Chapter 1

Serinda

            We are memory. Memory is everything we are and all that has ever been. We remember so that the world does not forget. We remember so that heroes forever live, so that harsh lessons do not fade, so that the worst of our past is not repeated. Our duty is neither to pass judgment nor make enemies and allies. Our duty is not to rule or serve. But to remember. We are memory. We are the Memorium. This is our creed.

            That was the first thing I learned as an apprentice, the first thing any Memorium ever learned. Before any memory was given by one's master, the creed had to be remembered by heart, so that no student ever lost sight of what being a Memorium meant. Like my master, Corim Danyr, before me, and all those before him, I learned the words. I had been six years old, and yet I understood. At least, I thought I had. Thinking back, it seems we all know the creed, but not the burden that comes with it until later, when we have no choice.

            I was Serinda Belwyn, apprentice to Memorium Corim Danyr, and it was not until I was nineteen that I learned the gravity of our burden.

            Warm, golden sand soft and smooth as silk stretched beneath me, caressing my sunbaked fingers as I thrust them below. I could feel the tiny grains beneath my nails. The slow rhythm of the gentle waves crashing on the shore was like a lullaby, soothing and lovely, leaving pretty little pink, white, and orange seashells in its wake. Gulls and pelicans flew lazily overhead, riding the air like feathered dragons. The sun's heat was deep and penetrating, making its way comfortably to my core and invoking a light dewy perspiration on my skin. The smell of the salty spray mingled with the aroma of vivacious oranges and sweet milky coconuts, creating a seductive perfume. My thin, wispy, cerulean colored garment lay bunched about my waist, the rest of my deeply saturated, vivid silks in a pile to my side, discarded to fully enjoy the sun. The long, glistening braid that held my hair coiled like a black snake over my shoulder. My eyelids fluttered drowsily.

            It was a moment akin to paradise. This was not time to fear or worry about trivial matters. This was a time for tranquility, relaxation.

            Or at least until my master nudged me and pulled me back to the present. I blinked as I returned to my pale body, my loose mess of rose gold hair speckled with delicate snowflakes, my numerous layers of robes, socks, scarf, clunky boots, and thick fur-lined gloves. The frigid wood and frozen hay of the wagon we rode reminded me of the sore backside I had been trying to ignore amidst the jostling of the bumpy trail. I pushed my spectacles up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the cold of fast approaching winter seep into my bones.

            "And here I was just starting to get warm," I complained, glaring at Corim.

            The man smiled and leaned idly back against the wood behind him.

            "And if it was the memory I believe it was, then be thankful I disturbed you, or you would have become much warmer," he said in his calm, soft-spoken voice.

            I raised a quizzical brow and frowned at him sternly.

            "Just how do you know what memory it was?" I inquired.

            Corim's smile grew as he crossed his legs and steepled his fingers together.

            "You seem to be forgetting that the good lady Shandaran's memories are mine as well, just as they are yours," he replied bemused.

            Ah, yes. The legendary pirate queen with a lover in every port, I thought with a grimace.

            "You don't seriously mean-"

            "Oh, yes. Our captain of the Silken Rose did not remain alone on that beach for long." Corim cut me off. "I simply did not wish for you to be unpleasantly surprised."

            "Your consideration is admirable." I rolled my eyes sarcastically.

            "Thank you," he chuckled.

            I shook my head and brushed the snow off the books beginning to slide out of my lap.

            To look at Corim Danyr, one would think him a mere easy-going traveler as opposed to a Memorium. Where many in the order were solemn with the smallest of smiles, Corim possessed a quietly cheerful, humorous demeanor and a tendency to smile with amusement. He was neither muscular nor tall. The man was shorter and lean like a dagger, his slight frame garbed in velvet of darkest black and silvery gray. Salt and pepper hair fell to just above his shoulders. A wispy chin beard equal parts jet and silver showed he was aging along with the shallow lines at his mouth and eyes. Yet even at thirty-nine, those slate colored eyes still retained the same light of humor and compassion they'd held when I'd met him thirteen years ago. His face was angular and his features handsome enough. His nose may have been somewhat pointed and the slightest bit crooked, yet it was overshadowed by the whole. He was ever sitting back coolly with his long fingers pressed together as he watched the events of life unfold before him.

