y work in the castle has settled into a routine, and there are times when I do not feel harried or put upon. Rather, I spend my time in the proper, deliberate practice of magic, enjoying the simple pleasures of the craft such as the sweet smell of honeysuckle, the restful gurgling of an alchemical process, and the pleasant thud of my staff as I complete a ritual. However, with the arrival of the springtime sun and windblown scents of grass and earth, working in the dark confines of the castle loses something. As I enchant yet another archway, garderobe, or set of lady’s paints, my mind wanders to the songs of great deeds and far-away lands sung by troubadours and bards.
Archive for ‘Dalbach’
was watching one of the Duke’s tenants carefully saw an opening for a lock in the door to Lady Dalla’s apartment.
“Journeyman,” she said to me, “I saw none in the Hall last night were so attentive to the poet as you. Are you fond of the compositions of Larian?”
I was embarrassed, for a day-laborer as I should not have such pretensions. I mumbled something in reply.
“Perhaps you would care for this collection.” In her hands she held a book.
ina graciously accepted my apology, but my situation is more complicated for it. I now know that she confides in Lady Reiling, and that some of that knowledge passes on to Karl, captain of the guard. He seems an intelligent man, and discreet enough to keep our secret close, especially since I know his. But the strangest part is that by meeting him, I feel I have joined a ring of secret-sharers.
Fina confessed to me that a king had indeed visited her, King Theran of the southern realm of Kossaria. But all had not been as it appeared in my dream, at least not according to her telling of the story (and corroborated by Lady Reiling). She was brief, and left out many details, but she stressed that she was not intimate with him. And although I already doubted the vision, one moment captured me. As I stood there, holding her in my arms, drinking in her beauty, wanting everything I had thought I knew to be false, she said:
“Do you love me? Then have faith in me. Trust me, not a vision born of Kean’s poisons.”
My faith in the starscopes was shaken. However, though they may have been wrong (or perhaps just misleading) in this case, there was no reason to discount everything they had shown me. The problem was that so little of the vision made sense to me.
The morning after I had read the starscopes, despite my distress, I had sent a message to Dalbach to arrange a meeting at his first available convenience. Today I met with him to tell him what I had seen, and all that I did not understand. Perhaps he could make sense of it. And if the signs pointed to danger, his steady hand would be ready to guide the duke.
ate in the day, Morgan sauntered into the forge. I was bending a band of iron to fit inside a soldier’s helmet—covered in strips of leather, this would reinforce the helmet against a blow to the side of the head.
“Ho, good smith, thirsty smith!” Morgan called out. “Have a drink, my friend.” He was carrying two large wooden mugs in each hand.
“Thanks,” I said, and put aside my work.
“The Duke hasn’t returned yet,” grumbled the messenger. “Someone apparently sent word to Dalbach who rode in to try to convince me to speak to him instead.” He took a long draught. “Wizards. They make my skin crawl.”
he story of my trick with the pudding has traveled the length of the castle and farther. The look from Kean at the table was quite damning, but I have to admit to enjoying Goran’s discomfort. Despite his skepticism, I believe that some day he will accept the reality of our world’s natural laws. He has a stubborn mind, but he is not beyond reason like some others.
Kean gave me a stern lesson about tomfoolery the next morning. I have never seen him so angry, and I feared when he rapped one of his canes against my chest. He said, “You idiot boy. You make play in public at the risk of your life. Do you know what you’ve done?!”