Date: Mon, 5 May 2003 16:03:52 -0700 (PDT) From: Kris Gibbons Subject: SongSpell-11 This story is a work of fiction. It contains references to violent behavior between adults, and expressions of physical affection between consenting adult males. If you find this type of story offensive, or if you are underage and it is illegal for you to read it, please exit now. All characters are fictional and in no way related to any persons living or deceased. Any such similarity is purely coincidental. This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written consent of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the provisions of their submission guidelines but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the consent of the author. My thanks go to Barry, who helped with this chapter. I appreciate your patient responses to my obsessive concerns. I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com Copyright 2003 Kristopher R. Gibbons All rights reserved by the author. 11 Twentieth Part The Tithe Hamlet: A murderer and a villain, A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord, a vice of kings, A cutpurse of the empire and the rule... Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4, Line 97 Ierwbae bowed to his lord. "Your Majesty, Chelnaur, pro tem Master of the Stonewrights, begs audience." The King merely raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well, they rallied quickly, and don't lack for audacity either. Do you know their argument?" Ierwbae grinned. "A petition, desperate in delivery, I expect." Evendal sat back with a contented expression. "We will grant them brief audience." When Evendal saw the petitioner, his good humour vanished. A thin, hollow-eyed girl of no more than fifteen years approached and knelt in a gown with long sleeves. She kept her arms forward, palms open, in a gesture that usually indicated harmlessness, but for the twitching of her limbs. The word "Trap" might as well have been branded on her pasty forehead. When the King felt he could keep his rage out of his voice, he said. "Rise. You are called Chelnaur, young lady?" The woman shook her head. "No. Omerludi, Your Majesty." "Who is this Chelnaur?" "No one, Your Majesty. It is a name I was given to say, to later confound any search." The girl's voice was velvet. "And who assigned you this task?" "Joale Stone-wright, Your Majesty." "Do you wish to remain with the Stone-wrights, Omerludi?" "They are gracious to me, beyond what I deserve." Throughout this interview, Omerludi kept her eyes on the dirt between her feet. The girl-woman's responses threaded in a tired monotone and yet beguiled. Well aware of the game being played, Evendal nonetheless grieved over the child's condition. "Do they feed you well?" "Very well, Your Majesty." "Then for what are you so thin and wan?" "I have been ill, Your Majesty." "With what, young lady?" "With... uh, weak lungs. Your Majesty." "Child, do not lie to Us." Speak, you hapless game-piece, Let honesty prevail. How came you to this extremity? Your lord's intent unveil. "With starvation, Your Majesty. I do not get fed unless I have done all the chores in the stables, and done them to the chatelaine's satisfaction. If she is displeased, she canes me and has me stand as night guard over the stableyard. I have yet to do them to her satisfaction in over a moon. It has gotten to where I cannot lift the tack, I feel so weak. The punishment for my failure today will be the whip and the pleasure of the apprentices." "I was to tell you that I am the daughter of Horest Stone-smith. That the Stone-wrights had no means to remove the wall built so far, or restore the ground it occupies. No place to put the stones if they were removed. Nor the manpower to do so. If you took pity on me, and touched me even to simply take my hand, I was to slip my wrist-knife out and either slit your throat or stab you to the heart." Evendal felt only a fitful indignation, and no surprise. The longer he looked on this willowy malnourished waif, the stranger the moment seemed. "Are you Horest's daughter?" Omerludi shook her head. "Horest gave his daughters to the Wise Counselor and the Beast. To keep his charter and his neck." "Then... Why did they send you?" "No one else to send, they said. No one else they could do without. At first I did not know what they wanted me for. I still cannot believe they expect me to stab anyone!" The girl-woman actually smiled at the absurdity. "Neither can We. Who else worked with you on this imbecilic deception?" "The chatelaine of the manor, Inereldo. The Master of Journeymen, now the Master of Stone-wrights, Fankernas. And the Master's apprentice, Kilent-ror." "Were We to revoke the guild's claim on you, find you gentler labour here or with a kinder master, what would you do? Could We trust you not to stab Us? Or poison Us?" The girl flicked a glance at Evendal, wriggled her shoulders, and let two daggers drop to the ground. "Whatever I can or can't do, I would not want to be remembered for harming anyone! I was not going to return to that nest of slugs, Your Majesty. I was prepared to use the blades on myself, just to escape. But I wanted to tell you what they intended, first. When I came up to you, I... I didn't know how to begin." Evendal thought, kindly. 'You froze and forgot all you intended.' "Your tormentors, are they near? Or do they await you at the manor?" "Some apprentice is hiding near the entrance or near the Causeway, to report when I fail. He plainly shadowed me, as if I would not mark his presence." Evendal nodded to an attending Guard, who gestured to a second Guard. The two walked briskly toward a section of the wall spotted with bay trees. They promptly disappeared behind a wide-trunk bay. A short time later, the same Guard came in through the main entrance, dragging a thick-framed middle-aged man between them. "Kilent-ror." Omerludi identified, her voice devoid of emotion. "Young lady, if you will be so kind as to retreat around the back of the Palace, going right, and you'll see an open doorway. That is an entrance to Our kitchens. Tell the woman you see there, that the father of the Master of the Under-grounds asks the Empress of the Hearth to help you. Have you got that?" "Yes, Your Majesty." "And Omerludi? Be at ease, what We have indirectly promised you, We will provide you." Omerludi dimpled in a suddenly shy response, and Evendal thought irrelevantly. 