Weary to the Bone

The Last Journal of William Harwood

Spring Secondmoon, the Second,

Year of Returning Light 654

Gwelena, Alvion

I have a view of the docks from our apartments here, but you wouldn't know it from the blanket of fog that has rolled in, making all the world into a dull gray, broken only by diffuse points of yellow lamp light. It hardly speaks of morning to me, instead inspiring a return to bed and blankets. But we are leaving port today, whether I am in the spirit of it or not.

Dianora and I seem to be of differing minds of late. I feel that I have seen enough, or at least that I am ready for an extended stay of rest. For a year? Maybe four? But she is never sated with this life. Never deterred by what we face. Not by the horrors under Mnaulad Keep, nor the storm-riding pirates of the Uvær Islands. Not even the ghastly crypts of Ritvek. She never tires of the danger, never hesitates to set our course for a new pin in the map. But me, I'm feeling those years and those miles in my bones.

Still, I couldn't bear the thought of watching her sail away to the horizon without me.

I had thought we might go back to Genassia from here, but she has a mind to visit Innapi now. A lead on some new antiquities broker, a contact from her new friend Lyri. The two have been spending a lot of time together of late. I'm not certain if I speak from a position of reason when I say this, but it seems odd how quickly they have grown close to one another. The druids would say their souls must be connected, acquainted in a prior life, so that now they can skip over all the pleasantries. I'm not sure what I think.

Lyri is a woman of sweet words and airy laughter at one moment and intense focus the next. A manic creature at times, but sharp as a knife. I feel exposed around her, like all of my life is laid bare to those brilliant, impossibly blue eyes of hers. It leaves me unsettled.

I remember being transfixed by those eyes in a brief moment when the two of us were alone. I had asked her what she thought about her liturgical namesake. She gave me a smile that would melt away winter into spring. "One among the many daughters of King Nemetes, you mean? I do not like to define myself as anyone's daughter."

I had thought to counter with what I knew about the Archmage Lyri, High Adjudicator Lyri, one of the first who ruled in Finedi. I thought to say how she was defined by much more than just her father. But I stammered, breathless as I looked into those eyes. I could hear the blood rushing in my veins. My tongue felt like a dry slab of leather. I became possessed by some unsteady spirit of amorous youth, and all I could say was, "You are loved."

She stammered on her own at those words. I imagine that I saw a flash of anger in those eyes. But then her smile broadened. She held my face in her hands and told me I was sweet. Then she moved on to see my wife again.

I was left hot with embarrassment. Why would I say those words? Do I truly harbor such feelings for her? I don’t think that I do really, but why would I say it? I know not what to do with myself. I fear I may have added an unbearable complication to our voyage southward. But for some reason I remain fixated on how cold her hands were. Cold and very smooth.

I fear that I am forgetting something.

Ah, must be the charms. Some of our protectives expired recently. It was the strangest thing. My old lucidity charm melted onto the nightstand. Several others had shattered into bits. Such things are known to happen at times when a formula has gone awry in a big lab or workshop, but I haven't heard of any accidents in the city of late. In any case, I had to commission some new ones. They should be ready by now. I must be sure that I pick them up before we leave port.

It appears that this will be the last entry in the current volume of my logs. I suppose I should leave this with the local branch office and pick up a new one. You, dear reader, may be expecting to see a new adventure in the next book, but I am hoping for less exciting fare.

All the same: Be clear of vision, but bold of spirit.

Yours in good health,

Domi William N. Harwood