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By Root 624 0

of great hunger, honored sir. I never knew of such habits among the Tuigan. Nonetheless, it is true that among the Tuigan vegetables were unknown and so I was compelled to violate the teachings of Furo and the dictates of the Red Mountain. However,” I add quickly while accepting a dish of boiled root vegetables, “your table is civilized, so that I need not starve while retaining my vows.” The duke seems placated by my answer. “I can't imagine living among such savages,” remarks the ancient next to me, who I guess to be a priest from the temple of Tymora Duke Piniago nods in agreement as he tears a wing from a roast goose. “It is held by some sages of my homeland that the gods choose every man's life at birth. It is our duty to discover what life is intended for us. I do not think many of Yamun's warriors could imagine sitting here either.” “But we westerners beat those horse thieves, didn't we?” It is Duke Piniago who speaks to the murmured approval of his guests I know, because Foxe told me, that Duke Piniago took little part in the war, profiteering on the supplies the crusading army needed. These pampered and groomed peers are nothing like the hard-minded and stoic warriors who met the Tuigan horde. I remember the

plain of Thesk where King Azoun met my lord Yamun and slew him, although I think my memories are quite different from the men whose glory the duke seeks to inflate. I phrase my reply carefully. “Indeed. As the great sage Chih said, Truly a kingdom's victory is shared by all her people from the noble to the peasant.'” “Precisely-every man in Procampur feels proud,” the duke blithely agrees, raising his glass for a toast. “It is sad the people think you only fought a tribe of bandits, Your Lordship. Would it not be wise to print a history of the Tuigan, so that others would know their true might?” “A history such as yours, priest?” “I have expanded the notes I made for King Azoun into a small volume. I hesitate to offer it.” Duke Piniago leans over his plate. “You're being coy with me, priest. What'll it cost?” he demands in a fierce whisper so only those near us hear. There is no point trying to be polite with this blunt-headed man. 'Ten thousand golden lions, Your Lordship.“ “Ten thousand! For one book?” The duke hurls a gnawed bone to his dogs. His voice is no longer quiet. “That is the necessary cost to prepare the impressions for the printer-so I understand, Your Lordship. Additional books would be five hundred lions.” It seems that everyone at our end of the table has fallen silent, waiting for the duke's response. “Additional copies?” the duke queries. He turns to the old priest beside me. “Since when do scribes deal in multiple copies at cut-rate prices, Hierarch?” “Never, Your Lordship.” I wet my dry throat on some fruit nectar brought for me. “I was going to have the books made by a printing machine, not a copyist, honorable sir.” The hierarch snorts in disgust. “Printing machines- hah! Only good for cheap broadbills. Can't even make a proper prayerbook with one-won't print the magic, you see.” “The book is not magical,” I protest. “It doesn't matter. A scribe can do the job just as well,” the duke interjects. “What do I need with multiple books? I only need one for my library.” I am stunned, unable to think of any reasoned reply. “Surely others might want to read my book-” “Of course they will, you silly man,” the duke's gaudy consort sneers, batting her eyes as she does so. “Do you think Jozul would spend all that money so everyone might own a copy? He keeps the only book in his library so anybody who wants to read it has to ask his permission.” I look to the duke, hoping he will correct her, but his face is set in an smug smile. She has described it all too well. I am at complete loss for words. All these years I have worked as a historian, carefully checking the letters I managed to save from Yamun's downfall, interviewing the occasional Tuigan prisoner who passed through Procampur on a slave galley, even poring over the maps of caravan masters who have traveled to

the East. All this work and the