Randi Gregory walked proudly into the throne room. He had been preparing for this since he was a small boy. It was a choice, though one he made easily, for he had loved his grandfather and his stories. There was a reluctance in the tales, though there was none in Randi. Grandfather Kelton always found joy in the difference. Once, he even said it out loud. "I see my spark in you, but none of the hesitation. Be it good or bad; I envy your drive."

The man at the entrance announced him as a Prince of Aragonia. A fact, to be sure, but a useless title. Too many people he loved would have to perish before he could place any claim to the throne. Its only real purpose was to open doors, like the one he just walked through.

"Your Majesty," Randi said, stopping before the gray-haired ruler of Mascorate. Randi bowed, limiting the depth, for he was kin to the greatest of Kings.

King Yelvin Tarvakian smiled and did something Randi did not expect. He rose from his chair and stepped down from the dais to Randi's level. There was a slight limp in his movements, likely due to age and not incident.

"Word of your Grandmother's death has reached our shores," Yelvin said, his eyes assuming a sadness that was not feigned as Randi would have expected. "A great woman and an even greater queen. The world is less for it."

"It was a peaceful passing, your Majesty," Randi said with a nod of thanks. "The last two years were...sad in a way. She missed her King." He fought back the strain in his eyes that always came out when he spoke of it. "I like to think they are together again."

"What a wonderful thought," Yelvin said. He looked up and flicked his hand to shoo away the few people in the room. "Let us sit and ignore titles," he said, indicating a table surrounded by large-backed chairs. It looked like it was meant to host a counsel. "For a moment at least, I am merely Yelvin, a boy who plays at King." He smiled. "Your grandfather described himself to me that way once. I did not know the meaning at the time, yet I grew to understand its truth." Randi chuckled, for he had heard it as well.

They sat on the side of the table, the King avoiding the prominence of claiming the head. A show at being equals that Randi appreciated. He knew it was not done for him. It was done for the memory of his grandparents.

"I met you once before," the King began. "You were still on the teat." He smiled. "Your mother, Wilnnia, if memory serves." Randi affirmed with a node. "Well, she seemed perturbed to parade you about. But your grandmother was so proud, I do not think your mother had the will to decline. Even then, your hair was as bright red as your grandfather's."

"I was not told of that meeting," Randi admitted. "Mother has always had a difficult relationship with the trappings of the crown. All the duty and little benefit - she says. Alas, she loves my father deeply, fourth-born or not."

"There are many stories I can share and will do so over a meal. You can meet my Queen and take the measure of my daughter who will one day bear the weight of the crown," Yelvin said. "But I suspect you have a purpose here, one not for the ears of everyone."

"Aye," Randi said. The King's guess surprised Randi. "How did you know?"

"Your grandfather hinted at something long ago. A task for my house, one he was hesitant to brooch at the time. I think the idea was still forming, so I let it bake. It was his way, and it seemed to serve the world well."

"It is a strange request," Randi said, pulling a rolled parchment from inside his tunic. "I was to wait for their passing before I delivered it. My grandfather said that if I could not survive their passing, then it was better forgotten. A thing of chance, as is the task in the message." He handed it to the King.

Yelvin unrolled it and read. Randi waited for some sign of confusion, or perhaps humor. He saw none, even after the King went over it again.

"How much of this do you believe?" Yelvin asked.

"All of it," Randi said. There was no doubt of it in his mind. None of it made rational sense. "I would be surprised if you did not think it a fool's errand."

Yelvin rolled up the parchment. "There was a guard in house Tarvakain, one of my father's and grandfather's favorites. He held a place above all others and was well known to your grandfather. Filgot was his name, and he had the most amazing stories. I thought them just that, tales to enthrall a young boy. When it became apparent that the crown would fall upon my head, my mother called me to her bedside and told me to heed the stories, for they were true. She said that what did happen could happen again." He sighed and pulled the parchment to his chest. "Know that your duty in this is done, and your grandfather would be proud. It is now my duty to see that my house remembers and takes this task to heart."

"I thank you," Randi said as the weight of it lifted from his shoulders.

"I can only promise to try," Yelvin warned.

