Fenric's eyes followed Gytha Jordis as she left the hall with Lord Anshelm and Maunhilt Housecarl. What had this performance been for? Had the gytha genuinely suspected Fredhelm? And if so, why would she? His fear could speak to some guilt on his part, but surely it was little more than the fear of a boy faced with a powerful elder? It could have been but a simple piece of intimidation… but then, why would the gytha perform it here and not at Cletzhem?

"Something the matter, Fenric?" 

Fenric fought not to jump in surprise. He'd completely forgotten about Sigurt. He hesitated, considering how to excuse his reverie.

"I'm in awe, is all," Fenric said, only halfway lying. "I've never seen gytha nor gothi perform a ritual like that."

Sigurt hummed in agreement.

"I don't reckon most gytha are capable of what Gytha Jordis just did."

Fenric nodded quietly. Jordis was a seeress as well as a gytha and these were the skills of the former, not of the latter. A seeress was an agent of the gods not just in religious instruction, but in action. A formidable foe indeed. 

Fenric needed to know what she and Anshelm were discussing. There were a number of ways he could accomplish that, yet one problem remained… Fenric shot a look at Sigurt, who himself looked lost in thought, his dark eyes staring off into the distance. 

With the boy so distracted, a possibility presented itself; maybe Fenric didn't have to choose between teaching him and overhearing Lord Anshelm and Gytha Jordis' conversation.

"What do you want to practise, Lord?"

Sigurt startled at Fenric's words, then shrugged.

"I don't understand why I have to. I can write, you know. If dad doesn't think it looks pretty enough… Well, that's his problem."

Fenric repressed the desire to roll his eyes. Youth.

"Alright, well, let's try this," he said and withdrew ink, quill and parchment from his satchel, then handed it to Sigurt.

"Do you know the spring evennight prayer?" Fenric asked.

"Of course!" Sigurt exclaimed, looking somewhat indignant.

"Good," Fenric just said. "Write it out for me as you would write it in a letter to your father."

Sigurt sighed deeply but did as he was asked. Meanwhile, Fenric withdrew from his surroundings, first turning inwards, recognising his own power and senses, then outwards. First just beyond himself, feeling his own breath as if it was another's, then over to Sigurt, staying clear of the boy's mind but sensing his worry all the same, flowing from him in waves of otherworldly dust. Further and further away he sent his mind in search of anything that might allow him to listen in on Anshelm and Jordis.

"Here," Sigurt said and turned his writing into Fenric's field of view. 

Fenric did his best to split his attention between his eyes and his otherworldly senses, looking at Sigurt's writing without withdrawing entirely from his search. 

Sigurt was a fast writer and indeed, that speed was the issue; It was the hand of someone who thought faster than they were able to write and who had made no accommodations for the discrepancy. Had Fenric not known the spring evennight prayer off-hand, it might have taken him some time to decipher.

Out in the hallway, Fenric felt a mouse creep up from the floorboards.

"Repeat it, but write no more than one word for each breath you take."

Sigurt mumbled something that sounded rather dissatisfied, but Fenric  let his attention drift away, focusing it all on the mouse. As he did so, he started humming quietly, drawing himself deeper and deeper into the mouse until he was looking out through its eyes. Then, he hesitated…

There were several different rituals that would allow a sorcerer to take temporary possession of a simple-minded animal, but they practically all required actions he could not perform without revealing himself to Sigurt.

Fenric slowly, carefully, removed his knife from its sheath, acting almost blindly as he kept most of his attention within the mouse. He could already feel a monstrous headache coming on. He pushed through and pushed the edge of his knife against the tip of his finger.

The effect of the blood was almost immediate.

Fenric was no longer just looking through the eyes of the mouse, he practically was the mouse. 

He began hearing through its ears too. 

He heard Anshelm’s voice and began running towards it.

There was the door.

"...you be so certain when you have yet to go to Cletzhem?" Anshelm said.

Gytha Jordis' voice was more muffled, but Fenric managed to make out a few words as she answered Anshelm:

"...received word…."

His rodent eyes regarded the door and saw that there was ample room to creep through the crack below it. 

"Where will you go now then, if not to Cletzhem?" Anshelm asked as Fenric crept up from below the door, running alongside the shadowy edge of the room. 

“I have a few places in mind… I don’t believe our sorcerer is staying put, so neither can I. I must be allowed to assess different areas of the city for signs of sorcerous presence.”

"Very well," Anshelm said. "I shall go make your excuses to King Roderich. He will wish to hear the explanation from you soon, but…"

Whatever appendage Anshelm had followed his statement with was lost to Fenric as he snapped back to his own body by a flash of pain. He found himself with his face firmly planted on the table in front of him.

Sigurt was staring at him with alarm.

“What just happened? Are you alright?”

Fenric cleared his throat. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just have a headache.”

“Must be some headache for you to fall over like that…” Sigurt said, his voice laced with sympathy rather than the suspicion Fenric had feared. “Don’t you think you should go lie down? Lord Anshelm wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re just saying that to get out of your lesson,” Fenric teased before wincing in pain. He really did have a thundering headache – he’d only lied by omission.

“A little bit, sure,” Sigurt admitted. “But you really do look poorly.”

“Fine,” Fenric mumbled, formulating a plan as he slowly rose from the bench. 

Relaxing at a time like this felt like a sacrilege, but Sigurt’s suggestion might be a good one for reasons beyond Sigurt’s knowledge – if Fenric slept now, he could sneak out at night and warn Master Guthrun. He needed to ask her about this mystery sorcerer again, too. Guthrun’s people weren’t involved, but she may still know something. Armed with the knowledge that the sorcerer was no longer at Cletzhem – at least as far as Gytha Jordis knew – Guthrun might be able to tell him more than she could last he asked her. 

“Keep practising,” Fenric instructed Sigurt as he left in search of his bedroll. “Or at least make sure to take your time when writing to your father in the future.”

“I’ll do one of the two,” Sigurt quipped. “Feel better, Scribe.”