The Steward's Musings

Sleep eludes me these days for my mind cannot seem to keep free of all these strange happenings. Even wine and ale only burn them from my mind for the shortest time, and I dare not indulge around others for fear that these thoughts will come tumbling out. Even this, this writing ..I hesitate to put what I know to paper for fear it should be found, but I swear I shall go mad if I do not. What if by putting it down in front of me I can see some elusive hint that I should miss otherwise? I may burn it yet.

The appearance of the Ghost King for the first time. Is he some harbinger of things to come? A warning? A threat? It is no secret that he makes my blood run chill even before he turns those terrible eyes on me, but to see what lies within them... I have heard whispers that he has been sighted again even once the ghosts departed.

The lengthy lingering of the ghosts, and the doom that brought on.

The loss of Prince Uhtred's heir and near loss of his wife .. after such an auspicious start and such quick conception.

And now more recently, the moving walking corpse of -- No, I shall not write the name even here. But that -- is dead from such a guarded place is more frightening than the rest, and dead for so long. Although with all that is unnatural about --'s appearance, the decay may have been as well.That -- should target the Queen, attack her by what I saw...what are the reasons for it? How can such a thing happen?

Then there is this body, this poor husk of what must have been a human being that the huntsman tells me of, rended at the end of a trench. No animal, he says .. an otherwise reasonable man telling me he thinks the death by no natural means.

There are others yet, the assassination attempt on Prince Uhtred, the kidnapping of Princess Synaria, the disappearance of the jester and then the priest. I hold out hope that we shall find the priest still, perhaps he has returned to the Grand Abbey. If he has met some other ill fate as other men of the cloth have of late, I fear we will face greater wrath of the Church, though let us pray that it is not God who we have angered.

Still, it is not the Church that worries me so much. Nharati has never been a gentle untroubled place, the Valenti castle less so, but these happenings..there is a feel of malice to some of them and accident to others. I cannot help wondering if even the accidental are more pointed than not, merely appearing without obvious intent.

So much of these happenings involve the dead that I cannot help but wonder if we have committed some unknown offense. Why do they target women with child? First the Princess and now the Queen herself...we cannot lose another royal heir. The first was bad enough, but a second..it is unthinkable, the King's offspring. And if it is not the dead we've offended, then who is behind all this? How can a dead thing move again? What can cause a man to explode so that his blood dusts the forest?

The Huntsman spoke of it, but I pray it is not so. I pray that he is wrong when he says magic may be behind such things. I had hoped to never see its return to the realm, the vile practices rooted out for the evil they are.

There was more to be said, but the words swam in front of Christoph's weary eyes, and he shut the small book he'd set aside for this purpose. Fumbling fingers slipped a small key onto a leather thong, the steward using it to unlock a drawer. Prying out the false bottom, he stowed the book there carefully, closing it up with clutter atop the drawer's base before locking it. The key itself hung 'round his neck, tucked beneath his clothing rather than on the ring of keys he kept for the castle. No solutions presented themselves, the steward's mind only relieved to a small degree.

I had thought maybe the quiet would remain. That's rich .. quiet. A visiting female King from a land of questionably loyalty, the Queen pregnant, attacked by one of my former staff, and any number of other concerns that are small compared to this...

But..the ash. The ash crept through the castle. Two are dead. I saw Barnaby's wrecked body, indeed I cannot get the sight of him out of my head. If that were the worst of it, it would be bad enough...but the worst, the worst I can scarcely conceive.

This..whoever is doing this..is toying with us, and he has sent us a message: He can get to us where ever and when ever he wishes. He has invaded the King's sanctum, which I cannot begin to imagine how, and when I do, I wish I had not.

My searching has turned up naught but rumours that end in nothing, and my cohort ...God be good, he is gone and I hope safe with his family. It has been said that he hasn't written his affianced, but such letters may go astray or time may not permit. I cannot cannot give credence to the rumours that fly about him, though if this thing is growing more active, his doom is on my hands. Still, no body has been found, despite what anyone says.

I have failed thus far in this, and I know not how to change the tide, but neither can swords or axes. The King and Queen bear me no illwill, but I cannot help but believe that I should know why the servant and guard are dead in my castle and who would dare profane the King's study.

I-

The shakey, barely legible writing trailed off into an incoherent scrawl, and the steward finally slammed his journal closed and locked it away, staring blankly for a long moment.

I spoke with her again, bless her for her patience with me and her refusal to believe that I am failing in my duties. There are none else I may tell my thoughts to on these matters, and that she spoke so freely and truthfully to me.. such a rare thing I'll never forget. And she listened to me, commanded my help which I would give anyway.