'When she heals up she is going to terrorize this place.' He found he quite looked forward to the possibility and the complications she could create. As the girl walked in the direction given, Evendal turned his attention to the snarling apprentice. "Hielbrae, would you retrieve the knives?" He asked one of his body-Guards, his hand outstretched. When the knives were given him Evendal simply sat, resting his head on Kri-estaul's. As moments passed, the apprentice's fury bled into confused belligerence. "Well? Your lackeys dragged me here. What have I done? Why do you just sit there?" At Kilent-ror's outburst, Evendal opened his eyes and regarded the man's pugnacious expression. "Oh, We need nothing from this villain. When the time comes, he'll condemn himself. Store him where he will not spoil, then organize a company and present them here." Evendal awakened Kri-estaul. "Kri, beloved. I have to go lead a company of Guard. This is not a duty you can join me in. I may be in danger, and you would certainly be in danger." Kri-estaul started to protest, but Evendal set a finger to his lips. "No. This is not negotiable. I would be shielding you when I would be safer with both arms free. And by now everyone knows your importance to me. If someone captured you, I would give over my power, my kingdom and my name with both hands to have you back. Please bear with my need to keep you as safe as I can." "Do you have to go? Can't you send someone?" How to explain? He had been sitting too long. He never felt restlessness, but this came close. Sitting and being waited on depressed him, he felt he knew only what his visitants wanted him to know. For the moment he felt he could trust the people most immediately about him, that they would not layer him in a candied glaze, filtering who came to him or deciding the worthiness of a petitioner. Thankfully, his immediate companions understood his hopes and his intentions, and supported them. But were it not for the odd moments of panic or fugue, when what came out of his mouth was not what was babbling in his head, he suspected Aldul would make a better King. He knew the Stone-wrights were shaping to be either an impediment or a danger, and an odd one apparently, and he didn't want both he and his son away from the safety of the Palace. "Kri-estaul," Evendal spoke lowly and solemnly. "Have I your leave to do my duty?" "But, Papa! I want you safe, too, Papa." Something of Evendal's turmoil must have penetrated. "I'm sorry, Papa." Evendal winced at that phrase. "I'll stay here. But come back quick." The child trembled. "I'm here with you, my son. Until the instant I have to ride. And I will be back as fast as I can be." Soon enough a formation of thirty assembled in front of the mock throne, Mar-Depalai among them. "Mine own, We are going to be bearding a badger in its den, today. The Guild of Stone-smiths has defied Us. It sent a starvling here as messenger with instructions to kill Us at the best opportunity. That is an odd challenge best not ignored. When we reach their manor-house, We Ourselves will make the first assault. Should that not suffice, We may signal you to invade and, where you cannot capture, spare only those who have not reached majority." Mar-Depalai chuckled. "And what kind of attack will you yourself provide, to have the Stoner's Guild ready to surrender their hoard?" "A hoard, you say? Interesting. Patience, sweet maiden." Evendal advised in dulcet tones. "Ierwbae, if you would, We wish you to accept a less perilous assignment. The safeguarding of Our son and Heir until We return later today. Is this acceptable to you?" Ierwbae, looking beyond the glow to the impassive expression on his liege, realised the request as an honest one, one he could refuse without penalty or loss of esteem in his kinsman's affections. "Gladly, Your Majesty. The honour is mine. Is this acceptable to you, my Prince?" Kri-estaul, startled from his doze, hesitated before answering. "I guess so, yes." He did not sound pleased. A stray memory snagged Evendal's attention. "Ierwbae. What has been done with the work-camp housing, outside the City?" "Nothing, my lord. I expect it was abandoned when you revoked the Stoner's charter." "What do you want to wager it is still occupied and serving other Stoner goals?" "By the Five Thunders! I'd lose. With your leave I can send two companies to see. If its vacant, they will post a watch. Do you want it cleared, if occupied? And by what means?" "First, check with Omerludi, she likely knows who the occupants might be. Just because We legislated emancipation, does not mean all guilds and businesses freed their indentured servants. Once you know what to expect, your field leaders will know how and who to target. You stay here and direct those you trust to think on their feet. If it holds mostly guild-members, give the same directives I just did." "It shall be done, Your Majesty." "When you are through questioning Omerludi, would you be willing to direct from here? Kri needs to enjoy the out-of-doors, after two years deprivation." "It will be a hardship, but I live to obey." "Ha ha, I'll be sure to tell Metthendoen that." The Temple tolled the second bell after noon when the King of Osedys donned the swan-helmet he had brought with him from the Kul, saddled a horse, and guided his company through the city streets. The Temple's tinny signal for the half-bell mark found Evendal facing his destination. A building close to eight thousand feet long and two thousand feet wide, with a facade of alabaster and rose quartz, intricately ornamented teardrop-shaped turrets graced each corner. The building stood two-tiered and quiet, no sign of traffic to and from its doors. "How nice." Evendal remarked, annoyed. "A fortress in Osedys, and its not the Palace. I imagine the turrets serve as watch-towers and that a number of different perils await the fool who manages to breach the doors." The longer he looked at the tasteless agglomeration of porphyry and schist, marble, agate and mica-chips, the more uneasy Evendal felt. The nearest Guard just smiled. "So? That just makes taking the place a challenge." She suddenly recalled whom she addressed. "With all due respect, Your Majesty." Evendal chuckled. "I too appreciate a challenge, but there are limits. This building should not be here." And suddenly, Evendal knew what to do. He wanted this symbol utterly eradicated. As he stared, almost unmanned inside, the King realised his fury stemmed from more than this moment alone. 