Crusade

6

Azoun sat back in the cushioned chair and allowed himself to relax. It was the first time in two tendays he'd taken such a luxury.

"One day out, many more to go, eh Thom?" the king asked absently.

The bard sat at a steel-legged wooden table, taking notes for the crusade's annals. He finished a sentence or two, then looked up and nodded. "By the time we get to our destination, I should have the section on the crusade's organization completed."

Azoun closed his eyes and rested his head against the cabin wall. "Let's hope the battles don't prove any more difficult than raising the troops has."

Thom Reaverson didn't answer; it was obvious Azoun didn't expect one. Within a few moments, the king had drifted off to sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the Cormyrian carrack as it made its way across the Lake of Dragons. The bard listened for a moment to the creaking of the ship and the sounds of the crew going about its business abovedeck. After a while, he turned back to his work.

Thom dipped his quill in a cup of water, then scratched it across a square of dried ink. After reading over the last sentence he'd completed, the bard continued his account of the twenty-one days between the assassination attempt and the departure of the king's ship for the east.

The scutage-or shield tax-levied by King Azoun against the Cormyrian nobles has provided him with almost ten thousand troops and the money to raise two thousand more. Surprisingly, many of the nobles have decided to accompany the king themselves, so Azoun can count on a large, well armored cavalry to lead his attacks. No doubt these nobles see the importance of the cause.

Thom considered crossing out the last sentence. The bard felt that, as official historian for the crusade, it wasn't his place to editorialize. Pondering the point for a moment, he decided to let the entry stand. There could be little other reason for the nobles to join the crusaders, Thom reasoned, so that claim actually isn't simply my opinion.

The bard inked his pen again and continued.

Added to the troops King Azoun has gathered from the Royal Army and the populace of Suzail itself, Cormyr has given a total of twelve thousand brave archers, knights, and men-at-arms to the cause. These troops have been organized into one army under King Azoun IV of Cormyr, together with the soldiers levied from other parts of Faerun.

Thom stretched and moved his ink-stained hand over his mouth to cover a yawn. After closing his eyes for a moment, the bard shuffled through the other papers spread out on the table. Moving carefully to avoid smudging the still-wet ink on the page in front of him, Thom slid a particular sheet of parchment out from under the rest. He glanced at the list scrawled hastily on the page, then carefully added its contents to the annals.

The twelve thousand Cormyrians will be joined by soldiers from many parts of Faerun in this battle. The following is a rough estimate of the troops committed by those in Faerun allied with King Azoun.

Sembia money for 4,000 men-at-arms

The Dales 4,000 men-at-arms (mostly archers)

Tantras 1,600 men-at-arms

Hillsfar 600 men-at-arms (mostly cavalry)

Ravens Bluff 2,400 men-at-arms

Other Cities 3,400 men-at-arms

The dark-haired bard turned over the sheet that held the original list of troops and added the numbers. He hastily noted that figure in the annals.

These troops will be joined by at least two thousand dwarves under the command of King Torg, from a city in the Earthfast Mountains. Zhentil Keep has also promised one thousand soldiers, who will be meeting the army at the northern end of the Easting Reach. All told, the crusaders should total over thirty thousand when they meet the Tuigan.

The last line of the paragraph barely fit at the bottom of the page, even with Thom's tight, controlled handwriting. He studied the finished sheet. When he found no major blotches of ink or dirty fingerprints on it, Thom gently blew it dry. After a moment or two, he put his initials in small, barely legible letters at the sheet's lower right-hand corner. That done, the bard gently laid a thin blotting paper over the new page and put the two under a large, heavy book.

Thom Reaverson packed up his papers and put his ink and quills in a small wooden box that had Cormyr's emblem carved into its top. The box and fine writing tools it contained had been a gift from King Azoun, one of many rewards given to Thom for accepting the duty to chronicle the crusade. The bard would have gladly faced a dragon for the prestigious title of court historian, and he saw the gold and gifts the king had offered him as a sign of the monarch's generosity. Still, the pen set was special to Thom Reaverson, for it had come to symbolize for him the trust Azoun had in his skills.

With his tools and the pages of the ever-growing chronicle stowed securely in a cabinet, the bard quietly made his way from the king's cabin. He nodded to the guards as he left and told them that Azoun was sleeping and was not to be disturbed. On his way up to the deck of the tri-masted carrack, Thom met Vangerdahast, who was working his way stiffly down the steep wooden steps.