Randi smiled. "As my grandfather always said, it is all we should ever promise." The King laughed.

Farni sat by the fire. Her companion, a young man who foolishly thought she held the wisdom of the world, brought her a blanket. She smiled her thanks as he placed it over her shoulders. A chill had gone through her old bones. The sun was rising, and she knew it was warm to all those whose blood was strong, unlike hers. Weakness did not come easy to her, but age had thrust it into her wrinkled skin. Her wit was still there, or at least she thought so. Perhaps others saw frailty growing in her words, and they were too kind to mention it.

"Dearest Elder," Lan'shu called. Farni looked up to acknowledge the girl. "An outsider comes to meet with the Elders."

Was it that time already, Farni thought. These leaders always wanted this or that and demanded meetings. A waste, since no stories were told and only arguments over rules long set in stone were presented. The number of rainy seasons since the last demands escaped her. The rains seemed to be coming quicker each time.

"Wait them on the Queensway," Farni said. "A day or three, that will soften their wants." The agreement on the road had sliced the Waitland in two pieces. The road had become busy with unwanted interactions, at least by those of the tribe who decided to stay. Many had drifted to the envisioned comfort of the outsiders and shrunk the tribe. The wait was over.

"He speaks our words," Lan'shu said. "Twists most of them about some, but the meaning is clear. He has asked if you breathe, though he is no older than I."

"By name?"

"Yes, dearest one," Lan'shu said. "He claims to want to return something to the tribe. To you, if he could. And...well..."

"What?"

"He is different from most outsiders," Lan'shu said. "His questions are rational as if he knows much of us and desires to know more. Yet none who have greeted him have seen him before."

"Does he give a name?" Farni asked. She added a smile and hopefully a twinkle to her wrinkled face. Lan'shu was intrigued by the visitor, so now Farni was as well. The name would have been a better start.

"Randi Gregory, I think that is how he said it." Lan'shu struggled with the name. "Wild hair," she added with a smile, "bright as fire." The name was unknown, but fond memories of Kelton returned with Lan'shu's description. This Randi's knowledge of the tribe was what decided Farni.

"Bring him," Farni said, her insides churning with excitement. "I know what he returns." Lan'shu turned to do as bidden. "Lan'shu, know that I believe he is of the tribe," Farni called out as Lan'shu ran.

The sun was waning when the man named Randi approached with Lan'shu at his side. Farni could see some of Kelton in his features, though not as tall, and his eyes showed more confidence than Kelton's first days in the tribe.

"I see him in you," Farni said, ignoring the protocols most outsiders demand.

Randi smiled as if he deemed it a great compliment. "I have been birthed with his head of fire, dearest elder. I shall struggle to be worthy of it."

Farni could not be more pleased with the man. "He has left this world then?" It was the only logical reason Randi was here, but only an addled mind would not verify.

"Yes," Randi replied. "Two rains ago. A gentle passage, one worthy of his deeds for the tribe."

"You speak our words well," Farni said. Some of the pronunciations were askew, but the meaning clear. She gestured for the two to sit. They did. "I have many stories of Kelton, some he would never tell you himself and chide me for doing so. I am inclined to share them so that you can know him better. I still remember when he first came to the tribe and how he fumbled about like a young one, far unlike the man you know." She smiled at the memories.

"I would like to hear them all," Randi said. "And I have a story for the tribe as well." He reached behind him into his pack and retrieved a leather-wrapped package.

"Spider's-bite," Farni said, holding out her hands.

"Yes," Randi said, unsurprised at Farni's guess. He placed the package into her hands.

"It is best if we wait for a gathering before you tell the tale," Farni said. She hugged the swords to her chest - Kelton's death now real. Hers could not be far behind. "I will find my own passage soon, so others should hear."

"The next is a moon away," Lan'shu said. "Are you able to stay?" Farni hid her smile, for she heard hope in the query.

"If it is allowed, I wish to stay far longer and learn the tribe's ways," Randi replied. "I have thought of little else since Kelton had first spoken of this place."

"He is of the tribe, is he not?" Lan'shu asked Farni. It would seem Randi will have little difficulty in acquiring a hut. More fond memories of Kelton.

