The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

In the end, they all went to the library. The entire parliament, the druidic council, and half the palace guards. (They weren't technically palace guards anymore, but neither Civil Security Service, nor Protectors of the New Democracy had stuck as job titles, so everyone still called them that, over a few rigorous objections to what was occasionally described as "lip service to an old and tyrannical order.") They debated taking carriages, but it was only a block away and that seemed excessive, so they walked. Pedestrians stared, their military escort glowered, and people scurried to get out of the way of the impromptu procession. Perhaps sending all of the city's leaders on an impromptu library expedition was not the best security decision, but then again, perhaps the impromptu-ness of it all made it that much more safe. It's not like they had regular security outside of monthly parliamentary meetings. Other than Chancellor Evander, of course, and Digorious, for some reason. They were met at in the lobby with some confusion, but Adelaide whispered a few instructions to the anxious aides who greeted her, and the entire situation seamlessly shifted into one of polite efficiency. Karina, like most of the members of parliament, often wondered how Adelaide, who struggled to speak her mind in meetings, could possibly be the head of the National Library, but watching her interact with her staff, it became much more clear. Here she was understood and respected by a small army of equally nervous scholarly outcasts, all speaking their own private language of academia and archaism. They were escorted to a large reading room, which had quietly and unobtrusively been cleared of the usual patrons. They were brought white wine to sip on while they waited. The government broke up into small groups, talking in muted tones as they waited for the great revelation. Daryl sidled over to Karina like she was a bonfire on a cold day. "It was dreadful," he said. "Hearing it again, after all this time." Karina nodded, sipping her wine. Dreadful didn't begin to describe it. "I ran all the way," she confessed. "I thought the world was ending. It felt..." "Like we were back in the war," Daryl offered. She nodded again. Technically, her order abstained from alcohol, except on feast days, but in this case, she thought it was deserved. And her vows, after all, were conditional. She was a member of parliament first, and a nun second. "I hope it's nothing," she said, filling the silence. "I hope it's just some obscure alert for an interesting curiosity. But I can't help but feel this sense of dread. Every since--" And she stopped herself. She didn't want to talk about it, not yet. Perhaps not ever. Daryl, being Daryl, didn't press. They had fought together, that horrible day that lasted for weeks, back to back, slick with blood, hemmed in on both sides by the screams of the dying and the specters of the dead. They were saved from further reminiscing by the arrive of The Tome. It was a small, non-descript, handwritten black journal that an apprentice had found in a box of personal effects belonging to a donor who had passed. The donor in person didn't appear to be connected to the Witch-Kings at all, Adelaide explained, and was likely unaware of what he possessed. The journal was written by Goramand the Third, grandfather of the Last Witch-King, and appeared to be a fairly normal diary of his daily life and feelings. Of course they all tried to peer at it at once. Of course that was impossible. Adelaide shooed them off, explained the proper handling of the text and, once she was confident they would be respectful, allowed it to be passed around the circle for examination. It appeared so...normal, Karina thought, when it was her turn. She read a snippet about the rose garden needing to be pruned, followed by thoughts about that days dinner--a roast duck. It didn't read like anything written by a purely evil being bent on world domination. She passed it on to Daryl, wondering if all villains secretly lived perfectly normal lives when they weren't boiling infants alive or whatever. Finally, it made its way back to Adelaide. She took it, opened it up, and began to read aloud. Her reading voice, unlike her usual speaking voice, was confident and clear. The passage of note went as follows: "I have made the difficult decision to hide the crown. There's change in the air: the sorcerers can feel it. There are too many heirs in the coming years, too much competition for the throne. I can feel violence, I can taste it in the words at dinner and at court. I thought we were at peace. I was content. My mistake was in thinking that all were as content as I am. The crown is too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands. I will hide it in Breckinridge, and I will tell only Beatrice, to retrieve it when peace is once again assured." There was silence at the end of the reading. Chancellor Evander started to speak, then changed his mind. "Whoever Beatrice was," Adelaide offered, "She has no record in the lineage of the Witch-Kings. Perhaps she was a concubine, or a servant. Perhaps she was a daughter, or nobody at all, some metaphor for a magical artifact or a second location or something. One thing we do know is that Garamond was correct about too many heirs. He had six brothers and they all had sons. Every one of them way vying for his throne by the time he finally passed. It is possible...." She faltered, suddenly. "Go on," Chancellor Evander encouraged. Adelaide did, but she whispered. "It is possible that the civil war that followed Garamond's death precipitated the Dark Years." That was treason. It was very nearly blasphemy. But Adelaide was Parliament, and there were no outsiders in this room, and so no one brought it up. Corrin cleared his throat. Corrin, who so rarely spoke. "So the crown is in Breckenridge," he said. "Why don't we just go and get it?" Karina's first urge was to protest. Her second urge was to wonder at her first. Hadn't she just said that she hoped the bell was a false alarm? Here seemed a perfectly good explanation. The crown had been found, the crown could be retrieved and destroyed, and then that cursed bell would never ring again. "I agree," she heard herself saying, without exactly remembering deciding to say anything. "We can put together a retrieval team and finish this ugly business for once and for all." "Thank goodness," Chancellor Evander said, with some relief. "I was worried I was going to have to talk you into it." "Talk me into what?" Karina said, her brown furrowing. Everyone was staring at her, all at once. All of them looked relieved. And hopeful. Suddenly, she had a very bad feeling. Evander finished. "Into leading the expedition, of course."