When the wizard spotted Thom, he stopped his descent. "Is the king awake and well?" Vangerdahast asked, his voice weak and a little strained.

Thom's sympathy went out to the old mage immediately. It was clear from the color of Vangerdahast's face that his constitution was not up to the challenge of the gently swaying ship. "He's well," the bard answered, "but not awake."

"I hope he knows that we have a meeting with the generals in an hour or so," the pale wizard said testily.

"I'm sure he left word with a servant, Master Vangerdahast," Thom replied, steadying himself on the stairs as the ship heaved deeply to one side. "The rest will certainly do him good."

Scowling at the motion of the ship, Vangerdahast nodded and said, "He's certainly been tireless these last few ten-days." The ship dipped again, and the wizard cursed softly. "I'm going to lie down myself, Thom. If I'm not at the meeting, send someone to fetch me."

The bard backed down two steps to the landing and allowed Vangerdahast to squeeze by him. Though the Welleran was one of the most luxurious ships on the Inner Sea, the cabins and walkways were still very cramped. Only after the wizard closed the door to his cabin did Thom climb up to the deck, into the red glow of a beautiful spring sunset.

Some of the crew were eating their supper in various spots on the deck. They gulped watery stew and washed it down with warm, dark ale. Around them, other sailors went about their duty, securing sails or climbing into the fore rigging toward lookout positions in the masts. Thom got out of the way as best he could, positioning himself near the port railing.

Far to the north lay the coast of Cormyr-or perhaps it was Sembia by then, for all Thom knew. Dozens of other ships dashed through the water nearby. Most of them were spectacularly rigged carracks from the Cormyrian navy. With their large aft and forecastles, and three masts decked with canvas sails and multicolored flags identifying vessel and port of origin, the carracks were the sturdiest ships in the crusaders' fleet. Others nearby were less impressive merchant ships or mercenaries' vessels. Of course this was only a small part of the massive caravan to the east. Ships had been leaving from Cormyr for days now, heading toward the free city of Telflamm, the gathering point for the armies.

It's no wonder Azoun is exhausted, Thom decided silently. In just the last few months he's brought everything together. And not even that damned attack in the Royal Gardens has been enough to shake his dedication to this venture.

Thom couldn't know that a secret trip to the Black Rat had countered any doubts that Azoun had had about the crusade-even the ones planted by the assassination attempt. In the tenday that followed the surreptitious visit to the tavern and the meeting with the Zhentish envoy, the king had indeed attacked the Tuigan matter with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. Supply lines had been quickly established, ships and troops gathered together, and final messages dispatched to King Torg and the witches in Rashemen. He'd even appointed an impartial seneschal to oversee the trial of the imprisoned trapper.

That dedication had paid off for Azoun, and Thom could see the success manifested in the high-spirited crew around him and the fast-moving troop and supply ships crossing the Lake of Dragons. After watching a dark-hulled cog, the Sarnath, come even with the Welleran, then pass it, the bard let his thoughts wander to the battles that loomed in the future. For the next hour, he wondered what his part would be in the conflict.

Thom's reverie was broken by a large, callused hand on his shoulder. "Time for the meeting, Master Bard," a deep, soothing voice said.

Thom turned to see General Farl Bloodaxe, commander of the army's infantry. The bard knew the soldier well, for he was a frequent guest at Azoun's palace. Farl looked particularly dashing that night as he stood, one hand planted on his hip, the other grasping a line overhead. The final light of the setting sun cast deep shadows on his ebony skin and glinted in his green eyes. The wind tugged at the loose-fitting white shirt the general wore. That, coupled with his silver-buckled boots and tan breeches, made him look more a pirate than an infantry commander. It wasn't an image Farl fostered, Thom knew, for the general was a well-known supporter of law and order.

Thom smiled warmly. "Thank you for reminding me, General. It's not hard to lose track of time completely when watching the sea pass by, especially after it gets dark."

"I traveled by ship quite a lot when I was a younger, you know," the general noted, leaning on the railing. He looked up at the stars, just becoming visible in the night sky, and added, "It's the one thing I miss most about my days as a world traveler."

"Too bad Vangerdahast doesn't share your enthusiasm for ships," the bard said. "He looked quite ill when I saw him earlier."