'Was I imprisoned in such a place? Why can't I remember?' "Sire? I don't understand." "This is the type of structure the unlamented Wise Counselor must have drooled over. A defendable citadel. And an over-indulgence that mocks a city which has been bled dry." He smiled with a silver glint in his glowing eyes. "How would this company like to take home a token from this place? A keepsake?" Before his Guard could deter him, Evendal stepped from the corner of the building they had paused at, and walked to the steps of the guild-house. When his presence brought no visible response, m'Alismogh took a deep breath and sang the verse he had fashioned on horseback. Time wrests youth from man, Pain from life, and pain from death. Change, sovereign of this world, Acts slow as age or quick as breath. This tower false, made unsanctioned, Raised through blood and main, Bring to its end, age it swift, Its finials and foundations, O Ir, reclaim. Just as once before, Evendal found himself elsewhere and when. A dozen archers stood on a balcony before him with bows trained on his person. An equal number of people he knew to be gentry smiled or scowled at him, underestimating his anger or the affront they did him by threatening his friends... With the last syllable, a disoriented Evendal turned and walked back toward his company. Halfway to them the ground trembled, then shuddered more fiercely. A strange combination of sounds made the King turn; glass shattering, rock, stone and mortar dropping from the front of the Guild-house. Cracking and splintering noises from within, that would normally not escape the solid walls, added to the medley. A scream competed with the rumble and crackling. Then, to Evendal's fascination, what he could see of the rear of the building sagged, followed by the rest of the construct. The roar of the in-folding overwhelmed the King's ears. The front did not collapse immediately as more and more of the alabaster veneer cracked, the mortar eroded, and the quartz flaked away into powder. Evendal heard and felt the sudden deaths; their succession of shocks brought him to his knees where the quaking had not. When perhaps one third of the ornamentation had dropped, with the turrets reduced to chalk and pebbles, the front wall toppled backward like an uprooted tree. Evendal felt a last shock burst its cacophony through his body. After a moment and a solid breath, the King stood and returned to his company. His eye sought and found the stunned face of Mar-Depalai, who blinked several times when she noticed her liege's regard. "Your turn now. Move quickly!" Mar-Depalai scowled, trembling. "Hurry to what? Death duty?" "Three, maybe four people died. The rest are likely to smother in the stone and mortar dust, unless all of you move quickly! Go!" The Guard obeyed. As the Temple marked the third bell after noon, near unto fifty people had been pulled from the wrack, disarmed, hobbled, and then clustered together. As Evendal had expected, they uncovered four bodies, casualties of the few Kul-stone columns' collapse. The failure of such a large edifice drew a massive crowd, alternating between curious and boisterous at different moments. Loud confidences let Evendal know he had been recognized, and cheers and applause broke out during the binding of the Stone-wright Master. One unknown threw a fresh egg that hit no one. Fankernas, the recent Master of the Stone-smithy, knelt and bowed his head even before Evendal neared. The Guild-master's clothing sported sapphires, rubies and topazes, along with rips and stone dust. His fingers could barely move for the rings shielding them. Joale Stone-wright, recently appointed Master of Apprentices had emerged similarly attired. "Rebel-master Fankernas," the King began. The Guild-master moved to stand. "We did not give you leave! You are as We have named you: Rebel-master. For without Our charter, you have no rights to assemble as a guild in this province. You have no rights to appoint or be appointed. You have no estates or property as a guild. No lands. No indentured servants. We know you were aware of your status. You condemn yourself by your presence in this garb and in this place. Strip." "Your... Your Majesty?" "Disrobe! Now!" Still in shock and wracked by the dust, the two stone-smiths struggled out of their tattered dalmatics and over-tunics. "Interesting bulges, Rebel-masters. Remove the straps and unveil what you hoard so dearly on your persons." Fankernas quickly untied the cords on three tubes of cloth flush against his prominent belly, and unrolled the material to reveal strings of gold coins and jeweled rings. Joale's waist held a similar bounty. "This, greedy Rebel-masters, does not even begin to provide blood-price for the people you have enslaved, tortured and killed. Not even a fraction. Give Us reason to let you live. Give Us one reason." "Puissant Lord, we were but safeguarding it on our persons while we thought up a way to distribute it safely..." "Along with Our corpse? Your sophomoric, half-hearted venture to kill Us failed miserably. Though as a symbol it succeeded: Sending some armed waif to elicit Our sympathy. Stab us? She could not have gnawed through chicken-fat because of how you starved her! But she accepted the offer of Our hand in compassion. The work-camp your guild oversaw has been reclaimed. No, you and your guild, all members found here today, may be put to death. Today." Speak, you baseborn traitor, Let no silence remain What you've hoarded unveil, Who you worked with make plain. Horest may have been nominal Head, but it became clear he had not been the mind of the Stone-wright Guild. Fankernas babbled his history, detailing those of his house who had been willing participants, as well as those coerced. Horest had been oblivious of anything except the challenge of building a massive