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.

t seems that Sir Gavann Highcroft must be Lady Dalla’s husband after all.  The Lady locked herself in her apartment as soon as she heard who had arrived.  Her pupils bring her food twice each day and have carried several letters back and forth between her and her husband.

The arrival of Sir Gavann is causing the Castellan much trouble.  I know this because I heard it from Ivar, who heard most of this at the table in the Great Hall.

he castle is in uproar.  A rumor came yesterday that the Duke was killed by arrowshot on the beaches of Fogreach.  Today, a merchant swore that the armies have not yet given battle, but the elven raiders captured several ships in the harbor of Irongate under cover of darkness.  He says further that the king has refused to defend the Free Towns, claiming illness.

Such is the news in summer.  We in the heart of the country, a long way from the dangers of the coastal raids, must fret and imagine the worst while our brothers and fathers, friends and husbands, risk their lives in service to their lord and king.  (The Lady Dalla would remind me to think as well of the wives and daughters who are carried away in swift ships, to end their lives in slavery.)

I try to pay little mind to these rumors, for the news often changes with each passing day.

Today something more shocking has happened.