The general took a long last look at the dark water rushing by the ship. "We'd best be going, Thom. The meeting will be underway by now."

Farl Bloodaxe was right. When he and Thom reached the king's cabin in the aft castle, Azoun was unrolling a map, talking about the reorganization of the troops that would take place once they were gathered in Telflamm. Vangerdahast, still slightly pale, sat by an open window, taking in deep breaths of the cool air. Finally, at either side of the table, the crusade's two other generals stood, listening intently to the Cormyrian monarch.

"After seeing the ships to Telflamm, I'll be going north up the coast to deliver supplies to King Torg and rendezvous with the troops from Zhentil Keep," Azoun said. "The dwarves, being creatures of the earth, won't travel by boat, so-" He stopped speaking when Thom and Farl entered the cabin.

"My apologies, Azoun," Farl said sincerely.

"Yes, milord," Thom added. "It's my fault we're late. I was mulling over a song at the railing when the general reminded me about the meeting."

"Leave it to a bard to forget an important meeting because of a song," one of the generals said gruffly. "Never did see much use in having them along on campaign. They can even be a downright nuisance. Why, once-"

"Please, Lord Harcourt," Azoun said quickly, preventing the cavalry general from launching into one of his endless war stories. "I chose Muse Reaverson to come along as court historian, not as an entertainer. I'd rather you didn't insult him."

Looking a bit shocked at the reproach, Lord Harcourt rubbed his long white mustache and mumbled an apology. He shifted uncomfortably in his hauberk under the king's gaze. Silently Azoun wondered if the cavalry commander ever took the chain mail shirt off, for he was the only armored man in the cabin.

Farl laughed and added, "Or you'll end up looking like a fool in the chronicles. Eternal infamy is a high price to pay for a minor insult."

Though both Thom and Azoun knew the infantry commander meant that last comment as a joke, they both frowned-each for a different reason. The barb brought the family history's disturbing depiction of Salember to Azoun's mind, while Thom simply felt a little insulted that someone could even suggest he would use the position of court historian to settle personal grudges.

The third general cleared his throat noisily. "You were saying, Your Highness, you'll meet with the dwarven lord and the Zhentish. . troops in the Great Dale." The impatience in the red-haired man's voice was barely hidden, but his hatred for the soldiers from Zhentil Keep was not.

"Yes, General Elventree," Azoun replied coldly. "Thank you for reminding us of our business."

Lord Harcourt and Vangerdahast both scowled at Brunthar Elventree. Neither man liked the general who was to lead the archers on the crusade. The red-haired warrior was a dalesman-a military leader from Battledale, more specifically-and he had been given the position in Azoun's army only as a concession to Lord Mourngrym and the other dalelords. The king had thought the appointment of a dalesman to lead the archers in combat a wise move, despite his earlier reservations. Elventree's election pleased the dalelords, and Azoun had hoped it might give the army a new unity.

The appointment seemed to be accomplishing just the opposite. General Elventree could barely conceal his dislike of the other generals, especially Lord Harcourt, whom he felt was elitist. He had also rubbed Vangerdahast the wrong way almost immediately by claiming that no battle was ever won through magic. Elventree didn't conceal his hatred of the Zhentish either, and he proved time and again that his temper could flare as brightly as his striking red hair.

Azoun did what he could to keep the dalesman in line, but he secretly worried that Brunthar Elventree's myopic bigotry was only a prelude to the problems he would face later in uniting the soldiers as an efficient fighting force.

The king broke the tension that had settled over the room by introducing a topic he'd discussed only that morning with Thom. "Before we begin in earnest, gentlemen" he said calmly, "I propose we adopt a single name for the crusading army."

"Yes," Vangerdahast said from his seat near the window. "A single name will help bring us together"

For the first time since they'd met, all three generals agreed. Farl Bloodaxe and Brunthar Elventree nodded, while Lord Harcourt added a hearty, "Here, here!"

"Any suggestions?" the king asked.

After a moment's silence, Lord Harcourt tugged at his long white mustache and said. "I place the title 'Knights of Faerun' under consideration."

"All right, Lord Harcourt," Thom said as he noted the name on a clay tablet. "What about the name you mentioned to me earlier, Your Highness?"

"The Alliance of the West," Azoun offered. "Or just the Alliance."

