No one should have to bury their best friend. Much less twice in one lifetime. But this is that kind of story. The story of the true savior of Istara. Not me, Tameri, daughter of Breuxias, but my friend, my savior, Serra Viligotti. This is her story as much as it is my own. I only hope I can do her memory better justice than I did her tortured body…and soul. If I could start at the beginning, I would, but it’s still too fresh, too painful. Better to start as close to the root of the matter, the kernel of truth I hope to reveal, as possible. Then tell it straight on to the bitter end before I am forced, by my own sentimentality, my own guilt, to stop my melancholy tale. Should some of my readers feel cheated out of a proper beginning, the origin of all this mess I’m about to confess, I urge said readers to pay a visit to their local stationer or colporteur today. We can always use the business. If unable to afford a proper folio on the Siege of Istara or simply too cheap to procure your own copy, please check with your local library.
