In dark times the superstitions return, and people see omens in the stars, in the wind, in the

morning brew.

In mere days the Aisorbmian armies would clash with the well-prepared thousands under the

Kingdom banner. Two cultures trained almost entirely on war stories would soon discover what

stories often hide. That death is terribly final. That the stupid and unlucky die very quickly.

And that some mistakes can't be corrected the next time the story is told.

But even in the darkest moments, there are things to make you smile. If you look hard

enough...

The following account is taken from contemporary records.

Episode Sixteen – Rituals of Preparation

Remolor ir Ati, once named an exile by the Aisorbmii, now named a guest for his recent

defection from the Kingdom, stood at the edge of the circle as the ceremony began.

Poloyesirena, the candidate, stood in the centre of the circle, the assembled masses sitting

cross-legged around him. Three grey-robed figures wearing hoods over their faces walked

silently from the perimeter towards him, surrounding him on three sides.

The first presented him with a tin. The second offered a tin-opener. The candidate took the

can-opener and reverently placed it to the tin. The silence was such that the puncturing noise

was heard by all. The drawing rattle of metal on metal sounded past the circle, to the

satisfaction of the witnesses. Finally the lid was severed and removed, and the tin-opener

returned to the profferer. The third of the hooded figures presented the candidate with an

elegantly shaped silver spoon.

The candidate accepted this and inserted it into the tin, then levered a dollop of cold rice

pudding from it and moved it to his mouth. More than a hundred eyes watched him savour the

mouthful before swallowing. The candidate reinserted the spoon into the tin, and repeated the

procedure, gradually taking less time per spoonful until the tin was emptied.

The spoon was handed back to the third hooded figure. The tin-holder turned, and the other

two did likewise. In unison they walked silently towards the perimeter and beyond. The

candidate raised his right hand. 'It is with regret that I accept the position of Prime Minister

of Aisorbma. My predecessor was a fine man, and will be dearly missed. I cannot replace him. I

can only succeed him. It is my unhappy task, therefore, to-'

The candidate keeled over. Most of the witnesses leaned back in shock. One of the nearest

and bravest moved to him and tested for a pulse, then for a sign of breathing. But the

candidate was dead.

One of the hooded figures had already mounted a fast horse, and had galloped away.

Minister Setovarinesa cursed. A junior Minister, Salomeritova, piped up with, 'Does that

mean we 'ave to do all this all over again?' and was met with stern looks.

There was a hasty meeting of the Ministry that afternoon in the Town Hall, to choose the

next Prime Minister. Galomanisula's Chosen had been Tekowariaura, killed an age ago;

Poloyesirena had been his replacement Chosen. It was a rare circumstance, and a bad omen, that

the Sword in the Stone should be without a Chosen Wielder, and some said the following night

would be a very dark time.

Sunder, more used to the Aisorbmii talking honestly rather than figuratively, laughed out of

place and returned to the room he and Remolor shared. Remolor waited until they selected the

eldest Minister, Terovaniceti, to be the Prime Minister. Terovaniceti was seventy, and had

been an old veteran even when the Long Fight ended. Tonight he would sit vigil over the

flame.

Dusk drew on. There were still families travelling to see the new Prime Minister, and young

men and women raised on stories of how the war should have ended by proud and regretful

fathers gathered to become Marshals or Rangers in the armies. All were recruited: the

Aisorbmii needed every soldier they could find.

Paladin Genokefirica led the recruits on an hour run over the hills, and surprisingly most

kept pace with the Jamtin Captain. Only those armed with the weapons of their fathers would

yet carry weapons, however; the armourers were still forging the thousands of swords

desperately needed by the forces. The flames of the forges, now operating all day every day,

lit up the roads at night, serving a double purpose as a beacon to all wanderers.

Terovaniceti sat vigil over the flame, praying for his armour. Remolor watched him begin,

and watched various groups of others enter the Hall to observe also. Tonight would be a

sleepless night for many, Remolor knew. Even the mages patrolling the streets was doing very

little for the morale of the clans. Well, that wasn't too surprising. Aisorbmii magic was subtler

than Kingdom magic, less brutal, less visibly devastating. It also tended to require a harmony of

several mages to be used properly. Its effectiveness would therefore depend far more on the

strategies of the Aisorbmian armies, and less on the whims of individuals.

He coughed, hastily catching his mouth with his hand to try and lessen the outburst, and

walked from the Hall, leaving Terovaniceti to his vigil. He returned to his room, and slowly,

shaking, he sat on his bed and leaned onto his side. He rolled onto his back and tried to pull the

blanket over himself. Tonight, for the first time since his arrival, he succeeded.

