Ed Greenwood
The Dragon's Doom
Esse Quam Videri
Yet folk who know Aglirta of old will know already what befell next.
For the people were unhappy.
The barons were no better than they had ever been
Sly tongues of evil were busy in the land
Fell magic had corrupted those who sought and wielded it
Without ever weakening their eager hands
This could be almost any year in Aglirta
So be thankful for the bards and heralds
Who look upon the Vale that is so fair
And yet so seemingly gods-cursed
For they at least help us keep our disasters straight.
From A Year-Scroll of Aglirta
Scribe of Sirlptar
Prologue
A hard, sudden rain was lashing the rooftops of Sirlptar as the came down, driven ashore by a home-harbor wind. The storm rattle on the slates and tiles of hundreds of roofs quite drowned out the customary chimney-sighs for which the Sighing Gargoyle was named. Flaeros Delcamper could barely hear his own harp notes, but-newly esteemed bard to the court of Flowfoam or not-this was his first paying engagement in the City of River and Sea, and he sang on with determination.
Yet even he knew, as he lifted his voice in the refrain of his newest ballad about the Lady of Jewels and the Fall of the Serpent, that he might just as well have saved his breath. Not a man-jack was listening.
Every patron of the Gargoyle was bent forward over the table that held his tankard, listening-or talking-intently. The mutter of voices held no note of happiness.
"And so 'tis another year gone, and how's Aglirta the better for it?"
"Aye, harvests thinner than ever, half the good men in the land dead and rotting when they should be plowing or scything-and now we have a boy for a king!"