Cathal's Journal - Day 8

It has been an interesting day.

I awoke somewhat later than usual; the events of the past weeks have been more taxing than I had thought. I broke my fast and spent much of the morning in the training yard, striking at the pells and fencing with my armsfolk. They progress well; Dolan managed to strike me a number of times, which he has had yet to do. The weather was fair as well, the air crisp and the late summer sun warm on my shoulders, though the breeze held a warning of autumn’s chill.

Some time near mid-day, we received a new guest to the castle. It seems that Harald Khorien, my liege-lord and as all know him, Count of Taeghas, has sent his apprentice to spy on us. The wizard has been suspicious of us ever since my father sided with his uncle and the late Aeric Boeruine in the war of succession. We are not Portage, though. My father explained to me when I was young that he had made that decision reluctantly. Wilder’s Gorge shares a border with Boeruine, and had we sided with the younger Khorien, our people would have been massacred.

The apprentice is somewhat different than I had suspected. She is young, articulate, and willful, a quality I admire. She is quite pretty, though obviously born a commoner. Despite this, she bears the mark of a strong bloodline, a streak of living silver in her otherwise dark hair. She also arrived alone from the road, which would speak to great foolhardiness had I not known she was a wizard.

Mages. I’ve never liked mages. The druids of Rjurik can work magic, but they are a wise and measured folk, who serve the land and their people. Wizards meddle and manipulate. Khorien is a lazy man who has sold out the rule of Taeghas to a foreign prince so he might lounge in his palace and read books. He has sent this apprentice, Mara Bersk, to put a leash around our throats and little more, I expect. I cannot hold her accountable for this though, I suppose. She is as much a pawn of fate as we, whatever her arcane powers.

We met her at the gate, my father and Reynhild and I. They seemed nervous, and though I felt much as they, I tried to dispel some of the tension by greeting the wizard lightly. I offered a small joke at Khorien’s expense. She seemed unamused. Reynhild and father were quite displeased. I am unused to these Anuirean politics. In Rjurik, though they have their guiles, speech is for the most part plain, even between mortal enemies. I suppose I perpetrated some breach of etiquette I am unaware of. Mara spoke of her thirst and I took the opportunity to salve whatever wound I had opened by fetching it for her personally. She was then shown to her rooms in the keep.

Shortly thereafter, the lady Reynhild engaged me to join her in a ride beyond the town walls to fly her favourite falcon. The Rjurik of Hogunmark are not much for horses, as a general thing. They fight as well as any man, hunt better than most, and their sailors more than deserve their legendary reputation, but only their jarls and thanes ever get opportunity to sit astride a warhorse. I have been in the saddle since I learned to walk, as is the custom for those aspiring to knighthood in Anuire. I worked hard to maintain and improve the quality of my seat while away from home, and count myself a fine horseman. I know not where she learned, perhaps the southern Rjurik have more fields to ride, perhaps her talent is inborn, but Lady Reynhild is as breathtaking a rider as she is beautiful. I would say she put me to shame, but there was no shame to be had from such joy. To see anyone perform any task with such skill is to see the light of which the heavens are made.

She has an uncommon talent with all beasts, it seems, for as we sent her falcon aloft, I saw that it was a peregrine, that bold and spirited breed. That she handled it so calmly is further testament. We spoke as the bird flew, of the state of the house, of my father, but mostly, we spoke of what foes we may have. She asked how I meant to deal with them, and counselled caution. At first, I was wary. I am not a cautious man. I believe bold action and strength are necessary to gain that which one desires, to thwart one’s enemies. To hide behind a shield is to invite only disaster. But, she spoke not of hiding, nor cowering. She spoke to me of strategy, and that is something I know well. Rash and courageous as the Rjurik are, I have said before they are not without guile. In fact some of the most devious tactics I learned were from the other huscarls as we hunted orog in the hills of Valkheim. They are bound by honour, as we of Anuire are, but theirs is a more pragmatic code.

The bird shortly returned, a squirrel clutched in its talons, which Reynhild plucked gently away. And while she looked into my eyes, I saw her truly for the first time. No shy dove, she. No pampered clan princess. She spoke of our enemies and crushed the rodent’s small body in iron fingers, let its blood run in rivulets down her forearm. She is a hunter, a warrior, like me. And like my brother. I know not what stream her life has followed to shape her so hard, but I knew in that moment, that if I had one person to rely on in the whole of my realm, my trust was safe in her.

For her sake, and that of my father, I shall be more politick with our rivals from this day on. This is Anuire after all, not Rjurik. The courts here are deadlier, and far more deceitful, than any orog’s axe.