The Thai Amulet

Prologue

Khun Worawongsa is dead because of me. I did not strike the blow that killed him. The others saw to that. He died, though, because of what I said and to whom I said it. Sometimes, when the moon is full, illuminating the deepest recesses of my mind as it does the dark shadows of night, the specter of guilt overwhelms me. I do not mean that I was wrong to do what I did. I know what I saw and have no doubts as to his culpability.

Three things, I think, contribute to the turmoil in my soul. The first is a dreadful sense that if I had been more observant, or rather, since I have promised myself I will be completely honest in recounting what happened, had I been less self-absorbed, the others might not have died. The second is the question of whether Khun Worawongsa was driven to the terrible deed by the person I consider to be truly evil, the one with the power to seduce even the most righteous among us, and was therefore entitled to some measure of compassion. The last is the realization of how much I have benefited from his death, so much more than I could reasonably expect from life, beyond, indeed, my wildest imagination: a royal appointment that brings with it wealth, but more than that, my place among King Chakkraphat’s closest advisors, and most important, the hand of the most beautiful woman in the world.

Tomorrow, if what our scouts tell us is true, we will engage the enemy. We know that our bitter foe, King Tabinshwehti of Burma, hoping to profit from the political turmoil of the last many months, has swept through the mountain pass with a large army, even as we are attacked on our eastern flank by the Khmer king of Lawaek. We are besieged on all sides.

I am certain that, led by our good King Chakkraphat, our own courage strengthened by his example, we will most certainly prevail. But I may well fall in battle, if not tomorrow, then soon enough. It is for this reason that I chronicle the events leading to the murder of Khun Worawongsa and the others, and my role in his death.