Franz Lohner’s Chronicle – The Night of Masks

An absent-minded man of mysteries, Franz Lohner relies on his bulging journal to keep track of occurrences, intrigues and arguments around Taal's Horn Keep. Sometimes his notes are even useful, believe it or not. The Franz Lohner Chronicles are extracts from that journal.

You know … I’m old enough to remember when traditional Imperial holidays were good enough for everyone, but no more, apparently.

Used to be at this time of year, young swains were busy twisting bowers from the last leafless winter branches, a-wooing their intended with displays of craftsmanship as bountiful Rhya intended. But not now, no. Nowadays that Estalian “Night of Masks” is in fashion with the youngsters of the local village, and come Festag we’ll be neck-deep in love-lorn couples dancing about the fires and pretending to be something they’re not. Devalues the whole practice and purpose of wearing a mask, if you ask me, but what do I know?

And it’s not as if it’s even the right point in the calendar to be celebrating the Night of Masks. But that’s the trouble with the Empire. We do like borrowing things from other realms and making them our own … but we’re not so clever with the details.

Bah. I should let the youngsters have their fun while they can. I’m just on edge, is all. Had a whopper of a nightmare, concerning a plague of blood-red snakes eating everything in sight. Never should have taken Bardin up on that offer of cheese.

Most everyone else is looking forward to the festivities. Sienna’s been collecting Tilean masks for the better part of a year, although she keeps them well out of sight in case some of the lads want the feathers for their fletching. Kruber’s been working on a homemade effort for days, though unless he shaves that moustache – and has a bath – it’s all going to be for naught. I even caught a glimpse of a mask in Kerillian’s quarters. Faceless, it was, and polished to a mirror-sheen. Gave me a bit of a shiver, but that’s probably the effect she was going for. I can just see her now, treading the Festag fires and making mischief. “Cast eyes upon me, lumberfoot and gaze upon yuir one true desire … yuir ane self!”

She’s a one, and no mistake.

Too much of a one, actually, given how she’s been creeping about the place, hanging those charms where she thinks I can’t see them. I mean, it’s not the first time she’s pulled this kind of nonsense. Seems every month there’s a different sprig of herbs and dried branches nailed to the gatepost. But that’s the thing. When it’s on the gatepost you can see it plain and dispose of it quietly. No muss. No fuss.

Recently, she’s gotten sneaky, and a sneaky elf’s not something you let pass without question. I’ve found the wretched things behind bookshelves, in the rafters and hidden among Rosalinde’s building stockpiles. Kerillian doesn’t want these to be found. Either that, or she’s watching me run around the keep tracking them down, and laughing her skinny posterior off for putting me to the trouble. As to what’s in these charms of hers, I can’t be sure, but I know the whiff of magic when it hits my nasal passages. It’s heady stuff. Fair makes your wits float on the clouds, and I don’t need that at my time of life, thank you.

Olesya’s no help. Just shrugged and told me not to bother my grey head about it. Sienna wasn’t much better, just an airy comment about how “Indulge her, Franz darling. We could use a little more indulgence around here” and then wandered off, as if that were the end of the matter. Not exactly words to put me at ease, if I’m honest. Sienna has plenty of vices, but temptation ranks highest of all. Could be she’s curious to see what happens next. If anything happens next.

And Saltzpyre? If I go all hot and heavy to him with tales that Kerillian’s up to something magical, it’s bound to end with one of them bloody, and that’s a load of fuss I can’t bring myself to deal with right now. Or maybe it won’t. Our Witch Hunter’s been a bit distracted of late, poring over those scrolls I … acquired … from the Imperial Vaults.

Now I think about it, Saltzpyre’s got an odd look about him, too. Like a man working his way up to admitting a decision he’s already made. More mysteries for yours truly to solve.

Funny thing is, I’ve got the notion that whatever Kerillian’s up to, it’s not about us. It feels like she’s trying to attract the attention of something else. One of her gods, maybe? And if that’s not a mixed bag of blessings and bad news, I don’t know what is. Those elven deities skitter back and forth over the line between ‘beneficent’ and ‘bloodletting’ in ways it’s best not to linger on.

Maybe I should just confront Kerillian about it direct? You know, head-to-head and man to … duplicitous pointy-eared mistress of evasion. Yeah. That’ll work.

Maybe I’ll leave it a couple of days, until the Night of Masks is done and things are otherwise back to normal. It’s not as though she knows it’s me who’s interfering with her handiwork. Overheard a right row between her and Bardin just yesterday, in fact. He denied it, of course, but that dwarf always looks guilty, so I reckon I’ll be in the clear for a bit.

I’ll apologise later. Maybe.