defense wall. Matters of assets, of payables and receivables, of the source and fate of the labour-force, Horest pointedly and consistently left to Fankernas and the other Master Stone-smiths. Horest's sole concern had been the quality of the work done, and keeping his timetable for the wall's completion. In imitation of Horest's retentive nature, Fankernas wrote his Guild-master explicit mortality reports, so that should he face a reckoning, Fankernas could say he was following orders. "You thought to rid the kingdom of its King?" "Our job was hard enough before you showed up. But we at least had work and the respect of our fellow guilds." This stood in direct contradiction to the Quill-master's report and that of the Criers. Evendal tried again. "You decided to rid Osedys of its native authority?" "I guess so." "What made you think sending some half-starved girl with a knife she could barely lift would succeed?" Fankernas shrugged in an honest lack of interest. "No one else was willing to go," he complained. "And she didn't seem to care so long as she got a chance to avoid work. She was not uncomely. We thought the unexpected might help our success." The attitude the man spouted befuddled Evendal, the degree of indifference to the effects of his own plots. Evendal had thirty-seven guild-members, those Fankernas implicated, separated from the others and taken to the rubble mound that had been the guild-house. The King had the remaining twelve removed to the antechamber behind the Council Chamber until his return, with assurances of their safety in exchange for their parole. Mar-Depalai beside him, Evendal contemplated Fankernas' cohort. "What do you say, Mar-Depalai? What shall we do with these?" "They are guilty of kidnapping, of murder, and willfully supporting the continued decimation of the forced labourers. Of..." The Guard was hard-pressed not to chuckle. "Of a failed regicide. Would you free them? Incarcerate them at Throne expense through a long life? Exile what is, in size, a company that can prey on others? I say give them over to the surviving stone-haulers. That serves for Horest." "But isn't that cowardice on Our part? Making another do what We would not?" Mar-Depalai nodded. "Then I have no answer, my lord. This is not my discipline." "All the gifts at my disposal, and I don't have an answer either. One element of Justice means providing restitution in equal measure to what was taken. And thirty-seven quick deaths does not begin to provide that." "Too bad you can't send them around to the surviving families for personal punishment." Evendal's eyes widened. "Why not?" Mar-Depalai looked doubtfully at her lord. "Are you well, Your Majesty?" "Indeed. And in possession of all my faculties, too. Bear with me a moment. The survivors of the camps need know that what was done to them shall not be forgotten. What better punishment than for these scum to recite their crimes and negligence to all they meet with." "You are thinking of something more than that, aren't you, my lord?" "Yes." Evendal replied, almost grinning. "The survivors have formed their own community, Mar-Depalai. We hesitated to acknowledge that, lest it continue their isolation. But here it may serve well. We instruct them that these prisoners be passed among them to whatever hardship they choose short of death, dismemberment, or tattoo. Each family allowed a single day in possession of whichever prisoner they wish. After which, sufficient survivors must agree to escort the prisoners on a tour." "Mar-Depalai stared in confusion. "A tour? Of what?" "The rulers and councils of the surviving and dead emigre. Wherein the prisoners must recite their crimes and offer themselves up to the same arrangement." "That seems awfully elaborate. An added expense on the Throne. And further effort on the survivors' part." The Guard protested. "Watch and see, sweet lady." Evendal mused. "They will accept and add their own flourishes to the plan. We only hope it will heal more than harm." He shrugged, at a loss. "It is the best We could do at present. Let's get them moving and head back to the Palace. Consign these vermin to a room in the under-grounds. With no talking permitted amongst them." Through the grim entrance to the Palace grounds, Evendal saw the diminutive form of Kri-estaul sitting beside a man in Guard livery, Ierwbae, and in front of a third figure stretched out on the ground, Metthendoen. The King halted in the middle of the Causeway to watch the oblivious trio. "Do you want one of us to precede..." Mar-Depalai began, but Evendal motioned for quiet. "Do nothing. He needs other people, but won't really talk to anyone else when he has me right there. Besides, he needs to become comfortable with his uncles." Mar Depalai frowned. "Oh yes, you said they were your kin when we first met. Now I recall." Evendal smiled, utterly unaware of it. "Yes. That's my brother Ierwbae, and my brother Metthendoen." "You adopted them?" Mar-Depalai smirked. "How... philanthropic of my lord." Evendal shook his head, more to quiet his annoyance. "No, sweet lady. They adopted me." "How selfless of them." She chuckled. Evendal rounded on the woman, eyes blazing, casting suddenly fearful features in a golden light. "Mar-Depalai," he commanded, his whispering voice deep with anger. "You will, henceforth, keep your scorn locked far behind your tongue, until We command otherwise." The Guard opened her mouth, but words came slowly. "Yes, Your Majesty." Evendal felt only a brief twinge of conscience. 'Sarcasm served no one well,' he told himself. "We can wait here a few moments. The prisoners are not going to scamper away, and the day is a cool one. Have someone retrieve the emissary for the stone-haulers, and quickly." Mar-Depalai nodded and moved to comply, to be replaced by an older male Guard. Feeling shadowed by his temper, Evendal m'Alismogh found himself imagining a tether, laced-about by his own fault, extending from his arm to Mar-Depalai's mouth like a horse-bit. 