He didn't remember falling asleep, nor did he remember his dreams. When he woke it was

sudden, and he saw a bright light. Fire!, he thought.

'Calm yerself, Remolor,' said the soothing voice of Medofesipanu. The Doctor was sat on a

stool beside the bed, a lantern at the foot. Sunder was sat up on his own bed, watching

apprehensively. Remolor's shirt had been unbuttoned and the Doctor had his hand over

Remolor's heart.

'Father, calm thyself down. I hast summoned the physician most hastily for I wast woken

several times since the beginnings of my slumber by thine coughing in the night. It seemeth me

you still suffer from the night of treachery.'

'Cursed be both their souls!' Remolor spluttered.

'Yer boy was right to call me, Remolor. Yer not well. I think, among other things, that yer

long walk to Aisorbma exhausted yer, and yer've not had a chance to recover from it. Not,'

Medofesipanu added, 'that I'm not glad yer made it. Last hope of peace, an' all that.'

'Maybe, maybe not, Doctor. I doubt the parchment would have been so generous to the

Aisorbmii. But it was worth it, yer right.' Remolor saw Sunder flinch at the slight Aisorbmian

accent in the Neutral tongue, and coughed again. 'How long do I have, Doctor?'

'Thou shalt not die!' exclaimed Sunder.

Medofesipanu spoke up. 'I don't want to disappoint yer, son, I really don't. Believe me, I

know how hard it is to lose someone close. I lost my daughter only a few weeks ago...' The

Doctor's voice faded very suddenly.

'What's wrong, Medo... Medofe...'

'Call me Med, Remolor. I think you've earned a friend in your homeland, and I'd be proud to

be that friend.'

'Med?' asked Remolor.

'You have an infection. I think it's the same one my daughter caught. Wouldn't affect most

men, but in your state... I don't know how long you have left. Days, maybe hours. Maybe

less.'

Remolor closed his eyes for a moment. 'I see.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be, friend Med. I lived my... my life. I married a good woman. I raised a good son.

I'm happy.'

'No!' exclaimed Sunder, throwing himself to his father's side.

Remolor spoke again to the Doctor. 'Med... let me speak to my son. It's imp... im...'

'Important. Certainly,' said Med. He left the room, and Remolor didn't see him again.

Remolor spoke in low tones, deliberately so. 'Sunder... Sun. Your arm.' Sunder heard, and

held his father's hands with his. 'Your right arm,' said Remolor. Sunder, not understanding, held

his right arm out.

'Reveal the blade, Yeonan,' said Remolor. Sunder twisted, as though something had clutched

at his arm and was holding it still, but could not move. Nor should he be able to, Remolor

thought. Someone was holding it still. This was a precise operation.

Sunder opened his mouth to shout, but could not make a sound. His elbow was reddening

rapidly, and dark grey smoke was billowing around it. It cleared quickly, and the red faded,

but Sunder did not try to look until his arm was free.

There was a scar above the elbow. It was roughly sword-shaped.

'Find yer name, Sunder pi Yeonan,' said Remolor, his old dialect surfacing again. 'Follow yer

destiny. It's imp... im...'

'Important,' finished Sunder, his face red in the lantern-light. Twenty years of scar-pain

hidden by the secret spell was being felt in twenty seconds. It would probably hurt for a long

while, Remolor thought sadly. Like his chest was hurting. 'Why, Father?'

'Find yer name, son,' said Remolor, who knew more than he could say, but knoew more than

anything his time was rapidly fading. It would not be hours, he thought. 'Find yer sword.'

His chest ached, and he coughed. He stared at the roof for a moment, sad that he couldn't

see the stars tonight. Even more sad he couldn't say any more, and saddest still he wouldn't be

there when his son did meet his destiny.

Memory still bright stayed in his mind. He remembered Sunder's birth, and the day the

witch had named him 'pi Yeonan', which meant 'the prophesied of Yeonan'. He remembered

reading about Yeonan, and the days when the dead would be seen again. He remembered the

chill he felt in his bones when at the age of two young Sunder received the scars, criss-crossed,

the wild cat scratch just days before the knife falling from the table.

The witch had hidden the scar for him, and taught him how to reveal it. And she'd warned

him that such signs came in threes.

He heard the voice of Med, his friend, trying to help him, and his despair. And Sunder's

despair. My boy, thought Remolor.

My boy will pull a sword from a stone.

Very deep... the first real sign of destiny in our tale.

But ours is not to argue the validity of these prophecies. Our research merely leads us to

understanding the actions of those who do believe them, and understanding how those actions

affect us today.

Much of the mystery of the Great War still remains to be revealed, but rest assured that

all questions will be answered in time...

The Next to the Custard
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