But if speaking to her was wonderous, the news she bore was not so. She confirms my suspicion, and even the King shares it. History, he fears, may be repeating itself, but so we are warned (though I know little enough of such history). But warned of what? Can there be any help against something we know so little of and nothing at all of how to combat it? So far, not even prayers have protected us, though I know I've spent more hours in prayer than sleeping in the last weeks. Have we sinned so miserably that we are doomed to this fate? Is the blood on the hands of this house so much that God has turned his back on us? I cannot believe it so..what has been done was done out of rightness no matter how misunderstood.

Still, I think it would be a failing to not seek higher guidance. Perhaps the priests can suggest remedies and protections, or perhaps their prayers would garner more notice than a humble steward's. But what to say? Such things cannot be known..at least not without the King's consent. Perhaps renewed piety and study of the church would not be viewed amiss from said humble steward, though there are certainly secrets of the cloth that would forever be barred to me.

How does one fight a threat he cannot see? One he knows not the nature of nor its aim? She made me promise to keep from danger best I could .. to not attack this thing should I find it, and I vowed I would keep myself from harm save if it was the only way. I will find this thing, and I will see it destroyed utterly...somehow.

Weariness fogs my mind of late though. If I could sleep more than an hour or two, I might find things come clear again..but I cannot. Perhaps...perhaps in the arms of that sweet bard I would find rest. I confess, I had not thought to find her so receptive to me, and she is the one bright spot right now, caring for me, worrying over me. I had thought she would tell me to put the bard aside to focus on more important things, though I should have known better. The blessed woman urged me to love, and for that too I am grateful. I wonder what Lawtait will think when she hears I have royal permission to court her?

In the pages following in the journal, the steward's neat handwriting reproduced the dreams of the Queen without any reference to where the visions had come from ..the edges of the pages containing the dreams already frayed from use.

The steward clasped his hands tightly as he stalked to his office, not a servant daring disturb the man with such a glower in his eyes. The funeral, it seemed, had hit him hard, and he locked himself in his office. It wasn't the reappearance of the Queen nor the Crown Prince's strange reaction nor the pyre itself that held his thoughts, but the shrouded figure of the Deacon. His support of Synaria here and at the duel.

Though he knew every word of the Queen's dreams so well he could recite them, he poured over the writing, begging for some word, some small twist he'd forgotten to remove this plaguing suspicion from his mind. Far from that, it confirmed his fears, and he sat for long moments, quill poised, wondering if he dared note down such treason.

His usually neat writing shook he began, each word drawing him nearer to creating a pyre for the book itself.

He hovered over the funeral like death made flesh, shrouded in his dark robe, his eyes hidden beneath that hood, and what I have tried to deny, I no longer can. He is family, despite his deformity, and it is difficult for me to think ill of any Valenti, and yet, he is one in name only.

Could it be that our ill fate comes from the exiled son of the King? Is that why the King had brought him back? Perhaps he may be placated by returning to his rightful place, but I fear such things may not be the case. Now he has access to us all, to the King, to the castle, and there is naught I can to do to stop him. He is a Prince, and he is a Deacon.

So much of the dreams seem to match with what I see in him, a darkened or obliterated face, the chapel for he is a man of the cloth, and he could also preside over the Queen's (or any) death. And..and the Hareshi princess. The bond there is strange, unnervingly so, the sight of the two with hands clasped at the duel ..I do not know what to make of it.

She has been visciously struck by events and assures me that it is grief over her beloved husband, and yet, when I went to her room to collect his thing there were flower crowns. God help me, I know the mate of those crowns for I burned it. I burned it ... and I see the truth of the Queen's dreams in that. And now the Hareshi princess is to go to Nyrthlond.

Who is it that is using who? Is it the Princess herself that is our downfall? Or the Prince? Or have they formed some alliance that will harm us all? Such eyes he has. God places these things as a sign of evil in men, and now we have invited evil to return to us in the guise of the church. (And it is not the first time it has used this facade to bring us harm.) I know not the extent of his power, but it is sinister, and I think we need not look further than the family to see from whence this dread has descended.

If any read these words, no doubt I will either already be dead or burned for treason, so let it be known that I seek no power for myself nor bear no illwill. My concern is for Nharati and her royal family whom God has placed on the throne. Those that threaten it are heretics and blasphemers, and it is they who should be burnt. May God's light be upon us all and burn away the darkness.

The journal is no longer beneath the false bottom of the drawer. Whereabouts are currently unknown to anyone save Christoph.