'I gave her no time or opportunity to address her own behaviour', he realised, 'I simply halted her. I treated her like a horse, not one of my Guard.' After a moment's queasiness, and ruminating without result, Evendal decided reparation must wait on Mar-Depalai's return. Standing quiet, Evendal could hear large portions of the conversation. "... We first met him. We saw someone who felt as we felt, loved what we loved. Who hurt over the infamies that grieved us. He needed to know he wasn't alone... need to feel lonely." Ierwbae explained. Metthendoen spoke up. "He didn't adopt you out of pity, Kri. If he had pitied you, he would have left you with your sister and merely visited you until you were well again. He adopted you because he loved you. He wants to be there for you every day, not just when the work of being King allows it." Ierwbae interrupted. "Of course you couldn't see what he was like when that lad stabbed you, Kri. But he went insane, and not just a little unbalanced. Your being dead ripped his heart out. He was prepared to let everyone die with him, bringing the roof do..." "But why?" Kri-estaul asked, frustration adding volume to his query. After several breaths taken in silence, the child responded to something whispered. "I am just a... brat who can't walk, with a face like a... like a moon!" "No," Ierwbae protested, unyielding. "Not a brat!" After a moment's silence, Metthendoen offered. "Kri-estaul, most of the important things that people do, they don't do for only one reason. Usually there are many reasons, some they don't realise are moving them. Make sense?" "Yes." "So. You are crippled, Kri, and scarred. So what? Perhaps he sees you as Osedys made small. With one important difference. You can comfort each other. A hug, a smile, a word. This city is seldom that kind. Or maybe it is because you are a child, and he was never allowed to be one. But another reason is you, Kri. He loves you just because he does. It may not make sense, but its genuine." "Ask me why I love Uncle 'Bae, and I can tell you how we met, what first annoyed me about him, what he likes and doesn't. How we seem to fit together in our own eyes, but baffle our friends. I can tell you everything but why I love him. It just is so." Ierwbae added. "And that can be true no matter what kind of love you are talking about: Father or mother and child. Brother and sister. Mentor and student. The friend you might keep from crib to death-bed. Some such bonds are better off not lasting even a bell. Some can, for no obvious reason, sustain themselves to a person's last breath." m'Alismogh's sensitivity caught more from Ierwbae's words than Ierwbae intended, and more than Evendal wanted to know. He began walking again. The convalescent Guard spoke fervently. "As you grow up you'll hear a lot of songs about the need to be loved. Just as important is the need to love. Finding someone who needs or wants the ways you naturally express your affection." "He's not waiting until I am well to plow me?" Evendal stopped, struck stone-still with dismay. Ierwbae could not speak except to let out a strangled. "No." Metthendoen, seeing Kri's anxiety, calmly elaborated. "No, Kri. I understand how that must be a lot on your mind, but no. And do not ask that of everyone around the King, they would not know where your question comes from. He wants you, Kri, not your ass. And he wants you to be a happy child, as much as you can." "If you have questions, ask your father. Ask us." Ierwbae insisted. "You trusted him before. Trust him still." For a long interval no one spoke. Evendal could see that the two Guards waited on Kri-estaul to speak; their attitudes made it clear the child wrestled with what to say. "He is so good to me. I... I don't want him to not like me. He'll think I'm too much trouble... See that I'm bad." The Guards said nothing, waiting. "I don't want to bother him... To worry him." "If you want to lighten his heart and burdens, talk to him. Don't think to spare him." Metthendoen confirmed, his voice blaring sincerity. "I thought that way once, and it's a big mistake." "Nobody else talks like you do." Kri complained. "The King has never been around young boys, ever. So he doesn't know how to talk to you, you can teach him. Be patient." "Yes," Evendal interrupted. "Please be patient with me, Kri. I am learning, I really am." Kri-estaul bared his back. When nothing happened he raised his head and looked up, fear and guilt in his puffy face. "You're not mad at me?" Evendal wanted to hug the boy, embrace the worry away, but held off. The child had a right to a man's dignity at this moment, he suddenly realised. "No. Why would I be angry? You could not have confided in better people than your uncles." "Un... Uncles?" Metthendoen and Ierwbae smiled at the boy's surprise. Evendal sat on the ground by Metthendoen's feet. "Yes, these two understood me and adopted me in the same way I adopted you. When they refer to themselves as Uncle 'Bae and Uncle 'Doen, they are not just being sentimental. You have a... Well, I guess it would be a great-aunt, as well. Anlota, the Mother of Midwives." "But, I ask again. Please be patient with me. If I insult you by talking to you as to a baby, slap me on the hand and tell me. If I make you uncomfortable, say something... anything you can. It doesn't have to be polite; it doesn't have to be exactly what you mean. You are my son, now. And that will not change unless you want to change it." Kri-estaul's lip trembled. Evendal knew the child didn't believe it. Yet. "I still... I still want to be held by you. Is that alright?" "Very alright, my son. Anything else?" "No." The lie glared like an eclipse. "Kri-estaul. Tell me. Please? Let me help." "I... I don't want. I don't want to sleep alone. I'm sorry. I know I am not a baby, but I can't sleep alone. I just can't! I feel sick, and scared, and all alone again. I can't stand it!" "Yes. Having your own bed in our room has not helped, has it?" Kri-estaul shook his head, suddenly vehement. "No, I hate it. I can't feel you're there. Or see someone's with me. I wake up and I'm back in that evil place. I am sorry. And I am sorry I'm crying like a baby. Really. I'm sorry." "Oh, Kri. If you'll notice, babies don't cry. They wail at the top of their lungs! So, you're definitely not a baby." Kri-estaul hiccoughed a laugh. "If that is best for you, then you sleep beside me. We shall simply rig some kind of pillowed bolster to safeguard your legs from my hitting them or pressing on them..." "You're