Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) by Leona Wisoker Page B

doing—more on that advice shortly—but should you speak with Lord Eredion regarding the matter, I am quite sure he would express honest relief.
Pieas Sessin acted the wastrel and fool for some time, shaming his Family despite all attempts to recall him or redirect his overfull energies. Therefore, his life, at the time of his final encounter with Lord Alyea, was of far less value than his death. Pieas understood this and knelt as sacrifice, offering no resistance whatsoever. I can speak to this: I witnessed it myself. Pieas chose to end his life in the service of a ritual which cleared his name and any prior shame to his Family immediately and irreversibly; so now, the only public words you will hear regarding Pieas Sessin will be positive ones, and any who publicly challenge that memory may find themselves, in turn, challenged to a blood-right duel.
Few northerners can grasp this concept. You will probably not fully grasp the treason I commit merely by explaining this on a durable medium which, no doubt, you will save and store in your library. Others than you may one day read it, which doubles and even quadruples my offense, as I have no control over what these potential readers may do upon understanding that the official history of Pieas Sessin, as it is even now being penned by Sessin Family loremasters, to be so highly glossed as to perpetuate a fiction upon the ignorant. This is why speaking directly to Eredion regarding the crimes of Pieas would be, now, highly inappropriate and display only your terrible ignorance.
I am not myself afraid of the wrath of the other Families; but for your own sake, I would advise against aggravating the southern loremasters if you can possibly avoid it. They are a stronger force than you can possibly understand at this point, and you can ill afford their collective ire. So hide these letters well, and let not a hint regarding the source of your new knowledge slip from your lips until you are thoroughly and unmistakably secure not only in your own recollection of the words in these letters, but in your position as leader of the northern kingdom as well.
    From the collection Letters to a Northern King of Merit penned by Lord Cafad Scratha during the reign of King Oruen

Chapter N i ne
     
    Spread out around Scratha Fortress was a landscape of opposites: great rocky ridges covered in scrub flattened out into desolate sandy patches dotted with spindly devil-trees, gigantic desert-sage bushes, and a dozen varieties of cacti. A few areas of thicker growth spread improbable splotches of green against a bleak landscape of brown.
    “I thought it would all be sand,” Idisio said in a muted voice.
    They stood looking down at Scratha lands from the highest point of the fortress, the great—and, as yet, empty—Watchtower. Deiq tried to remember the last time he’d stood this high above the ground and studied such a large sweep of land at one time; the only place he could think of was the Northern Church Tower in Bright Bay.
    But this was not the place to brood over the memories that roused; he turned his attention to Idisio’s comment instead, pleased that at least Idisio’s overly emotional attitude of the night before had disappeared.
    “Hardly,” he said. “Only the deep stretches of the central desert are sand, and even there you’ll find some growth and rock.”
    He fell silent, thinking of what those sands covered, and sighed.
    “And ruins,” Idisio said.
    Deiq jerked a startled glance at the younger ha’ra’ha, wondering if he’d broadcast his thoughts accidentally. “What?”
    “Well, it’s a standard in every desert story, isn’t it?” Idisio seemed to be watching a great red-tailed eagle soar on the rising dawn breeze. “The ancient city, buried under the sands. And then there’s a wanderer who stumbles into it, and finds a trapped spirit, and talks to it . . . and there’s usually some sort of treasure involved. Or a quest. Or something.”
    Deiq stared,