Author: Margaret Robinson

[A piece of paper rests on the battlements of Hrafnakastalli. It is folded to fit and bent from being kept in a pouch, and though the handwriting on it is all the same it is clear that it was written by different pens and at different times from the variety of inks and slants on the page.]

Frederick – No point in disciplining someone injured.
Penance for losing his sword will wait for some weeks. Only the second degree. Lenience for his youth. Need to pick Testimonium chapters to review.
Need to work on his alertness. Can’t relax, even in Valerian camp. The duty of a House Knight is to protect their sovereign – we are guardians.
Ask Felix about the Porters getting his sword back.

Scum – Why do these Njords think being soft will solve anything? They need discipline and consequences, not food and infinite leeway.
[A scribble, less words and more frustration taken out on paper.]
Cannot be allowed to keep stealing and assaulting people.

Erasmus – Need to find a time to talk about his sword. When he’s not looking overwhelmed at solving all of Runeheim’s problems.
Need to do something for him and Euthymius. Some malefic they need killed? Someone I can command on their behalf?
Hard to imagine they have problems that aren’t Runeheim’s problems that I can stab. No rival counties. Rimelanders are Runeheim’s problem. What I hunt I hunt for the House.
If Erasmus would stop running out behind enemy lines – would be easier to protect him.

Peace Day – Rhyme. Graham? Alaric??
[A few ink splotches, like the pen was tapped against the page a few times, and a few half-started names scratched out. It’s clear this section has been a point of great deliberation.]

Write to Sir Gawain. Told the dwarves I would defeat Sven’s forces. Can we break the troops free of the vampires?
Abasement.

Troop training – Teach these northerners how real Rogalians fight. Finally.
Bring Jacqueline and Lorelei along to show them. They’re going to need to know how to run war games.
Pick Sergeants from the most competent – prioritize those with prior military experience. Line formations after. Focus most on how to deal with Karls.
Longbowmen – ask Ragnar about Dragomir military supply.
Another theft. Third this week. Have someone post warnings in the main hall. Gather the Sergeants and tell them what to say to their men. Latrine duty. Extra drills. Plenty of things to do to troublemakers.
Where are they even fencing belt knives and spare blankets?
The next person who gets caught stealing something will be flogged even if I have to get Guy to build the stocks for it

[The wind threatens to carry the page off, but Minona’s hand slaps down just in time to pin it against the stone. She grabs it, folds it back on the well-worn creases, and stuffs it back in her pouch as she goes to find Guy.]

Minona squared up to the training dummy once more, thoughts of the forum’s events driving away her exhaustion as she swung.

Lightning coursing down her sword and arcing into the ground. Rhyme’s fireball bursting against her chest, stopped only by her chainmail. Alu and that vampire’s poisonous whispers worming their way into her head. Staring a vampire down, her sword hand stuck to the slippery-sharp mass of strings as if glued.

Is any of this sword practice going to help you if you just get your mind turned against you again? Are you a dog that craves a leash, stumbling as soon as your lady isn’t there to keep an eye on you?

Minona swung too hard and the blade bit through the straw padding to the wooden post underneath. She dropped out of her stance to wrench it back out, and checked the edge. Desiderata was unharmed, of course, but it was a good habit to have.

Sloppy. God would only guide her blade if she had proper control of it.

And God was still with her. He had still protected her and Jacqueline even when Malachi’s gifts faltered. She could rely on that, even in these dark lands.

There had been good times at forum as well. Commanding a gargoyle’s attention while Damian circled around behind it. Fighting back-to-back with Jacqueline against the Ironbloods. Hunting in the woods with Callie and Alfred and Tiffany.

And it was good to be back in a soldier’s camp. She wasn’t familiar with the Rennet county Rogalt these soldiers spoke, but the cadence was familiar and she could laugh along with the jokes.

Minona sheathed her blade – better to stop now than to make a more serious mistake – and started on cool-off stretches.

The weather was finally turning, breaking the grip of frost at least for a little while. The sun’s heat draped across her shoulders and brought a prickle of sweat under her armor.

She lived. Her lady lived. There was still time to recover, to train, to face the next threat stronger.

Istra’s balls, Njordr was cold.

Minona wondered how there were any forests left standing, if it took this much firewood to keep from freezing. Perhaps the locals really did have ice instead of blood in their veins. That would certainly explain their suicidal willingness to wage war throughout the winter – she was not looking forward to having to deal with that come next winter when she had troops to worry about.

Of course, that was assuming that Lady Valerian would still want to be here come next winter. Runeheim was a mess, its leadership was in shambles, and the whole region was crawling with heretics and malefic. It was hardly a promising place to bring the light of the Throne.

But Hrafnakastali… something about the battered old fort was compelling. Fascinating, even. Rennet may be an asshole, but he was still Rogalian and he knew his fortifications. The stairs were slightly irregular and curved in the middle from decades of soldiers’ boots and yet as she climbed she felt she knew them all already.

Minona ran a hand along the parapet, fingers tracing along the broken edge of a stone, remembering how it felt to get pulled inside of it – a rough-carved hand holding hers, the bone beads of that bracelet pressing into her wrist as the fingers slipped away. The sensation kept intruding at inopportune times, oddly intimate.

But now, as before, she shook off the phantom grasp and focused on her task. She looked down on the courtyard, mentally marking out places for an archery range and a training field. They would definitely fit, and with a little room to spare.

There might even be enough room for a bear-sized stable, if Jacqueline could get Mr. Mittens to behave.

Ragnar Stoneskin and Knut Witchbane: the two poles of Runeheim leadership. Knut is Lady Vindicta’s knight, a pillar of respectability and authority; Ragnar, so young and so full of enthusiasm, is a champion of the downtrodden. They are everything I should aspire to be, or – if I am being more realistic – I should aspire to follow, if I am to be my father’s daughter.

But I decide not only for myself but for my friends as well, my little band of survivors, and this forum I saw enough to give me pause. Knut so readily taking orders from a ghost, Ragnar swayed by the spirit in his sword – I have to choose carefully, and choose correctly.

On the other hand, one of my own may be joining their esteemed ranks soon, so that may make the whole point moot.

I should be happy for Vogel. I *am* happy for Vogel. He earned the acclaim, the story Eskel told like a true skald. He saw what had to be done when I didn’t, and he pulled it off.

A voice in the back of my head whispers: “There’s a reason, Gisla, you keep failing – that black stain in your heart seeps through to everything you do.” I can’t contest that. I can’t even stand up in court, can’t get properly mad at Ragnar for forgetting our deal. Even if the position is cursed, they don’t need me to make it any worse.

Regardless, I have my duty. I will not fail Kallevik again.