognized the streaming standard as it flashed by below; Vincent had reached
Gand and had returned with his father's men!
There, I could see him at the fore, riding like a madman, sword
already in hand though he was not yet within even earshot of the fight.
"Go!" I shouted, though he could not have heard me. "Go! Find
her and save her, young Vincent! Find your heart and bring her back
unharmed to us!"
I was certain then that he would return with her at his side,
victorious. I was so certain, but he did not, though the battle seems
won.
Gareth was carried in, and when I saw the wood stretcher on
which he lay, borne by six strong men, I knew he was slain. Even when
his eyes found mine, his hand clasping my fingers as I went to him, I
knew it. I know it still. He is slain, he simply hasn't expired yet.
He recieved many blows, two of which have collapsed his right
lung. He breathes hard on one now. He bleeds within, and is in great
pain, but he still waits. He still waits, and there is only one for
which he will release his suffering. No word still on her. I can only
despair.
Three days since I lay this pen down at a knock on the door.
Three days have passed, and we have buried our king. I am hollowed out
with grief, numb with pain. I have never known such pain. I will not
even allow Lion near me now in comfort, for it would not help.
Gareth died, his own heartache too much for his wounds.
He died with the words of a young seargent still in his ears,
a seargent that was thin and worn from the fight, but unwounded. It had
been his arrival in the courtyard that had incited the knock at my
door. I was there in Gareth's rooms as the young seargent told us the
news.
My Bethany is slain.
I probed him quite viciously on his report, my questions
designed to dispell that which he could have heard from rumor, or reveal
if the story was a lie. He told us of how he she had gathered a group
of them together, and had taken them in rescue of a squad she'd heard
was trapped and wounded. This I had no problems believing; it is just
like her. Alas that the squad was slain when she arrived, and those
who had done the deed greatly outnumbering her and hers! They were
surrounded as the first squad had been.
"She fought valiantly," said he. "but all were falling around
her. She took a great blow to the head, one which cast her to the
ground and stunned her. I found myself alone of the squad, the last on
his feet. I ran to her, stood over her with my sword, but was swiftly
disarmed. I did not know at first why they didn't just kill me and her
where we were.
"A man appeared, a lieutenant of the Harmoness. He shoved me
into the arms of the soldiers, who held me tightly as he hauled the
princess to her feet. She spat at him, and he shook her.
"'You wear the seal of the Senoth Royalty,' He said to her. She
was weak from her blow and exhaustion, else she would have fought him
more. All she could do was grasp his wrists, trying to force them
from her. Another of his stepped forward, ripped the seal from the
clasp of her cloak, tearing the fabric as he did. The cloak fell.
"He seemed to greatly delight in the killing of a royal. He
told her in great detail what he had planned. She..she listened silently
as he spoke, and when he had finished, she only looked at him.
"'Have you nothing to say before your fate is brought about?'
He demanded. She only.." Here the seargent's throat clenched, and he
looked back at his hands, in which he carried a bundle. "She only said
this. 'May God forgive you. My life for Senoth.'"
The young seargent did not see the death blow. The lieutenant
pulled her with him as he retreated somewhat, his men gathering about
him in a crowd that blocked her from his view. His voice had dropped
to a pained whisper now, and I don't think one of us in the room was
dry-eyed, save Gareth. The king listened, his breathing harsh from his wound,
his mouth reddened from his blood, but his eyes were dry and staring.
"I could not see them." The seargent said, barely containing his
emotion. "But I could hear them. The sounds will haunt me for the rest of my
days, and beyond. It was over two hours before they finished, each
man in the group that wished..." He swallowed. "taking their turn with
her. She did not cry out once, and I only hope I one day have that
much courage. I only wish that I could have done more to spare my
princess from such violation!
"Finally I saw the lieutenant lift his sword. The crowd was
such I did not see the blow, but at the first strike she did cry out
slightly, unable to help herself. Then he lifted it again, and I
again heard the strike. This time there was no sound, and I knew that
she was slain.
"They let me go to bring the news to you. The crowd parted and
I saw her body laying there. The lieutenant stooped and took her torn
cloak, and gave it to me so there would be no doubt of my word. He
wiped his sword upon it, to stain it with her blood."
Here he opened the bundle in his hands. It was her cloak, the
drying blood streaked upon it in a stripe. I took the cloak from him,
holding it as if to deny the words I was hearing. There was no lie in
this man.
My Bethany was dead.
Gareth did not weep at all. The seargent was taken out, and
the king was silent save his breathing for a long time. I was in shock,
and did nothing but hold her cloak in my hands.
"I will return home now." He said weakly, hoarsely, his voice
wet with blood. I sat upon the bed, taking up his hand. He looked to
me with great effort.
"My kingdom goes to Vincent, until my daughters return. He will
rule it until Sarissa is of age, as July and Clarinda have no desire or
fire for it."
"Yes, sire." I whispered. My throat was tight and aflame.
"I will return home now." He repeated. "My Lauren and my Beth
are waiting for me."
He said nothing further, but settled into death as quietly as
a child into sleep. His eyes closed and his hand grew limp, and that
was the end of it.
Lion was the one who told Vincent, for I could not stomach the
duty. I lay myself on my bed and cried for hours, her cloak still tight
in my hands. Lion came eventually, entering softly, and lay himself
with me, holding me in his arms. He spoke nothing, nor did I.
Gareth was buried with his father, and his father's father,
joining his ancestors for twelve generations back. He was lain to rest
just this morning, and I lay Beth's cloak with him, for it is the only
body we will ever have. The four armies took hers away somewhere to
further mutilate, and doubtless scattered it to be consumed by wild
animals, or burned it. They left us nothing of her but the tale of
her demise and her bloodstained raiment.
I am finished, for the very sight of this book begins to bring
me illness. I will lay it here on her desk, and I will lay her pen
atop it, until the next who is to write in it takes it up again. I do
not know who that will be, only that it won't be I. I go to comfort
Vincent, who greatly needs it, and to mourn my princess and my dearest,
sweet child. I go to mourn my king, and one of the kindest men I ever
was blessed with knowing. I, too, go to await the return of his
daughters and son, and to watch the rebuilding of Senoth and the hope
that this war will not revisit us.
But, mostly, I go to mourn.
On to Part 3
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