"I don't have a suggestion myself," Brunthar said. "But I like 'the Alliance' much better than 'the Knights of Faerun.' After all," he added sarcastically, "we aren't all going to ride horses into battle."

Vangerdahast cut in with another possible name before Lord Harcourt could respond to the dalesman's snide comment. "How about 'the Confederacy of Western Powers?"

"Too long," Farl said. He glanced at the map, then concluded, "The Alliance is the best, I think."

Thom Reaverson noted his approval, as did Vangerdahast. Only Lord Harcourt paused before throwing his support to the title. The king thought that he saw the old cavalryman pout slightly before he mumbled, "You have my support, Your Highness."

"Fine, then," Azoun said brightly. "Now we can get to more important business." The king pushed a book onto one corner of the map to stop it from rolling and pointed to Lake Ashane, otherwise known as the Lake of Tears. "This is where the Tuigan started their invasion of Ashanath."

"And by now," Vangerdahast offered, "they are certainly through Ashanath and into Thesk." He walked slowly to the map and traced west from the lake. "The Tuigan probably haven't reached the town of Tammar, which is halfway between the Lake of Tears and the place where we'll land. However, the city will likely fall before we enter the conflict."

Farl rubbed his chin. "What about local resistance?"

"Either wiped out by the Tuigan or caught up in skirmishes with the Red Wizards of Thay," Azoun replied. He shook his head. "We can expect only a small addition to the army once we muster outside Telflamm."

Each man was silent for a moment, caught up in considering the hard times that obviously lay ahead of the Alliance. The wind whistled through the open window in high, haunting fits. The breeze had grown so steady, in fact, that Vangerdahast reluctantly closed the heavy leaded glass. The groans and creaks of the wooden ship and the shouts of the men on deck filled the momentary silence in the cabin.

"Then we'll have to arrange the army as best we can," Brunthar Elventree offered at last. "Take advantage of what we have."

As the generals set about organizing, then reorganizing the army into fighting units, Thom Reaverson scratched notes into soft clay tablets. Parchment and ink were too expensive to waste on note-taking, so the bard always took down ideas and important information on a clay tablet. He would later meticulously transfer those same notes to paper and wipe the tablet clean to be used again.

The discussion lasted for hours. As the subject turned from troop organization to supply lines to potential battlefields, the lantern that hung from a beam at the center of the cabin swayed more and more. The wind soon howled outside the ship, though that sound couldn't drown out the deep, tortured creaking of plank on plank. At first the signs of the incipient storm didn't alarm King Azoun or the others in the great cabin. However, when waves started breaking against the heavy windows at the end of the room, Azoun and Vangerdahast decided to go on deck to see what was happening.

Sailors were rushing everywhere, and as the king reached the deck, he was stung by a hard, cold rain. He motioned for Vangerdahast to stay below, for it was clear that aboveboard on the ship was a dangerous place to be. The royal wizard still felt weak from his earlier sickness, so he didn't even consider arguing. As Vangerdahast shuffled back to the great cabin, Azoun pushed himself toward the railing.

The king soon found that it was difficult to see. Storm clouds had blotted out the moon, and the fierce wind made any other light source almost impossible to maintain. The rain slashed across the sky, almost parallel with the sea, and waves reared up over the railing and crashed down with frightening speed and power. The king shielded his face as best he could and struggled toward the wheel, where the Welleran's captain stationed himself during a storm.

Before Azoun could take three steps away from the railing, a sailor ran into him, knocking him to the deck. The youth didn't stop to apologize or even help the king to his feet. Instead, he dashed to the railing and emptied a large coffer he held in both hands into the water. Azoun gasped; he saw glints of gold and silver as the metal in the box spilled into the sea.

"All the treasure in my cabin," Azoun heard a shrill voice cry. "Into the water with it!" The sailor spun around and dashed toward the voice.

A wave crashed onto the deck and slammed the king into the nearest section of gunwale. Azoun stood as quickly as he could and grabbed a line. As he wiped his wet hair from his eyes, a strong, dark hand clasped onto his shoulder.

"I thought you might want some company up here," Farl Bloodaxe yelled, trying to be heard over the wind, "when Vangerdahast came back without you."

Azoun nodded and looked toward the wheel. "Have you seen Captain Merimna, Farl? I heard his voice a moment ago."

