y preparations are complete. However, difficulties have plagued me as of late. In order to keep from being shamed again in front of Goran, I have been testing these new rituals prior to approaching him. The resultant failures sit coldly pensive on my workbench, as if they wonder why I lack the skill to transform them. After three failures, I can waste no more valuable time and reagents.

After that last failure, I grew angry and smashed an iron file against the table. I broke a flask, and further enraged, I cursed and hurled the tool against the wall. I fumed, shaking my head and pounding my fist against the table. So little was working as it should.

It was at this inopportune moment that Fina knocked on my door. I stifled another curse and picked up the file, noting the large chip in the wall.

“Come in, come in,” I said.

“What is going on in here?” said Fina.

have spent much of my time this past week at his side.  He has no family anymore, except for the widow of his brother, in whose house he has lived for longer than I can remember.

It is difficult to watch a man die.

Fat Kalla hovered about (I would have sent him away).  “Brithe will guide you to the after-world,” he said to Coraff.  “I will make the sacrifices to gain you favor with the spirit of the spring.”

I remember Coraff’s eyes were open.  He turned his face slightly to Kalla and then let out a long breath.  The blanket slipped down.  I thought his time had passed, but after some moments we saw he was sleeping peacefully.  Coraff’s sister pressed a few coins of silver into Kalla’s greedy hands, and thanked him.

There were a few others who came as well.  Temilla came every day, of course, with ropy-thick syrups she dribbled slowly down the back of Coraff’s throat.  Perhaps it helped.  He did not seem in pain, though calloused fingers clutched the woolen blanket.

The Lady Dalla came, but she asked for me, not being introduced to Coraff’s sister.  She asked me if Coraff perhaps desired to speak with her.  I told her that Kalla had already come.

She nodded.  “He will no doubt perform some rituals to appease the local spirit.  It is well-meant, but I prefer to ease the living, if it is in my power to do so.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

t is the season of new beginnings.  The air is scattered with rain and carries the scent of grasses, and the early flowers.  Coraff, my master, walks unassisted and can swing a hammer for several minutes before coughing.  I am not the only one who has noticed Coraff’s health and Kean’s empty chamber.

But Kean’s apartment will be empty no longer.  The Duke has raised Ivar to one of the lesser castle officials, what Ivar pompously calls “custodial thaumaturge”.  I watched the short ceremony in the Great Hall yesterday.  I could tell that Ivar was nervous, but he carried himself like a man.

Later that evening, Ivar came by the barracks, where I took my meal.  We were friendly, and it almost felt like old times.  He was almost giddy with delight.  Since childhood, he has desired to become a wizard, and I think he feels that he has succeeded.  But, though it is unkind of me, I wonder what dignity he can find in hexing mouse holes and in urging paving stones to stay put?

he Castellan is a man of quiet words, a “still presence” as the poet puts it. Next to Dalbach, the Castellan is the Duke’s closest advisor.

Ivar was the one who summoned me after I took the evening meal at the cookfire in the barracks. We said little to each other.

The door to the Castellan’s apartment was open, and he was marking entries in the heavy ledger that holds the daily accounts of the castle. He smiled when he saw me.  It pleased me to be welcomed.