"He is," Farni replied. "And I place you as his teacher in the ways of the tribe." Joy was easy to pass out. Randi smiled, though Farni doubted he had figured out all of Lan'shu's motives. Differences excited the girl, as they once did to Farni. Perhaps he would be more appreciative of the attention than Kelton was. It would be wonderful to add to the tribe's numbers.

"I also have some words from my...," Randi struggled at finding a word, then shrugged away the attempt. "From Juno."

"She still breathes?" Farni asked. Randi shook his head. Farni found it strange that the idea of her passing hurt. She had always thought of Juno as an opponent, the one she had lost to.

"She owed you her happiness and that of her people," Randi said. "You taught much about strength, and for that, she was forever grateful."

"She had her own strength," Farni admitted. She smiled at Lan'shu. "It was a different strength, one not born of the twin-tails. Some of it has filled me as well." There was a special place in her heart for those who she had birthed and those birthed from them. Lan'shu was one, as Randi was of Juno and Kelton. It was not the tribe's way and had grown from swimming in Juno's thoughts. It did bring its own pleasure, a warm sense of satisfaction.

"She also wished me to warn you of the Treewalker's concern," Randi said. Farni's eyebrows rose, for the use of the title held importance. "The Treewalker believed that while the All-Father sleeps, the evil may grow again. He feared it was not all cut out."

Farni nodded. "The tribe no longer waits, but it can remember. That is the purpose of our stories. If the All-Father calls again, the tribe will answer."

Corleon walked down the road, the shaft of his repaired hoe riding upon his shoulder. He felt the driver of the wagon long before it neared. Practice told him to wait before turning as one without the Knowing would do.

The wagon was of a sturdy make, iron reinforced wheels and pulled by two horses. Another horse was trailing behind, tethered by a rope and resting from pulling weight. It was a long-hauler, a wagoneer who traveled the greater distances across the land.

"Good day," the man called from the buckboard as he neared Corleon. The man was wearing clothing far too warm for the day. Perhaps he had started early, before the sun had burnt off the night chill. His eyes were cheerful and displayed a full beard that rarely saw a blade.

"Good day," Corleon returned, moving to the side of the road to not hinder the beast's travel.

The man nodded at the buckboard. "I be moving toward Harrington Crossing. You are welcome to ride if it suits your direction."

"It would be most welcome," Corleon said.

The man halted the wagon and held out his hand. "They call me Pelfry, sir."

Corleon grasped the hand and pulled himself aboard. "Markin, sir," Corleon lied, though it was the current name he was using. He placed his hoe in the back sidled between many large crates. "My farm is only a short way ahead, but my feet think you were sent by the Goddess."

Pelfry laughed. It was a jovial sound that far exceeded the jest. The man enjoyed companionship, be it temporary or not. The horses were encouraged to recommence with a few practiced chirps.

"My hoe found a rock not two days ago," Corleon said. This time it was not a lie. "Ruined its edge and bent the corner. Thought I would need a new one, but the smithy pounded it back." It was useless information to drive a conversation. "Thought I would rest my roan and walk it since the day promised sun." He chuckled. "Easier going than returning."

"It is always that way with plans," Pelfry said. "I was to be home three days ago, and yet here I be, late again. Rain held me up in Summerheld. That and the tavern was warm and the ale tasty." He smiled. "My wife will only hear of my worries about the cargo."

Corleon laughed. "We must take joy where we can find it. Your wife will be pleased enough, for a load such as this must demand good coin." The wagon was full, and the weight of the crates allowed for little bounce when a rut was encountered.

"Books!" Pelfry said. "I saw my first not twenty winters ago, and now I haul them by the wagon load."

"Books?" Corleon asked. There were enough crates for a library. He wondered who in Harrington Crossing had coin enough to spare for such a thing. "I have seen only a few." Another lie, unless he only considered the time since Magna'est fell. "Never in the count you carry. It is a wonder."