            "Where did you say we were going again?" I sighed as I opened one of my books. A diagram of the anatomy of a bear looked out at me with beady black eyes.

            "Laeith," answered Corim with a shrug. "The king is apparently in need of our services."

            I tore my gaze from the book to look at him quizzically.

            "The capital? But why would King Roland need us? Last I knew of, he was in perfect health." I questioned.

            I could have sworn the man who had been kind enough to allow us to ride on his wagon looked back at us with utter bewilderment. Though I couldn't say I blamed him. Casual conversation between Memoriums does have a tendency to come off as rather strange.

            Corim shrugged, "Seeing as the man's only two years shy of thirty, I doubt it's anything to do with his own memories. Most likely it's someone else within the palace whom he considers has memories valuable enough to preserve."

            Our driver shook his head, then returned his attention to the winter-hardened road ahead of us.

            Preserving memories of important, well-known figures was one of a few services Memoriums provided. Whenever a king, queen, or renowned hero neared the end of his or her life, we were called in to assimilate their memories so that they were never forgotten. It seemed to be our primary function. Following on the tail of that was the often complex task of being keepers of history, making use of the recollections of those rulers and heroes, though the most accurate descriptions of battles were through soldiers and generals. Other times we were used in matters of law. All that required was seeing the memories of the accused and revealing their status of guilty or innocent. Corim and I had performed the latter more often than anything else. We usually just happened to hear of some trail of burglary, theft, or adultery and stepped in as a matter of convenience. I'd never even seen a king before, let alone taken his memories. I hadn't even seen a palace interior with my own eyes before, just the memories of some who had.

            "I find it hard to believe that the courier would be so vague with the information. You'd think they would be more precise with their messages." I said.

            My master presented me with a rather impish grin.

            "Well, the lad was a bit nervous." he responded blithely. "He was less preoccupied with the message than he was with the pretty apprentice standing beside me."

            He chuckled as I rolled my eyes. Honestly. I returned my attention to my book with a mental note to look for any tomes on the anatomy of dragons or intricate braiding techniques while in the city. Corim and the driver indulged in a conversation on the complexity of seasonal wheat prices. I truly did hope to reach the city soon. There was only so much discomfort of the rear on a jostling wagon that one could take.

            There was an increase in traffic as we neared Laeith. Carts filled with goods and rambunctious children passed us on their way in or out of the city. All their passengers were bundled up with mittens and thick scarves concealing half their rosy faces. Occasionally some curious child would wave at us. Corim would wave in response and cheerfully call out to them. I offered but a brief smile, then returned to my reading.

            The city walls were tall and stately. Snow and thin ice had frosted over the gray stone and the griffin statues to either side of the heavy oak wood gate, making the fearsome creatures' topaz eyes twinkle in the sun's light. Snowflakes fell and gathered upon their outstretched wings, others alighting onto the many carved feathers like delicate dancers. The two griffins stood as resolutely as soldiers looking ready to pounce and defend their charge.

            After a quick glance at the hay and two rather cold travelers in the wagon, the guards allowed us to pass through into the city. I was all too glad to clumsily scramble out of the wagon, my limbs stiff from having sat so long. The driver offered me a hand to help me down, which I accepted. Corim followed me, stretching and yawning. Then he fished around in his pockets and presented the man with some coins as payment for the ride.

            "My thanks, my good man. It would have taken longer to get here on foot." said my master pleasantly.

            The burly man smiled, "No trouble at all, sir. You Memoriums may be strange, but you're pleasant company. I hope you and your apprentice enjoy your stay in the city."

            After a final thank you from Corim and me, we went on our way, I pulling the hood of my warm cloak over my head, green like a pine tree. I clutched my books to my breast with stiff, icy fingers. Even through my thick gloves I could feel the cold.