all so... You've been so good to me. And I know I am a bother... I'm sorry." "Kri-estaul. I love you. You are my son, and I love you. It is easy to be good to you. You are a loveable boy. And I will be more than happy to tell you this for as long as you need to hear it. You are worth every plot of land and every title I claim. I love you. The only thing I want from you is to see you happy or content." Kri-estaul looked up at Evendal. The King had never seen the child look so troubled, his face scrunched up and the onion-like texture to his skin emphasized. "When you hold me, or carry me around, I feel happy, safe. When I am with a Guard," His gaze slid quickly to Ierwbae, and just as quickly away. He whispered. "I get... I feel like the Beast is going to walk around a corner and take me back." Herein stood Kri-estaul's first big secret. Evendal belatedly recalled how Abduram had been in Guard colours when he ran into Kri-estaul. He wondered briefly at Kri's unburdening himself with Ierwbae and Metthendoen, but realised that Ierwbae had been a near constant shadow - a familiar face. And Metthendoen, still a convalescent, held no threat to the boy. "That will change, Kri. It already has." Kri-estaul showed the question in his face. "You felt safe enough with Ierwbae, and he in Guard livery. It will change, just slowly. Is it right for me to hold you now?" Kri-estaul nodded, maneuvered himself on his hands and knees, and crawled slowly to the King. His body dragging against the hard-packed dirt had to hurt, but Evendal realised the boy was testing again: Testing other people's reactions, testing his body's ability, trying a different means of moving, and testing his freedom to do things for himself. Evendal held still, until Kri reached his lap and flipped over to sit. He simply put his hands on his son's shoulders. Huffing and asweat from that small exertion, Kri-estaul looked up at Evendal and grinned uncertainly. "You are full of nice surprises." The young boy smiled wider, but exhaustion, painkiller, and uncertainty still shook the inflamed muscles of his face. Evendal held his son in silence. The King sighed. "I have to go inside in a moment. And talk to the stonecutters. What's left of them." "We saw two groups of very... dusty people go around the Causeway after you sat down. I wondered what had happened." Ierwbae offered. "The work camp was indeed occupied. One hundred green ruffians playing soldier with dull, rusted or fouled weaponry. Near unto eighty dead, no Guard casualties." "Well, fortunately no one had to draw their sword at the Guild-house. I... I sang their fortress down around them." Evendal laughed, halfheartedly. "It makes perfect sense when I do things like that. And yet sounds so frightening when I think about it later. The smaller group is those innocent of the Stone-wrights' crimes." "Why didn't you execute the others?" "It felt... excessive. I thought to give them over to their victims, for punishment but not to die. And then make a show of them to the rulers of the provinces that their other victims came from. Whatever family the dead might have left behind in the other cities, it might help them feel that justice was not done by someone indifferent. Maybe they won't feel so helpless." Evendal paused a moment. "Although, I have found justice to be cold comfort, myself." "Their assassination attempt was genuine, just peripheral. An annoying irrelevancy to them. I swear to you the entire guild has existed only to respond to two questions: What do I do want from this stone? And where can I hide my money? No other concerns exist for them." "How is that different from so many others?" Ierwbae asked, surprising Evendal. "The prisoners are not likely to survive such a circuit." Metthendoen tendered, to which Evendal shrugged. "I really cannot care. My concern now is that damnable city wall. Somehow I doubt that twelve myopic stone-wrights are going to be much help in dismantling that eyesore." "Cannot you do to it what you did to my chains?" Kri-estaul asked. Evendal thought for a moment. "Good idea. I probably could, but that wall cost in lives and revenue. Simply turning it into dust doesn't seem enough." Kri-estaul mulled over that, feeling dumb from his tonic, and finally nodded. "Well, Drussie told Uncle Kielen she wished she had the stones Polgern had used for her home. Can't we give her some?" The smile on the King's face made Kri-estaul's face ease in return. "Yes! There are so many places needing that stone. It won't remove the whole wall, but it will remove a good portion of it. Thank you, my son." "I guess I had best go in. Kri-estaul, I have some more singing to do, with the contingent I ordered to the under-grounds. Would you stay here with your uncles, until I return?" Kri-estaul frowned but nodded. "I want to go with you. But not down there! I'm sorry, I can't." Evendal smiled. "That's fine with me. It will give me a reason to hurry." Groaning, Evendal stood with Kri-estaul in his arms, then handed him to Ierwbae. Ierwbae set Kri down beside Metthendoen. The child weighed too little for an eight-year-old, Evendal thought, though he had no means of comparing. Inside, the King first met with the twelve confused, frightened stone-workers. He sat in the Council Chamber, and had the anxious dozen escorted in. After examining the soot-stained and stone-cracked room, the stone-wrights realised the Throne was occupied and quickly knelt. "Do you understand what has befallen you? Stand as you address Us." One woman, solid and gray-haired, stood and answered. "Our Guild-house is no more. We have been separated from the majority of our brethren. And I guess us to be guilty of some crime, else we would not now be here under Guard." After an awkward pause, the woman added. "Your Majesty." "We are the means by which your fortress was leveled. You have been separated from your fellow guild-members, because you are not guilty of any crime. Fankernas has detailed those responsible for graft and mass-murder amongst your people. He also instigated an assassination attempt on Our person. By doing so, We do not regret to say your guild has been more than simply decimated. We see no reason to restore your charter to function in this kingdom, and ample