From Kelsaen House, a Leavetaking.

[channe]

On this frigid February afternoon, Kelsaen House is packed up as quickly as it was put together some months before. Curtains are drawn, wooden boxes are taken out by young men in the King's livery, the house dusted thoroughly, linen put over the furniture -- and it is Kostroma himself, wearing full Ducal regalia, that locks the house for the last time. Onlookers would see him heave a sigh; look around, at the house and grounds, and mount his horse. The dozen men that have been with him all this time are all ready to go, their packs and bedrolls strapped to their glossy black horses, and they make an amazing racket as they thunder to the south exit of the town, splattering mud and snow across the frozen ground.

It is at the south gate that Kostroma dispatches one of his men to bring a letter to the Meetinghouse:

Ser Governor,

I have received new orders from His Majesty, and must move quickly to obey. I would like to thank you for your hospitality during my residency in Myrken Wood. You should expect another royal emissary in the spring, when the ground thaws.

I advise you, sir: take care in these treacherous months to come.

Sincerely,
Duke Constatine Kostroma, commander, His Majesty's Mageranks

[Glenn]

Constantine,

I hope that you get stationed to a place and a job where you at least have the option of dying for your beliefs. Remember in what is to come that were it not for your intervention, I likely would not be Governor today. Hold that in your heart when the nights are particularly cold and unbearable. Let it warm you and provide you succor.

Beware ditches.

Glenn