Hastiand has proven to be a terrific pupil. Whether a gift from the gods, or because of his time with the mandolin, the bard’s body has shown amazing resilience to the training. He possesses an intuitive mind and learns quickly. What’s more, he is willing to help me destroy the monstrous instrument. Yet, I cannot help but remain leery of his plan to save the woman he loves. While I sympathize with his desire, the demon within the instrument is clever, deceitful, and unpredictable. I fear I may be pushing my luck.

  Part of me wishes simply to force him to do what I ask. I’ve worked hard for so many years to find the mandolin. Now that it’s within reach, I want nothing more than to tear it apart. Every time I see it sitting on the table in Hastiand’s room, I am reminded of the ruined city in the desert and the decayed bodies. An empire of corpses that do nothing more than collect sand for the rest of time. My blood turns hot, and a thirst for justice grabs at my throat even as I write these words.

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  Yet, something restrains me. Perhaps it is some small part of my mind that clings to compassion, a feeling that I thought long gone. Maybe it is Ta’Kish himself that tugs at me. Wherever it comes from, it tells me to trust Hastiand and help him. Help him in a way that goes beyond mere magical ability. Help him remain grounded in this world. The years he has spent with the mandolin cannot have been good for his mind nor his soul. Its taint reaches deeper the longer it remains with the musician. I know this perhaps better than anyone.

  As I read back over the words I have written during my time with Hastiand, I find a small bit of irony. In helping Hastiand, I see that I have become more positive, more optimistic, more alive. It would seem I have found in Hastiand what every person in this world should have: a good friend.