4.

At the time of the birth of his third child, His Royal Highness Aftaro Prota Agar was unusually introspective. He had lived a life that was, by-and-large, plotted out for him from a time considerably before his conception. As this amounted to being the king of a small but prosperous nation, it was a situation he had long been very satisfied with.

The Gadis had determined that he be the son of a king, a king, and the father of a king. Who was he to argue?

There were only a few moments in his life that had a disagreeably unforeseen quality, at least for him. One of these was proceeding swiftly toward him as he waited to hear the news of Inri's birth.

The local Seersight, Madam Meritty, had been waiting comfortably in the lesser kitchen since shortly after the queen's labor began in earnest. Meritty could be depended on to only predict good, albeit not overly demanding, things for a royal child. And to be fair she had called them all right so far. She was surprised by the arrival of a greater seer from Berat, to whom she quickly deferred.

For the King, the news of the arrival of GreatSeer Spooda, and the news of the birth of the child arrived simultaneously. Which gave him the disagreeable impression that the seer from Berat was something of a showoff.

Custom dictated that the King waited alone to hear the ides, and then see the child before presenting it to a few of the more senior nobles summoned to witness the event.

Spooda strode in carrying a large book with a faded and scratched green-grey cover, bound at the corners with copper. He dropped this book on a side table with a slightly disrespectful thump. He dropped some small item on top. It was of note that he was wearing substantial gloves like a falconer might use.

The GreatSeer also wore a curtailed traveling robe that fell only to his knees where the hem was embroidered with aggressive black and silver geometric shapes over the butter-yellow rough-cloth. His tall spare frame contrasting with the rotund king who was somewhat swamped by his heavy formal robes of red and indigo.

"Your Royal Highness." Spooda launched into speech without waiting for leave. "Subject to the Seers' Treaty and in the interests of all nations I have been obliged to attend the birth of your child in order to notify you that he is the latest in line for a long and secret tradition." He said the words without animation and in obvious haste.

"He?" Surprised interrupted the king's affront at being treated so perfunctorily. Even a minor king is, after all, still a king.

"You have a son. Congratulations, I suppose. When he is twenty years of age give to him this book and this amulet. Keep their very existence a secret until that time, and counsel to keep them secret thereafter." The seer adjusted his cowled collar and seemed about to leave.

[GreatSeer Spooda did not like the Cursed Books. They emanated a malevolent sentience that did not match their reputed role as the future saviors of humanity. A far future, the seers generally agreed. He did not like to see the books, he refused to touch them, and he resented the duty of foisting them upon successive generations of benighted children. Fortunately, as soon as he left the rustic principality of Tellus he would not have to even think about this particular book for at least twenty years. But probably, based on the Seer's tower records, he would be back to fetch the book within ten years after that. The life expectancy of necromancers was predictably short.]

"Honored Seer…" the King forestalled. He saw the old man stiffen at not being called 'GreatSeer'. "But what is this book and this doo-dad," he pressed. "Why are you giving it to my… son?"

Spooda sighed. "There are three such books. When the owner of this specific book dies, the next born royal child is bestowed with the book. A very great and very ancient prophecy says there will come a day when a tide of evil with threaten the very existence of all the contiguous lands of Tantola. Only the dark power provide by these books will be able to save us." The seer sighed as if the entire business both bored and vexed him. Indeed, his face struggled to project almost every negative emotion in its mild-to-moderate form. "So, the books were made to ensure there is always a person available versed in the powerful arts described within—without allowing these… things to be widely available." He continued to back towards the door, casting a nervous glance towards the book.

"Dark arts. That's really all you are going to tell me?"

"Dark arts indeed, that one day may save us all from a horrible cataclysm. But probably not soon, and probably not him. So, I suggest you moderate the young man's expectations when his turn arrives, and describe it more like this…."