            Corim placed a hand on my shoulder as he led me down a street lined with vendors advertising their wares.

            "Come on, if memory serves, there should be a tavern nearby," he told me casually.

            "But shouldn't we be looking for the royal palace?" I frowned.

            "Yes, but later. Right now I'm more concerned with getting warm for an hour or two." he answered cheerfully.

            "Our business is at the palace," I sternly reminded him.

            "And it can wait until our feet have thawed and our bellies full of warm food."

            "We could easily get that at the palace."

            "Yes, but who knows how long that will take? I'd rather warm up now."

            I groaned in exasperation at my master. He ignored it and continued on with that usual quiet smile.

            It was often like this with him. He always took his own sweet time while I wanted to get things done right away. Matters were best put to rest immediately, not taken at leisure. Granted, the job got done with Corim, just never as quickly as I would have liked.

            We neared a large inviting building that practically radiated warmth through the bricks. Laughter could be heard along with the clinking of mugs from outside. Above the door hung the sign bearing a woman with fiery red hair shooting an arrow and the name of the establishment below her in chipped paint that at one time was probably a sunny yellow, The Ranger's Rest. Well, Lady Laeith was the founder of the city. It appears she's still quite popular after a few centuries. I had but the memories of two people from that time, both had been ladies-in-waiting to the Kievran queen.

            A wave of warmth washed over us as we bustled inside. The welcoming smells of baked breads, hot stews with vegetables and ciders and spiced wine, the myriad of cheap perfume worn by the city's ladies, and wood burning and crackling in the fireplace. My spectacles fogged over for a moment, coating the world in mist until it faded to reveal the jovial scene before us. People laughed, talked, and made merry while a group of colorful minstrels performed in the far corner.

            "Why don't you go take a seat by the fire and I'll get us something?" Corim smiled, patting my shoulder.

            "If tea is not available, then spiced wine, preferably with nutmeg," I sighed as I pulled down my hood and took a seat near the fireplace. Gingerly I removed my gloves and held my hands near the dancing flames, my books resting in my lap. The heat slowly climbed up my arms and through the rest of my body. I breathed a sigh of content. The miniscule remaining snowflakes melted in their proximity to the fire. My muscles and joints began to loosen.

            As pleasant as this is, we really should be getting to the palace. I reminded myself, shaking my head, but unable to suppress a small smile.

            My attention was soon grabbed by the bards in their colorful livery gathered in their corner. They were Ilarian by the look of them and the way the sultry singer rolled her r's like an easy caress. There were five of them, three men and two women. Of the men, one garbed all in deep blues and greens played his flute, looking for all the world as if he were in a serene trance, swaying in time to his own tune. Another, his clothing as gold and flowing as his softly curling hair, played a fiddle with a casual smile, his bow moving with utmost elegance. Yet the most noticeable of them was the final man. A widely grinning, athletic, swarthy man with his flowing black hair tied loosely back and a light of suggestive mischief in his eyes bright as emeralds. His fingers appeared to dance across his lute as he winked at the girls, who giggled with blushes painting their already rosy cheeks. Occasionally some daring girl would tug at his purple sleeves or his belt. Some were even more provocative and attempted to grab other things on his person. Yet he didn't at all seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to revel in the attention, and his occasional duet with the singer wasn't bad either.

            The poor two ladies seemed to pale in comparison to him. The singer was an exceptional beauty with a lovely alto of a voice. She was clothed in a sensuous confection of chocolate brown velvet and a necklace of deep amber at her throat. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders with an almost ethereal grace. The other woman, while pretty, was of a more child-like appearance, and was closer to a girl than a woman. She couldn't have been a day over over sixteen, if that. She was a slight, willowy girl with an expression of innocent delight painted effortlessly upon her youthful face. Her light blonde hair was done up in complex braids. Her quick fluttery movements as she shook and beat her tambourine, along with the orange and black of her modest gown, gave her the appearance of a darling butterfly.