As if in reply, the shrill voice relayed another order from the rain-darkened ship, then Captain Merimna himself stumbled toward Azoun. "Into the rigging and clew up the topsails! In the studding sails!" he cried, his right hand cupped next to his mouth.

"Captain Merimna," Azoun called.

The Welleran's gaunt commander turned his face toward the forecastle and yelled, "Bring out all the gold. Dump it over the edge and give Umberlee her due!"

Farl grabbed the sea captain and spun the man around. A sudden fork of lightning split the sky and illuminated him. The captain was soaked, like everyone else on deck, and his sodden royal blue uniform clung to him heavily. He didn't seem to notice the rain; his eyes, huge with terror, were focused on some vague, distant threat. "Umberlee's due," he mumbled.

"May all the gods of Good protect us," Farl muttered. "They didn't give the Goddess of Oceans enough tribute before we left!" The soldier gripped the captain with both hands now. "That's it, isn't it?"

Merimna nodded, then pulled away from Farl and rushed toward the bow. Another wave washed over the gunwale, and both Azoun and Farl lost sight of the gaunt captain.

"What is it, Farl?"

"The captain didn't offer a sacrifice to Umberlee before we left port. If we don't appease her, we're all dead men." In the darkness, Azoun could barely see his face, but he could tell from Farl's voice that he was frightened.

"From that look in his eyes, I'd guess Merimna's useless to us now," Azoun said. "I know you've had a little experience with ships like this, so take command and keep us afloat." After a second, he added, "I'll find suitable tribute."

Without waiting for a reply from Farl, the king struggled toward the hatch. The ebony-skinned general was already barking orders. Shouts from panicked sailors and the noise of masts bending in the gale obscured what the man said, but Azoun was certain that Farl Bloodaxe could get them through the storm.

The king burst into the great cabin, cold and shivering. "We've offended Umberlee," he shouted. "No one offered her tribute before we left Suzail."

Vangerdahast cursed loudly. Thom Reaverson said a quick, silent prayer to Lord Oghma, the patron god of bards, asking for his protection from the storm. Barring that, Thom prayed that a suitably glorious tale would be written about them. Brunthar Elventree, on the other hand, whispered something to Mielikki, the Lady of the Forest, asking that he be allowed to see the trees in Battledale again.

Lord Harcourt leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers. "We need something of great value right away," he noted stoically. A wave crashed against the stern, shattering a pane of leaded glass. "We lost a flagship this way, back in the Year of the Dragon. Nasty business." He tugged at the corner of his mustache and frowned. "It's our responsibility as flagship to make the proper sacrifice. If she's not happy with the offering, Umberlee will take the flagship instead. Oh, anyone in her way will be sunk, but she'll head straight for us.. "

Azoun pulled open a chest and uncovered a few brilliant, multifaceted gems. Brunthar emptied a dozen gold pieces from a leather bag at his belt and dumped them on the table. Vangerdahast and Thom did the same. Lord Harcourt stood and walked to the center of the room.

He glanced at the gathered wealth and shook his head. "Umberlee wants something we value. Something important to us. We must-"

The sound of splintering wood and tearing canvas stopped the cavalry commander from continuing. Farl Bloodaxe's voice carried over the chaos on deck, and the men in the great cabin could hear his commands over the storm. From what Farl was telling the crew to do, Azoun concluded that one of the masts was breaking.

After running a hand through his wet, tangled hair, Azoun reached up and steadied the swaying lantern. He paused in that position to think. Across the table from the king, the royal magician and the dalesman pelted Lord Harcourt with questions. Some of their queries were drowned out by the wind and water whistling in through the broken window.

Like Azoun, Thom Reaverson stood silently in thought. He braced himself against the cabin wall and listened to the thud of waves crashing against the hull and washing over the deck. A hundred stories of misadventures at sea filled the bard's head, and he briefly reviewed each one for something that might help. Then an idea came to him, not part of a particular story, but related to all of them. He walked to the cabinet, opened it, and took out the finely carved wooden box containing his pen set and the completed pages of the crusade's annals.

As the bard left the cabin, Azoun turned to follow; Lord Harcourt, Vangerdahast, and Brunthar Elventree were too caught up in their argument to notice. The king found Thom Reaverson tossing page after finely lettered page into the sea. Rain slashed the sheets and the wind whipped the water-laden parchment, then dashed each page into the waves.

