To my dear sister Arlais,
I, Argider de Roldan, send greeting from Lithmore:Your letter arrived just yesterday. I was very glad to hear that you and the unborn babe are in good health and that your husband has returned safely from his recent business travels. How is the weather in Talfore this time of year? It has been raining a great deal here in Lithmore, enough to make a simple Fariner wonder if the world might be coming to an end. If the boys are anything like I was at their age, I imagine they are outside playing in puddles despite your having told them otherwise. Did raising me prepare you for this life of yours? Sometimes I think it must have.
To answer your question, Miss Shaylei’s canine companion is well-behaved, though, yes, I do think the animal quite capable of protecting its mistress. I have no reason to think Athene would harm me personally, however. Not unless I gave her good reason, and I can’t imagine why I ever would. Miss Shaylei has proven herself a good and loyal friend to me. When I injured my hand earlier this year, she saw to my wound without complaint. Now, she has joined the Knights Lithmorran as a physician. Sometimes I wonder if she did so simply to make sure she would be near should I manage to injure myself again. I admit, I do not get as much rest as I should, which has made it more difficult to focus on the tasks at hand. Often, I wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, after experiencing unpleasant, sometimes even disturbing dreams. I wish I could tell you why. But please do not worry, dear sister. Miss Shaylei has provided me with concoctions to aid me in my sleep.
As for the matter of Sir Sabin de Guiscard, I will tell you that I have begun an investigation into the circumstances surrounding his untimely death. I met with his wife, Vivienne, just this past week, and… well, she was not as I expected, despite the fact that she matched his description quite well. I don’t know what I did expect, but my opinions are of little consequence. The important point is that she seems willing to aid me in my investigation, and for that I am grateful. Making good on her word, she sent a copy of a letter to me that she received after her husband’s passing. Apparently, it was written by the hand of the Rubeus Manus, himself.
Though, as I think on it, why would the Rubeus Manus send a personal letter to a widow, especially the widow of a man who dedicated his life to hunting down and burning Mages? Why would the Rubeus feel remorse over Sabin de Guiscard’s death? It seems strange to me. The letter suggests that this Rubeus Manus is an honorable person, and yet, no one who embraces blasphemy and sin so fully could possibly possess honor. Don’t you agree, Arlais? Perhaps there is more to this letter than I realize. With luck, I will learn more in the coming weeks, as I investigate the matter further.
Until then, may Dav bless you and keep you safe, dear sister. Please give my regards to your husband and pass on the enclosed gifts to your boys. With any luck, the toys will keep them out of trouble for a little while.
By my hand this morning of Circadi, Maius 27,
In the year of Our Lord 357,A_____ de R______
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______
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.