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The tall one is named

Catan receives a gift of light

The elf falls back on memories

Lar visits a special prisoner

Cynewulf is given a delicate mission

Malcolm tells the truth of a certain thing

Lar loses his fourth and last

The elf puts his prejudice aside

The elf learns what he has missed

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The elf stroked his finger over the soft spot atop Benedict's head.

The elf stroked his finger over the soft spot atop Benedict’s head, giving the baby a smile that mixed the rueful with the amused. He was blind, and Lena had scarcely ever held a baby in her life, and rather than the one reassuring the other, it was usually the one getting swept up in the other’s fright. The discovery of the hole in the baby’s head had been the cause of but one of many panicked trips across the court to wake the reeve’s friendly—and patient—wife.

Lena came in with the water, silent with the concentration of balancing the heavy buckets, but as soon as she sat them down she began singing again. At once Benedict’s little body went still.

Cat twisted her head around to look.

Catan had left the door open, but Cynewulf knocked anyway. Cat twisted her head around to look.

“Old Man!”

The elf swore he would not be too lazy to go to open the door again.

The elf swore he would not be too lazy to go to open the door again, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how many children he had saved that day.

“Kiv!”

Lar's hands sprang open as he leapt away.

Lar’s hands sprang open as he leapt away, and the heavy iron ward clattered onto the stones. The coffin lid had begun to open the instant he had lifted the seal, as if the woman had been tensed and waiting for that moment for months.

Fortunately he was able to dash back into the passage and pull the gate shut again before she could rise. The corridor echoed with a second clang of iron, but he did not care who heard.

Cynewulf tucked his book under his arm and bowed.

Cynewulf tucked his book under his arm and bowed. “Good morning, sir. I am the Duke’s son, Lord Cynewulf, but you may call me Old Man.”

The elf laughed in astonishment. “You’re the Old Man! You sound rather young to me.”

Malcolm sat on the edge of his bed and watched his wife.

Malcolm sat on the edge of his bed and watched his wife with a rapt attention that her rambling bedtime chatter did not often elicit from him.

First she unrolled her hair and brushed it out, as she did every night, but from time to time she would interrupt her recital of her own or Duncan’s exploits in order to study her reflection in the mirror.

'How kind of you all to come to welcome me back.'

The elf Dre had not announced his presence, but had only slipped in unnoticed and sat himself on the throne. None knew how long he had waited before someone had noticed him and run to inform Lar. However, he did not appear to have been annoyed if the wait had been long.

“How kind of you all to come to welcome me back,” he smiled. “I am pleased to find you all in good health.”

The elf opened his eyes, and everything went dark.

The elf opened his eyes, and everything went dark. His hands were wet, his arms were wet—his body was seething with fever, and his skin was cold and wet and numb—

Sweat, not blood.

« December

February »

The elf was not surprised to find the Duke in his house.

The elf was not surprised to find the Duke in his house, insofar as he had heard him cooing over baby “Penedict” from halfway across the court. However, he had not seen him in several days, and indeed he and Lena had been left very much alone of late. He had to admit himself pleased—but only to himself.

“You here,” he sneered. “I thought I smelled something rank, coming up to the house.”