            Her enthusiasm is certainly contagious, I'll grant her that. I thought, my smile growing as I continued to watch them.

            "Enjoying the music, are we?" Corim asked, handing me my cup of spiced wine.

            "It's a tad difficult not to. Their energy is rather infectious." I replied before taking a tentative sip of the steaming wine. "So what did you get?"

            My master broke a loaf of warm honey-glazed bread over his knee and handed me half. I took it and had a dainty bite.

            "That, for one," he said, "And their semi-strongest beer."

            "There is no such thing as semi-strongest, Corim. There's only strongest." I corrected him with a raised brow, much as a nursemaid would correct a child. He only smiled over his mug.

            "Of course there is, Seri. It's the strongest of the middling, about halfway through the final third." he playfully shot back, then took a large gulp of his drink. I shook my head.

            The bread was soft once one got past the slightly harder crust, but deliciously sweet all around. It went quite well with the wine, I was pleased to say. It was enough to briefly sate the appetite, but not enough to be filling.

            The two of us fell into silence as we sat and listened to the music. The song had changed to a softer, slower tune of sweet romance. I personally found love songs a bit too flowery for my taste, but it was well performed. The singers' voices seemed to go together seamlessly. Her alto and his tenor expertly painted a lyrical picture of two foolish people in sickeningly sugary sweet infatuation. To my small annoyance, I heard Corim quietly humming along. Perhaps now would be a good time to leave.

            Then, as if my very thought had invited it, the lute player's voice seemed to drift closer and closer until it was crooning right in my ear. I barely turned my head an inch before I saw him right behind me, flashing a smile as white as the snow outside. My nerves jumped at the close proximity and I tried to edge away. Yet even as I did so, I saw his hand reach down to take my ungloved own. A rush of panic ran through me as I opened my mouth to warn him that I was a Memorium.

            Yet just as his hand was about to begin enclosing mine, Corim was up on his feet and grabbed the bard's wrist. The music abruptly stopped and the entire room hushed into dead silence, undoubtedly expecting a brawl. My master smiled kindly and visibly loosened his grip.

            "She is not wearing gloves," he gently informed him, then let go of his wrist.

            The minstrel took a moment to look us both over. Realization dawned upon his face then and he immediately seemed to shrug off the whole situation.

            "Ah, a pair of the ever enigmatic Memoriums, I see. Forgive me, I had no idea." he apologized, then smiled disarmingly.

            Corim nodded and expressed the sentiment of no harm done while I tugged my gloves back on.

            One touch. One simple touch. That's all it would have taken for me to assimilate his memories. I shouldn't have been so foolish as to take off my gloves. Had Corim not acted, I would have acquired every single memory of his without ever meaning to. The moment skin contact had been made, I would have found myself with a copy of the man's entire life. That was how we Memoriums obtained our thousands upon thousands of memories, touch, more often accidental than not.

            "I think it's about time we head out," Corim sighed casually, ruffling my hair like a child. "We do have business to attend to."

            "So I've been telling you all day," I reprimanded him, standing up and gathering my things.

            With the atmosphere starting to return to normal, we took our leave, putting the cheery little Ranger's Rest behind us.

            The snow continued to fall as we made our way to the palace, growing steadily heavier and heavier. It wasn't long before our toes again stung from the cold, all warmth from the inn leeched from us. After three wrong turns and getting turned around at least twice by helpful folk, the palace gates finally stood before us. The guards requested our business, we stated out status as Memoriums, and were allowed inside, much to our relief.

            "Remind me to request a hot bath before I go to bed tonight," complained Corim, stomping the packed snow off his boots.

            "If I am awake by the time you're dragging your feet to your room at half past midnight because you decided to stay up playing cards, I'll be sure to do so," I responded pertly.

            I removed my cloak and shook the snow from it before folding it over my arm. A foot man came striding towards us to escort us to the throne room.

