Monthly Archives: February 2013

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Of Death and Determination

(The following letter is written in a thoughtful, sober hand, though it still bears some of the author’s characteristic lack of finesse.)

To my dearest sister who lives in Talfore,
I, Argider de Roldan, send greeting from the north:

This missive bears sad news, Arlais, for Sir Sabin de Guiscard of the Knights Lithmorran is dead.  I cannot remember if I wrote much about him in my previous letters, but he was my sponsor to join the Knights all those weeks ago.  He was also a good and honorable man, with a loving wife and four children, and it pains me to tell you that his death was evidently brought about by a Mage who had been hiding here among us in the City.  Truly, the whole incident worries me more than I care to admit.  If a seasoned Knight and soldier like Sabin de Guiscard could fall so easily to a Mage right here in Lithmore, then with all my flaws,  what could I ever hope to achieve?  What could any of us?  If I had known I would not have more time to get to know him… well, he is gone now, and Urth is poorer for it.

Those troubles aside, I received a letter from Harith last month.  You must have had an influence on him, because he seemed pleased to hear from me, and especially pleased by the news that I had joined the Merchants Guild, though he still disagrees vehemently with my choice to pursue Knighthood.  He has not given up on his quest to see me settled down and married to a good Farin woman, either.  I admit, it pains me to disappoint him on that matter.  As far as I know, he and his wife are still unable to conceive, and Baqir is east, fighting on the Front.  Do you think that either of those details affect Harith’s opinion of me, in some way?  Even after twenty-and-three sun cycles as his brother, that man is still a mystery in my eyes.  Still, he seems glad that I have taken up the family trade, and so I must thank you for whatever kind words you may have written to him on my behalf.

As for the rest, well, I strive to keep my head above water.  The hours are long and the work is hard, but when I do find a free moment, I am often able to spend it with my friend.  By the tone of your most recent letter, you will never forgive me if I don’t tell you more, and so I shall:  she is called Shaylei le Orban, and she is the cousin to Baron Ariel le Orban, who owns quite an expansive estate just north of Lithmore.  She is staying with him for the time being, while training as a member of the Physicians Guild.  In many ways, Shaylei reminds me of you, Arlais, and I have no doubt that the two of you would get along quite well.  Though, she has a large white hound that follows her everywhere, and I know that you haven’t cared much for dogs since that incident when I was six years old.  Still, I think you would like her, as I do.  Perhaps, one day.

Do give the boys my best, and your husband as well?  This recent tragedy surrounding de Guiscard has been weighing heavily on my soul.  It gives me pause, and yet I feel I must resist this yearning for home.  I do not know how it will change the course of my life here in Lithmore, but somehow, I think it will.  No, I think it must.

May Dav bless you and protect you, dear sister.

By my hand this evening of Arendas, Maius 4,
In the year of Our Lord 357,

A_____ de R______

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Undated Entry

(The following entry is hastily, if not recklessly, scratched across the page, the edges of the parchment discolored and slightly wrinkled, as if once smudged with sweat.)

Lord, help me.  I cannot sleep, for fear of returning to that horrible dream.

When I close my eyes, I am laying on that ragged cot where Father Matheer had drawn his final breath.  My legs will not move.  My right arm below the elbow itches beyond reason, and yet I feel nothing there.  I try to call out, but I can manage no more than a pathetic, wheezing breath.  Every slight movement sends pain coursing through my raw nerves, but somehow, I know I must get up and leave this place, that I cannot stay.  There are footfalls echoing in the chapel somewhere…

I discover that I have the use of my left arm.  Slowly, painfully, I draw it out from under the heavy woolen blankets that cover me.  The room is dark, and I fumble as I reach out, knocking over a wooden cup and sending it clattering across the stone floor.  The effort is too much for me, and I pause to catch my breath.  I hear an odd rattling sound, and, belatedly, I realize that it is coming from my own throat.  With dawning horror, I force an unsteady hand to my face.  My fingers meet something rough and wet, and in my panic, I barely feel the terrible, searing pain.

I try to scream for help, but my mouth produces a gurgle instead.  It sounds laughably like the noise of a child.  There is something warm streaking down the side of my face, across the cheek that has not been burned away.  What have I done?  Oh, Lord, this cannot be.  I think perhaps this might be my end, alone, like this.  I close my good eye and wait.

Soft footfalls, the rustle of skirts.  With effort, I reopen my eye, though I do not know how much time has passed.  I smell the delicate scent of flowers long before I see her face.  Who is this woman, who has come to watch me die?  It takes every ounce of my being to turn toward that achingly familiar scent.  Blonde curls fill my vision, and sad grey eyes come into focus, illuminated by the unpredictable flicker of a candle’s light.  You?  Why are you here?  I don’t want you to see me like this.  No, not here, not now. It is too much…

“You’ve disappointed me,” I hear her say softly.  There is disgust in her voice, unmistakable.  “You’ve disappointed us all.  We could have been happy here, but I can never love you now.  Not like this.”  My vision fills with salty tears that burn my wounded face.  I can no longer see, but I hear her rise and walk away.  Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolls.

I am sorry.  So very sorry. Please… forgive me.

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Of Presents and Plunder

(The following letter is written in a practiced, legible hand, with just enough rebelliousness in the script to suggest that the author had occasionally neglected or evaded penmanship lessons in his youth.)

To my dearest sister Arlais,
I, Argider de Roldan, send greeting from the north:

I am glad to tell you that your package arrived earlier this week, though nearly a fortnight late and by no fault of your own, dear Arlais. According to the courier’s office, an early Spring melt has left some of the southern roads muddy to the point of being nearly impassable.  I admit, I thought perhaps you had forgotten my birthday this year, but I was wrong to doubt you.  As always, your gift is perfectly suited to my tastes.  How is it that you are able to choose such well-matched presents without fail?  I fear I am always fumbling when it comes to those delicate decisions.

Indeed, your gift sparks an idea in me… I shall think on it and tell you more when next I write.  For now, let me say that it will have a special place on my desk, and that I will make good use of it and often.

Though, I should be more cautious about what I store in my cottage.  I do not wish to alarm you, sister, but my home on Montford Way was recently entered and rifled while I was stationed at the Keep.  Nothing important was taken, just a few items I had left about, but would you believe that they even took the coffee pot on my stove?  Some days, I do not even return there, on account of having too much work to do.  I suspect my prolonged absences have made my cottage an easy target for these thieves.  I haven’t the funds to pay for a better door lock just yet, but I promise to do so when I am able.  Please do not worry.

As for your inquiry regarding my new friend, I am not certain where to begin, or what to say that would satisfy your curiosity. Or perhaps I fear getting ahead of myself or being too presumptuous.  It is a relief to meet someone with whom I can converse and, I admit, a comfort to receive such kind attention, but I worry that I will make a mess of it all sooner or later.  And, what’s more, that I shall have to.  You know my situation and why I have chosen to join the Knights Lithmorran.  How would you advise me to proceed?  Would that I possessed your natural grace and delicacy with these social matters.

May you enjoy the upcoming Spring Awakening, and may the Lord bless you, your husband, and your sons with good health and good fortune.  I miss you all.

By my hand this morning of Solisda, the 28th of Maritus,
In the year of Our Lord 357,

A_____ de R______