he anvil was a cool presence beneath my hand. I uttered a few quick words, and sprinkled a pinch of salt upon its surface, and the iron in it bound tightly to a charm of seasoning. It was an inconsequential enchantment, but it would serve to prime the metal as my father had instructed me.

I reached into a basket I had brought, and found the thick mixture of cured dragon meat. I had set it next to the forge to warm, and now I kneaded it. With greasy hands, I returned to the anvil, and traced the intricate symbols that would focus the energies of the first spell I intended to cast. For long minutes I did this, and as my hands cooled against the the dark metal, the grease coating them began to congeal. I sang the rhyme of the spell, and sat back to concentrate and recall the next enchantment.

A few deep breaths, and I began again. “Avenal, Avenal, Parsela, Flam,” were words of protection, and I repeated them like a prayer. I scooped handfuls of white powdered saleratus and spread it upon my arms. That done, I returned my hands to the basket.

Goran stood by, motionless. With his frown and crossed arms, he was the embodiment of disbelief.

uke Sorley has returned.  Yesterday the castle was warned of his arrival, and many of us were waiting in the yard or the road outside.  I caught a glimpse of a pallid face and many bandages before Fina and Lady Reiling, his cousins, clambered ungracefully into the cart.  Karl, the captain of his castle guard, was riding at the side of the cart, whistling.

And, I am relieved, Breck was one of the other men who accompanied the Duke out of the field.  When he saw me, he grinned and rapped the side of his helm.  He always does this when he sees me, for a helm I made once saved his life.  Alan was not with them, so he must have remained with the other men and knights.

In the evening, Breck, Ivar, and I drank the Duke’s health at the Shrine.  He—that is, Breck—says the Duke was caught in the side by a heavy spear.  He lost much blood, but the entrails were not pierced (my courage betrays me as I think this, and I feel my head grow light), and it is hoped that he will recover in time, if the battle-fevers do not set in.

Although one friend is forever gone to me this summer, I am glad to have another friend to drink with at the trestleboards.  Almost have I forgotten my desire to leave Cannaghdown.  As I think of my friends, I wonder that I still have not seen the Lady Dalla in many days.  How will the Duke’s return affect her?

arl arrived this afternoon, bringing news which stunned the castle.  The Duke was wounded in a skirmish on the beach nearly two weeks ago, and the King gave him leave to return home.  Karl has come to prepare the castle, while the Duke and several of his knights are two or three days behind.

It is a relief to know the Duke is alive.  The Cellarer said that, according to Karl, the wounds are not serious.  None of Karl’s men have been killed (almost have I the urge to thank the spirits).  One of the knights, a landholder in a village two days from Cannaghdown, was beaten to death after he was dragged from his horse while defending the Duke.

Still, I think the news is mostly good.  My friends are hale, and my lord will recover.

But Ivar must dread the return of the Duke. This indeed will be the end of Ivar’s ill-fated dalliance with Fina.

n the past week, I have three regular visitors to my workshop. Temilla and Dalla are two, and they seem as little more than apparitions to me. They come and go as they please, and although they speak comforting words, those words do not touch me. They seem distant, not in demeanor, for they are both very kind, but in how I see them. Temilla brought me a tea to help with my recent sloth, and at least the taste of the bitter drink brings me closer to the present.

I sleep later now. I think that my sleep is troubled, but I remember very little when I wake, so I cannot be sure.

I chanced upon Fina two days ago. She glanced around nervously, but as we were in a quiet western hall of the castle, on a morning in which few were about, she walked with me for a while. She reassured me that she was feeling well, cured by Dalbach of any enchantment. She questioned me about my own health. When I showed her some of the scabbed-over wounds, she gasped. I told her not to worry, that I had ministered to them properly, and they would soon be just a bad memory. It took valuable minutes for me to convince her to stop fussing over me (although I enjoyed the attention), but finally we talked of other things. We gossiped about Sir Gavann, and worried over the Duke’s fate, and what would happen if he could not return to arbitrate Gavann’s claim. Too soon, we had to part. But in out last moments alone, she stroked my cheek and kissed my forehead, and I was cheered.

I still miss her such that it pains me. However, talking to her has helped me regain some of my vigor. My imprisonment has affected me more than I’d like to admit, I think. I’d even forgotten the magical surprise that I had planned for Goran. It’s time I returned to that.