reason to banish your guild and deal with rogues." The woman blinked, looked around the room for a moment, and then announced. "Fankernas always was a sneak and a plagiarist. What can we do to assuage your anger...? Your Majesty? There must be something, else we would be with our fellows." "We wondered how it could be that two thirds of a guild had been such willing servants in Horest's cold-blooded plans. Then We realised the better question would be: How could it be that one third of the guild remained uninvolved toward the inhumanity and avarice originating from their own?" The woman swallowed hard, then asked the obvious. "And your conclusion, lord?" "Willful ignorance." Evendal answered, his grim face harder than Kul-stone. "You knew but did not want to know. You buried..." Evendal winced at his own choice of words. "You buried your awareness of the monstrosity your proud guild had become in minutiae. In frivolities. Over six thousand people dead and you went around training apprentices, terrorizing novices, and plotting how large an oriel window should be. Or where the next few hundred pressganged would bleed their lives away. We've no doubt it looked very clean and awe-inspiring on parchment, which was as close as you chose to get to the infamy. You haggled and flirted and bickered, not wanting to know your own 'brethren' were slaughtering citizens and visitors. By making certain it did not touch on your daily assignments, you did not have to think about it ever." Silence greeted his tirade. "Tell Us We are wrong." He challenged. The challenge remained unmet. "Hear Our tentative judgment. With the dissolution of your guild-house, you all are now wards of the Throne. For remaining housed in and part of an unchartered guild, your liberties could be removed, utterly. We would declare you t'bo, and you would be so branded. You would take up residence in the work-camp. You would be fed such fare as the stone-haulers enjoyed, in the same quantity and frequency. And you would devise a means, without the use of blasting powder or masses of labourers, for dismantling the wall." "Impossible!" Someone protested. "We do not care." Evendal responded with chill clarity. "But what of our families?" The woman asked. The thought of these people having families chilled Evendal. "You would have none. You would be t'bo. Your life, liberty and property would be Ours. You could be abused or killed without redress or penalty. You may enjoy the same cold comfort that your guild inflicted. An audience of only each other at all times." "But we've done nothing wrong! It was a valid commission of the Throne." Another cried. A balding man with one missing forearm entered through the charred doorway, pushed his way past the clustered stonemasons and waited. Evendal felt his voice and his composure cracking. "Cannot one of you think about something other than stone or money. Just once! It would be more accurate to say that you had done nothing at all. And while under the laws of other lands such would not be punishable, We are Osedys. We are sovereign in this, Our kingdom. And the voice of six thousand common citizens cries out for more than simple regret... Or some nostalgic monument erected by your outwardly penitent guild." One or two of those attending cursed softly on hearing that last statement. "Surely we have a right to appeal to the Council." These guild-members did not even know what it meant that they had violated the public order. It did not affect their work. He repeated. "We are all the clemency you can expect. We did not restore your charter, yet you remained an assembled guild. In violation of law and custom. You have no right to Council." "What about our fellow guild..." "They are no longer your concern." The King intoned. "Trust that you do not want to share their fate. Guard! Line them up before me." Evendal acknowledged the bald man at the back. "Jaserle? Come here, if you please." The newly-arrived man started at the shout and then moved to obey. When Evendal saw the polio-like withering along one side of the citizen, he hurried to forestall what could become an intolerable attempt at genuflection, grasping Jaserle by the shoulders and ritually embracing the man as the emissary he was. Jaserle stiffened initially, so that Evendal wondered if the man expected an attack. Upon asking the question, the King realised this brave man had indeed expected just that. "Do not incommode yourself, I beg you. Grant me, as my Guard do, the illusion of dealing with near-peers." "Your eyes!" The man blurted, then registered both Evendal's words and his own presumption. "You would treat everyone as gentry?" The thought clearly shocked Jaserle. "Season your admiration for a moment, while I finish my so-far vain attempts to deal fairly with an unfair mess. Please to sit as and where you need." When Evendal had not moved, Jaserle realised he was seriously being waited on. "Please, good Your Majesty!" he protested helplessly, not knowing what else to say. Evendal understood and turned to the now ordered dozen. He singled out the woman who had first spoken up. "You. How are you called?" "Peswiet, Your Majesty." "And you have family?" "Yes, Your Majesty." "Of a spouse? Or do you mean simply parents and siblings?" "I had a husband. He died at Mausna. I have a daughter. And a man I had petitioned my guild for permission to marry." "Peswiet, rebel-guild members, do you know how it is that your guild-house is no more than stone-splinters and mica-dust?" 