"Up north, in Shunneer City, there are as many as there are trees," Pelfry said. He enjoyed being a font of information. Corleon found himself more than interested. It must have taken a legion of scribes to produce even this wagon load. "I visited a cousin, a mucker by trade, and he had seven on his shelf." Pelfry chuckled. "Proud of them, he was. More proud that his boy knew the symbols."

Corleon had been hiding in the south too long. The small hamlets he visited out of necessity were as out of touch as he was. Perhaps he should have risked a tavern or two. Out of caution, he had not exposed himself to large populations or travelers. It seemed a wise plan at the time. The red-haired one and his Queen were finally dead, so it may be time to alter the plan. "There must be sore arms beyond count to scribe so many," he said, looking back at the crates.

Pelfry laughed. When Corleon looked insulted, Pelfry softened his glee with compassion. "A man and his wife created these in three days," he said, feeding off Corleon's confusion like it was a meal. "It is a tool. They call it a presser." He placed the reins under his knees, a practiced maneuver to free his hands. He opened a palm flat. "They place carved symbols on a table and use a roller to paint ink upon them." Pelfry demonstrated poorly, painting his table-hand with the other. "Then they layer it with paper and press a board atop." This display was a little more clear. "It takes only a moment and makes many sheets at once."

"A wonder," Corleon said and meant it. He was not sure it was a good thing. It was hard enough to manage the gentry, now the population as a whole could know as much. He expected too much shared knowledge would cause chaos, for it is rare to find agreement among a few, much less the many. Or perhaps it did not. "May I see one?"

Pelfry nodded toward the crates. "They are not sealed," he said as he re-grasped the reins. "They say it was the great king who created the presser." He shrugged. "More tales from the great war, I suppose."

"You do not believe the tales?" Corleon asked as he opened a crate and retrieved one of the books. It was leather-bound, though not sewn as he had known. A hard substance, not unlike dried sap, held the sheets together in the spine.

"Some, but it is all too fantastic, do you not think?" Pelfry replied.

"Aye," Corleon lied. It was not the first time he had heard such sentiment. Time was battling with the truth, and it was winning - a good sign. He opened the book and struggled not to spend too much time on each page. Better if Pelfry believed he could not read. "You understand this?" he asked.

"Some," Pelfry said. "I know my sums well enough, and some of the other symbols. It is my wife who does most of the deciphering. She teaches our little ones now and earns coin to teach others." He shrugged. "Easier than moving loads, I suppose." Corleon sensed some envy in Pelfry's tone - a man attempting not to be less next to his bride.

Corleon pursed his lips. The symbols in the book were not the artistic scribings he was acquainted with. They were fat and perfectly uniform - almost ugly but highly functional. What struck him the most was the simplicity of the words and numbers. Unlike anything he had read before, it was structured for learning. Facts and techniques grew more difficult as the pages were turned - an amazing idea, one that was only feasible with this presser thing. Scribing took too much time, which would not be wasted on the non-learned.

"Are all these books the same?" Corleon asked. He believed he already knew the answer.

"Most," Pelfry replied. "There are three others, gifts for my wife." He smiled. "It makes the bed warmer when I bring new ones."

"A woman with a mind," Corleon said, nodding his head. "Smart enough to latch onto a good, hard-working man to see her way through life. You have chosen well." Compliments smooth many things.

"Aye," Pelfry agreed, his back straighter.

"Will you sell me this one?" Corleon asked, holding up the book. He wanted to study it, see if he could discern the secrets of its construction.

"It is not mine to do so," Pelfry said.

"It is of great interest to me. A gold, then," Corleon said. "Surely a deal could be struck when you reach your end, one that would please the owner of this load."

"It is far more than its worth," Pelfry said. It was as expected - the presser had done more than produce quantity; it had greatly lowered the cost.

"Would it cost me less if I were forced to travel to acquire one?" Corleon said. "I can not leave my fields for another moon, not if I wish crops this winter. And you were kind enough to offer a ride, so I cannot leave you with the burden of displeasing the owner of the load. I think it fair."

"A gold?" Pelfry verified. Perhaps Corleon had pushed it too hard. There were few farmers with gold to spare or any at all. It was hard to play poor after absconding with a large portion of the temple's wealth. He nodded in response and decided to put the book back if the offer were to be declined.