            I knew from memories what the inside of the palace looked like, or at least what it looked like almost a century ago. According to the memory of the royal adviser from all those years ago (a melancholy man by the name of Adris Teulon), everything-from the curtains to the carpet-had been bedecked in sapphire satin with designs of diamond dolphins. The entire palace had looked as though it would be more at home in the sea than on land. The watery atmosphere had apparently been the result of Angletern's twelve-year old queen having a fascination with sea creatures, which persisted until her death by drowning ten years later. After that the throne went to her husband, who had a strong affection for taxidermy and had been rumored to have stuffed favored dogs of his once they had been deceased.

            Sadly, in regard to decorating under those monarchs, the palace wasn't nearly so interesting now. It had the typically classical style of portraits of rulers past lining the walls with uncharacteristically cool expressions. Quite frankly, if history had been taken into any consideration, over half the pictures would be displaying snarling and noses turned up in the most noble states of contempt. Windows were tall, thin, and were currently in the process of being concealed by the tapestries depicting dragons in flight by the bustling servants in their plain woolen attire. There were remnants of the past, however. Antlered animals with glassy eyes and blank stares adorned the walls once every three hallways or so and a rather large dolphin statue of blue topaz rested in a most dignified fashion beside the portrait of the queen who'd loved it so much.

            Upon entering the throne room, we were greeted to the sight of the king holding an audience. There before the throne stood two men, one large and plump, the other tall, thin, and almost skeletal with how bony he was, both in noble attire. The larger appeared to be the most distressed, spluttering obscenities at the king until his jowly face became purple. The skeleton man looked worried, but managed to keep his composure well intact. All the while, the monarch sat stroking his short beard thoughtfully with absolute calm.

            The ruler of Angletern was a handsome young man in his late twenties. Even sitting down, I could tell he was tall and muscular. His fine clothing of crimson silk went well with his honey-gold hair. King Roland was fair of face as well, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, an angular shape and clear complexion. He was everything little girls' dreamy tales of daring heroes and devious villains were made of. Yet his eyes contradicted his age. Within those deep brown eyes was both the weariness of age and the light of wisdom, the eyes of someone who has seen more than he should have in his lifetime. He exhaled tiredly and held up a hand to stop the man's ranting.

            "I am aware of the fact that you bear no love for the Dragon Corps. However, that does not give you the right to complain every time one of them flies over your house." he told the large man firmly. "Nor does it give you the right to harass your neighbors whose children serve in their ranks."

            The noble's face turned from a shade of violet to grape. The skeleton man visibly relaxed.

            "Harassment? I didn't bloody harass anyone!" he bellowed, jerking his thumb at the skeleton. "I told him I better not see his son flying over my home with that damnable dragon again!"

            Corim leaned over to whisper to me.

            "I believe that is known as harassment," he murmured, the slightest touch of amusement in his voice.

            I smiled, but said nothing.

            "Lord Elman," a voice suddenly spoke up.

            We looked back to the throne. Standing pertly and erect beside King Roland was a woman. Slender as a blade and hard as iron, she wore the dress uniform of the Angletern Dragon Corps; white trousers, polished black boots, and red jacket buttoned up to the throat with the insignia of a dragon extending its wings pinned to the breast. She wore no jewelry but for a finely crafted ring of garnet and sapphire. Her brown curls were pulled back into a tight bun. Upon first glance, one would have thought her face utterly doll-like, what with her eyes blue like ocean waters, her lips naturally pink and plump, the small beauty mark beneath her eye, and her delicate arching brows. Yet when they looked again, they would see the hardened face, the powerfully piercing quality of those blue eyes, as demanding of respect as a storm at sea, and the scar that stretched horizontally across her right cheek. They would see the way she gripped the thin sword at her belt with her left hand with a mixture of confidence yet care. This was a warrior, a soldier, not a doll to be dressed up and paraded about like an exquisite new toy. The fat Lord Elman went silent at the sight of her, caught between contempt and fear.

