[A letter left among the lilies]

[Ioannes]

A letter is left for Sister Amelie among the lilies; a familiar hand, with sharp, narrow minims and an otherwise tight script wrought by what could only have been a trained calligrapher.

Hear, I have given long heed to thy counsel, Sister, and well did I weigh thy words. For certes, the passions, unbridled, may cast down even the most righteous of men. Yet mark me well that I am no such man of virtue; that grace is long fled of me, and mine own passions have rendered me undone. In threefold ways have I failed; in courtesy, in fidelity, and in manly valour.

Courtesy did I forgo in the blackness of ire and sorrow; I lent my thoughts to a spiteful tongue and took comfort in misery. There, sunken into that mire of old grief, I became blind to all fair hope that yet might abide in this dying world.

Fidelity did I betray, in that I forsook my liege lady; that Maiden to whom I was sworn, for in the depth of my despair I judged myself unfit to do her service true, yet who is to judge me unworthy besides her? And thus I had done her that disservice for my cowardice, garbed in the threads of a false wisdom.

And valour? Fie upon it that I have failed in all, for what knight worth the name turns his back upon honour, bounty, and devoir? None that bear that name rightfully. I have allowed this leaden melancholy to reign over me, a dark burden whose shadow hath stolen me from mine appointed path.

Yet say, what quest may there be to raise him who hath fallen so miserably? What labour might rekindle fire in Denain le Jonquille, who in sorrow cast aside his Rose?

This at the least he shall do; he shall cleave to the remembrance of another, for once, a solemn charge had been laid upon him by his brother in arms. To restore a shrine, long broken amidst those ash-choked chasms. That hallowed ground, beloved of those brothers quick and dead, he shall reclaim. He shall drive the unquiet shades from those paths, and as he labours, he shall muse thus:

What grief hast thou suffer'd, O Knight, that thy flesh yet standeth firm and thy spirit whole? Why dost thou sorrow, when to walk unto death with honour is thy glory crowned of a mortal life lived? Shall thy departed brethren find joy in thy flight and shame, or shall they decry thy name?

And when come the seventh day, if the sacred ground is made whole once more, then shall the knight himself be made anew. Else, let him be judged unworthy, and his virtue wanting, for if it cannot bloom in such a field, then let none be sown.

If this labour seems lacking, then give him leave to prove himself in some other trial. Bid him a greater toil and he shall take it up, that he might be redeemed not by word but by deed.

[Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi]

[This letter vanishes in due course. A reply is left in a place where one familiar with the ground might expect it to be left.]

This work of errantry is commenced on Maribeh 4, and it shall end on Maribeh 11, come weal or woe.

Consider carefully all that I have said to you about the paths that lie before you.

Let the knight be remade anew, or should he fail be judged unworthy, and to pitiable ends.

Let it be the former, and not the latter.

Strive that it shall be so.

Sister Amélie

[Ioannes]

[Another letter takes the place of the former.]

I have taken the first true step. A reliquary is to my hands now, bearing the ashes of a Twindari Saint, known in death as Sulayman the Martyr. His remains shall be placed within the altar of the shrine, that the place may be hallowed by his rest. This task is far from done, and the weight of my unworthiness remains. But let each deed be a stone laid right, and each breath spent in the building of something worthy of my atonement. I will not falter.