"Thom, wait!" Azoun cried as the bard tossed the last page over the side and lifted the finely carved box above his head. Another flash of lightning zigzagged a wild path across the sky, and the king saw sailors lining the rails to either side of the bard, tossing coins into the water.

In the instant of absolute blackness that followed the lightning strike, Thom hurled the case. The king reached the bard's side in time to see another fork of lightning split the night and strike a nearby cog. The bolt splintered one of the smaller ship's two square-rigged masts and set its canvas ablaze. It was the first time Azoun had realized that the storm had tossed them so close to other ships in the armada. Flames eagerly licked the cog's second mast, and soon it was burning brightly.

The eerie red glow from the burning cog cut through the night and the storm, illuminating the churning sea. The king glanced out at a few of the parchment pages bobbing on the waves.

"Why?" Azoun asked.

Thom didn't answer, but kept his gaze locked on the spot where he'd guessed his gift to Umberlee had hit the water. "Look," he said in a voice that was barely heard over the storm. He pointed to the waves.

When Azoun saw what Thom was pointing at, he gasped and gripped the railing tightly.

Against the backdrop of the burning cog, a forty-foot-high, forked wave had risen out of the ocean. The wave curled in breakers both to the left and right and moved with unnatural slowness toward the Welleran. "Lady Umberlee herself! The goddess's hand!" Azoun heard a sailor cry from nearby. "We're doomed!"

"Try and turn her about!" Farl Bloodaxe yelled from somewhere on the deck. "This'll swamp us for sure."

But the wave continued to move toward the king's carrack, slowly blotting out Azoun's view of the burning cog. A burst of wind pushed cold rain into the king's eyes, so he shielded his face for a moment. When he looked up again, the forked wave, its breakers never falling, was only fifty yards from the ship. It reared even higher for a moment, then collapsed, slapping the surface with a terrible roar.

Everyone onboard the Welleran who saw the unnatural wave fall braced for the terrible aftershock. The collapse of the forty-foot-high wall of water should have sent huge waves out all around, but it didn't. Instead, the storm died abruptly. The wind lessened, the sea calmed, and soon only a steady rain fell on the king's carrack.

As Azoun, Thom, and the crew looked out at the now-calm waters, they saw hundreds of blue-white points of light sinking below the surface. The light diminished as the glowing coins sank into the sea. Closer to the surface, dozens of sheets of parchment, tangled and torn, shone more brightly. Finally, a small box with Cormyr's symbol prominent on its cover bobbed on the waves, casting a bright light.

Thom Reaverson turned to King Azoun. "I'm sorry, milord. Of the things I have on the ship, I valued them most."

Azoun watched the pages and the box sink beneath the water, their light dimming as Umberlee drew the offerings to the bottom of the sea. "I'll replace the gift, Thom, but I can't give you back all your work."

The bard shook his head. "Our work, Your Highness. The annals told of everything you've done up until now to organize the crusade." He glanced at the points of light falling beneath the water. "Perhaps that's why Umberlee accepted the pages and all as a suitable sacrifice. They tell why we're here."

Farl Bloodaxe clapped Thom on the back as he reached the bard's side. "You may have saved us all," he said, exhaustion apparent in his voice.

The king cast a glance at the mainmast, then looked at Farl. "Will we need to make for shore? From the orders you were giving, I thought the mast was splintering."

The infantry commander shook his head. "We lost some rigging, and the masts were sorely tested by the storm. I've given command over to the first mate for now. He's inspecting the masts and the sheets to make sure we're still seaworthy, but I think the ship will be able to go on."

The rain continued to fall, so Azoun moved the discussion back to the great cabin. Thom Reaverson stayed on deck for a short time, watching the cog burn itself out, then slowly sink. The Welleran picked up some of the survivors, as did the dark-hulled Sembian ship that had passed the king's carrack earlier.

Before he left the railing, the bard took one last look into the sea. The blue-white lights that marked his sacrifice were gone. As he gazed into the inky water, Thom Reaverson wondered if Azoun or anyone else could truly understand what he'd given up. The pages that Umberlee had taken could never be exactly reproduced. They might have been his best work, now lost to the world.

Then again, Thom realized suddenly, perhaps the new annals he would write would be better. He returned to the great cabin to begin his notes anew, hoping that the goddess's hand had granted him an unintended favor.