from the papers of Prince Naturaelusus
hard rations for 40,000
ballista and crews
50 smiths
500 wagons
1 quart blood
1 eye
1 raven
13 xha
scribble:
combine dry ingredients and mix with enemy in field
mash wet ingredients together into pulpy stew
drink stew without swearing
sing with xha until fog of war is light and crisp
enjoy!
131th day of regency
To His Highness Prince Martin
(approximately a week and a half after the reply is received:
Day 118)
(royal courier to Amber spy route used again
perhaps he is getting complacent?)
Why didn't my father finish the job?
Don't worry,
OLD FRIEND,
the knife in question
star-traced runes
and old blood
has gone missing.
Do old wounds ache
or burn?
The blood of thousands
stains my hands.
Don't let yours be but another drop in the sea.
--Luke
Day 120
discovered hidden in a boot pouch of a dead grayspur
delivered to Shadow Merinae by a friend of a friend of Tynan
truth of origin unknown
Before, when my brother was one of the Chosen Best, who on their honor guarded the Kingspur through sleepless nights, I was only a shadow of my finer brother. I saw my brother's corpse returned to family. I saw his head separated from his fine body. I saw the cut and knew it for a hand I could find.
Later, they said it was the Croc took them all.
I could not believe then, that so small a Crocodile could behead a man bigger than I. Now there is no question. The Kingspur fell to the Croc. All the Chosen Best fell to the Croc. I was told and did not believe.
Even so, I was one who got lessons from the Croc. I was good. The Croc made me better. Perhaps even better than my brother. We trained every day with the Croc. I slept as little as possible, and used the extract to keep me going. My brain hurt with the learning and training.
But the Croc slept less than I. He talked to a wind called Marcus. He had sex with a wind called Keph. He is mad. He is a killer of a fine kind.
He killed my king and my brother. I will be there when he dies.
I love to lay in the grass after all have turned in and listen to the Croc weep before he sleeps. I only wish I knew the why. In front of us he laughs. He trains more of us every day. I want to know the secret of his weeping before I kill him.
Sometimes, he falls in the training. Every one of us leans towards him then, to see if he will die by a spur blade taking him in the moment of his error. It doesn't happen. I do not know what protects him. Every attempt to kill him fails.
I will be there when he dies.
I have sworn.