have laid out many reagents, and before me sits a parchment outlining the tasks I must perform before I can begin the curing rituals. It took me all morning to draw the intricate diagrams that will focus the virtues of heat and containment in the caloric paste I am crafting. My hand drew false only twice, but each time I had to start with a fresh piece of onion skin (the act of drawing the diagram works as much to focus the magic as the completed diagram itself). The rituals I am preparing are complex, and I can hardly allow a mistake to ruin one.
Archive for ‘May, Year 9’
ina opened the door. Lady Reiling’s apartment spread out before us. A bed fitted with tall posts and curtains dominated the far side, and a plush rug decorated with an ornate interlocking chain design bore it stoically. Tapestried walls told the Romancing of Elaine on each side of a pair of double doors, which were open to the breeze. Outside the doors stood Brenna (she insists I call her by first name), upon her balcony, staring out into the morning fog. A small cage sat on the stones beside her. She raised her hands, and a dove flapped vigorously and disappeared into the mists.
“Have a seat,” said Karl. “There are no strangers here.” He had been the one who bid Fina to open the door, and sat off to the side, eating at a small table.
Fina pulled my hand and we joined Karl. The table was laden with eggs, buttered bread, bacon, and spiced tea. It was a humble morning meal, not what I envisioned the nobility eating, but it smelled delicious.
Brenna took a seat, and we ate and talked.
“A love letter for Simon?” said Fina, referring to the dove, which were often trained to carry messages. Simon was Brenna’s husband, and lord of the neighboring island of Durain.
Karl snorted.
he hunt has returned, the Duke leading a procession of knights, servants, horse and dogs. Four of the men carried the dragon’s carcass, its metal scales almost bronze in the sunlight. It almost seemed like it was peacefully sleeping. Men and women alike cheered from the windows over the west wall.
The beast, twice the length of a man, has been laid on some trestle-boards in the upper yard, and the entire castle has crowded round. It has been years since the hunt actually returned with its quarry, and I think dragons have long since fled deeper and higher into the mountains.
The Duke himself came by to thank me for making the hooks. I could see that he was not injured (as some have said to me), but some of his long hair was singed away.
What things men call sport.