Overview
The journal opens with a grim thought: that the world might be witnessing its final days.
Nearly the whole of Europe lies ravaged by the great plague, a merciless and unstoppable pestilence that erases whole towns and villages. At the same time, two great powers — France and England — wage war over the French throne, seemingly ready to set the entire continent ablaze for it. And from the East, the Mongols or the Turks could arrive any day to burn and pillage. Nothing feels certain anymore; the world appears to be falling apart beyond repair.
Even setting those calamities aside, ordinary life would still be harsh. People toil for their lords, who drain them like leeches: most of what they produce must be surrendered to masters with scant sympathy for their suffering. It makes no difference how clever or industrious someone is — a peasant by birth remains a peasant in death.
Small wonder, then, that in such a world the new order Brencis has built in Vale Sangora can look like a blessing — even if it is only a clever lie.