            "Your home is in close proximity to where the walls are weakest. The Riders flying over your home are only scouts and couriers, patrolling the skies, reporting on repair progress of the wall, or delivering messages on the king's behalf. You are neither the first nor last property that we have been known to fly over, but you are certainly the only one that complains so vehemently. We fly high enough so as not to cause any damage, and we do nothing to interrupt your daily routine other than block your sun for but a moment. So forgive me if I do not hold sympathy for you." she went on irritably.

            "I think I like her," I whispered, a smirk on my lips.

            "I figured you would," Corim responded. "That's General Fleurette Vereux. She's one of Angletern's youngest generals. She's only a year younger than the king at most. To advance through the ranks as quickly as she did was quite the feat. She's said to be the very best in aerial combat."

            "Her dragon must be quite the imposing figure."

            "Indeed."

            We watched with interest as the general continued to tell Lord Elman off, he shrinking with each word that left her lips. Eventually the king stopped her, fighting to hide a smirk, then told the now frightened lord that he would make sure the Riders were more careful in their flying, but that their route would remain the same. He also advised him to not bother Lord Berel (the skeleton) on his son's position in the Corps. The two men were escorted out. The king's gaze then fell upon Corim and me. My master bowed deeply while I offered a polite curtsy.

            "Memorium Corim Danyr and my apprentice, Serinda Belwyn, at your service, your highness," he said cordially, then we rose.

            King Roland graced us with a welcoming smile. To my surprise, he stood up and approached checking to see that Corim's hands were gloved before taking one in his grasp. Had it not been the king, I would have told him that such informality was inappropriate.

            "You must be the ones that responded to my request. I must say, you got here faster than I expected." he greeted congenially. His gaze then traveled over to me, a hint of innocent playfulness in his eyes. "So you're the apprentice our young Jorrisen was going on about."

            I stared at him, "I beg your pardon, your grace, but who?"

            "The courier," he replied blithely.

            "I see," I sighed tiredly. "Well, flattering that may be, I believe you have a task for us."

            The brown eyes lost that teasing light, yet the smile remained pleasant. He nodded in agreement.

            "Yes, that I do. But that can wait until tomorrow. For now, I'll have someone show you to your rooms. I'm sure you are both tired." he nodded, letting of my master's hand.

            I opened my mouth to protest, but Corim's firm hand on my shoulder stopped me. My mouth shut automatically.

            "Thank you, that is very kind of you, your grace. We will try not to be too much trouble." he politely answered.

            "Good," said King Roland before shifting his attention to the footman awaiting orders behind us. "Show Lord Danyr and Lady Belwyn to their rooms. I'm sure they are eager to rest for awhile."

            The footman obediently led us from the throne room as Corim chuckled quietly at the almost bewildered look on my face. To be referred to as Lady Belwyn had caught me off guard. I was never called a lady, nor did I have any right to be called such. I was born the daughter of a toymaker and a seamstress in a small little town leagues away from any castle or estate. It simply did not feel right to be called I was not. I do hope they don't continue to call me that.

            My master and I were given rooms beside each other in the guest wing. Yawning, Corim walked into his, mumbling about a nap before dinner. I thanked the footman, then entered my quarters.

            There was already a small fire going in the fireplace when I came in. It was not large, but it was bigger than any inn room I had ever stayed in. The walls had been painted a warm cream color, which was a pleasing sight after all the white of snow. A large bed stood to the side of the tapestry covered window, piled high with blankets and pillows of pinkish-red detailed with yellow embroidery. Next to it was a vanity with a basin resting on it. To the far left was a well-organized writing desk, the dark wood polished until had shone. A full bookcase flanked either side of it and, upon closer inspection, I could make out fine ornamental leaves carved into the wood, the pattern periodically interrupted by a flower. It was a lovely piece of craftsmanship, however my attention was more attached to the armchair and footrest by the fire.

            Smiling contentedly, I draped my cloak over the back of the chair at the writing desk, removed my gloves, and set them alongside my pack on the bed. The books I placed on the desk.

            Finally I sat down before the fire and closed my eyes.