The City under the Sea

"I would tell you my story, but you would have to swear never to repeat it."

She snickered – but she saw that he was deadly serious.  "What good would it do me to hear the story if I can't tell it?" she asked.  "I could change the names and places, and sing it."

"No!  You cannot tell this story."

He lay back and closed his eyes.  Nacia thought he was asleep.  Suddenly, he roused, and cast a spell.  Magic, she thought in panic.  I should have expected something like this.  "What was that?" she asked sharply.

He lay silent for a long time, then, "I cast a truth spell.  I need to tell this story, but I need to know something about you.  And I need to know you are being truthful.  First, your name and city?"

"Nacia, of Phaliston.  I call Phaliston home, but I travel and sing for a living."

"Yes, Nacia, I see that.  I am called Banosh Laurangulp.  I too am a bard.  Was.  I am 35 years old.  And I will probably die before many days have passed."

Her eyes widened.  "You can't be 35.  More like 75."

"No. 35."  He closed his eyes.  After awhile, he opened them again and looked at her for a long moment.  Then, again, he was wracked by a fit of coughing.  "This is why you do not want to tell this story.  You will want to pass it along before you die, but only to someone you can trust to keep quiet.  I have no choice but to trust you."

"But – "

"No, I too am a bard, remember. I know you feel you have to sing the story.  But, I must warn you, it may be the last song you sing.  Let me tell you my story, while I still can."

"First, my personal story is not important.  I had a story, and wrote a song.  I sang it last week, in an inn somewhere, and when I woke up the next morning, I was here, prematurely aged, and on the point of death.  My voice was gone.  Gone.  Like it is now.  Somebody did not want that story out.  I don't think they meant to maim me – I believe they left me for dead.  If you sing it, the same thing will happen to you."

Her eyes were solemn.  "I'll be careful.  But, please tell me."

He told her a story.  It was so far from anything she had ever heard before, that she had difficulty believing.  But at the same time it had the ring of absolute truth.  "Some time ago, I became friends with a priestess – said she was a priestess of a religion which is not known to exist today.  A year ago, she looked me up to tell me this story.  She said she was only supposed to pass it along to another priest or priestess who would succeed her.  But the person she had trained had been killed, and she was wounded, and on the point of death.  She made me swear never to tell anyone else.  She knew I was a bard, knew I could not keep that promise!"

"Just as you knew I could not keep my silence."

"Yes.  But the story cannot be lost.  You must choose one person you can trust."  He lay back, too weak to continue.

"In ancient days, what is now the Mistal Sea was a broad, rich valley.  It was watered by three rivers flowing in, and they were all joined into one, flowing out.  Farms flourished along the river bottoms, and cattle grazed the hillsides.  Gold and precious stones were found in the mountains, and the rivers were deep enough for navigation."  He stopped and lay back again, his voice so weak she could hardly hear.  After a few minutes, he roused and continued.

"Pharmanston was the capital city of this whole area, located where the three rivers joined.  It was a trade center and cultural center as well as the government center.  It was a very rich city.

"A man named Malinster was chief sorcerer for the King, and Grand Vizier of his court.  Malinster also was the most influential sorcerer in the entire realms, and his school of wizardry was famous throughout the entire realms.  As time went by, th