'Thunders,' Evendal thought to himself, 'this is going to sound pompous!' "Not I, Your Majesty." Peswiet replied. The others wisely chose to simply shake their heads. "It is a dread, sometimes indifferent gift We grew into. We sang to the skies that We wanted the common stages of stone's aging to pass more quickly through your fortress. Mutability rules even granite. What commands We sing, are accomplished. We find that much involving sound and speech cleaves itself to Our will. This includes, as Left Hand of the Unalterable, the sifting of Truths." Evendal m'Alismogh stepped up to his Throne, and sat. "Peswiet, once of the Stone-wrights, do you love your daughter?" "Yes, Your Majesty." "This man you had hoped to marry. Do you love him?" "He... Yes, Your Majesty." "Do they help you in your work?" "I do not think he knows feldspar from slate. And my daughter hates the guild." "They both show a greater instinct for survival than you have. We find that you have not forfeited your liberties. But for one. You may not fashion stone, henceforth." Peswiet closed her eyes tight and shuddered through some troublesome breaths. "Gardening sounds attractive." Evendal smiled but gave no reply. He signaled the wide-eyed man beside Peswiet. "And you are called?" "Rem-gilentas, Your Majesty." "How many years have you?" "I own thirty-three years, Your Majesty." "Rem-gilentas, have you a spouse, or simply parents, siblings." "I remain a solitary, Your Majesty." "No family of any generation?" "I am accounted young by guild reckoning, Your Majesty. My mother died in childbirth. My father, in a fight between two ship-clans." "Close friends?" "Two of my guild-mates, Your Majesty." Evendal nodded. "And have you ever been in love, Rem-gilentas?" To the man's credit, he gave no hesitation. "Yes, Your Majesty." The King frowned. "Rem-gilentas. You have just lied to Us." Of the twelve that Evendal m'Alismogh interviewed, he fully released only one other. "How are you called?" "I am simply accounted 'Wirtle'." said the oldest man in the dozen. "Wirtle, how many years do you hold?" "I claim sixty-eight years, Your Majesty." "Have you family, Wirtle?" "Long dead, Your Majesty." "You do not bear the ensigns of your guild. Why is that?" "Because I am not an adept, Your Majesty. I could not summon up the... fire to succeed that so enkindled my fellows. Your Majesty, if you would be so gracious as to indulge me in a question I have." Depressed by what he had so far heard, Evendal scowled. "Very well," he relented. "What became of Omerludi?" That woke Evendal. "You know what your 'fellows' intended for her?" "No. But earlier today I saw the Masters clustered about her, whom they never noticed before. Forgive my sounding critical, but Master Fankernas' notice is best avoided. She is a good woman, but without prospects or kin. It chilled me when I saw her walking down the main causeway toward the Palace, so listless." And Evendal narrowed his eyes as he thought. "What do you provide for the guild, Wirtle?" "Oh, well. I help where it's needed. Errand runner, chirurgeon, cook. Most of my time is spent helping. Listening while they run ideas by, or worries, or hurts and homesickness. Whatever's needed." The man seemed ready to list his activities until asked to stop. Wirtle's ingenuous ramblings delighted, soothed m'Alismogh. Thus Evendal stumbled upon the nearest thing the guild had to a heart. "To answer your question, good Goodman Wirtle, Omerludi is well. And probably being fed decently for the first time in months. Would you care to join her?" "Oh, well, as to that. I don't know... I didn't want to interrupt what you were about here. To finish for you... I loved my mother. My wife and I were gentle with each other. I tried mightily to love my brother, but never really understood how to make him happy. Wanted to. Just embarrassed him more often than not. Poor man, always too busy." "Who is your brother? He yet lives?" "Well, as to that, I don't know. I used to tease him "Hoary Horest," but he never saw the humour. Don't know if he lives now or not. Poor man." "Goodman Wirtle, as your guild is no longer. Would you accept work and lodging here? Under the direction of Our Kitchener?" "Not trying to marry me off now? At my age?" The man looked utterly serious. "No. No danger of that." The King signaled a Guard. "Please escort this good man to the domain of Shulro. Then to a room of his own as well as one for Omerludi." After a moment resting his head in his hands, Evendal stood from his Throne and approached the emissary for the Stone-haulers. The man looked ripe for a heart-failure. "You may speak, as you wish." "I can only take you at your word, Your Majesty, as to how I am to treat with you." Jaserle tendered. "Good. Do so." Evendal knew he sounded angry, petulant. But the waste he witnessed infuriated him. "Did you just decide to spare two Stone-wrights on the basis of their having loved?" "Good Jaserle. We permitted two former Stone-wrights to retain three of their four most essential liberties because they recognised people beyond their guild obsessions as being more valuable to them. The ten who failed to care for anything beyond their guild or their ambitions within it... We can do very little to, excepting to scare them and mark them." "Mark them? Of course you brand t'bo." Evendal shook his head. "No. You did not note my precise words with them. Those twelve have done nothing to warrant the loss of all rights. But, We did decide that they must bear a mark, a heart tattooed on either the back of their hands or the meat of their forearms. With notice that anyone bearing such is restrained from working with stone in any fashion, even the shipping of it. And to serve as a reminder to them of what they do not have - heart." "Our original judgment was to have them serve in the same work-camp, living under the same conditions as the Stone-haulers had. But We quickly realised how onerous that would be for those of you even willing to enforce those conditions. Nevermind how that could lend itself to you, the abused, finding yourselves abusers. And the emotional devastation that could create." "Yes. But it is a fancy that many of us still entertain." "Even so, if you wish, and can guarantee that they would be treated as Our wards, not as the Stone-haulers' property, you are free to make use of them." Jaserle shook his head. "Too many of our number would slay them simply because they are Stone-wrights, Your Majesty. Grant me time to think over the matter." "It is your's." When the ten had been escorted out, Evendal, his Guard, and Jaserle, took the entrance behind the Throne. One flight down and through the door, then taking the first door on his left, Evendal entered a large, low-ceilinged room. Those who had been sitting on the straw covered floor moved to kneel. Those standing made no move but to watch the King as he advanced to Mar-Depalai. The Guard smiled. "I had to knick one or two, but they quieted down after that." Evendal could not smile, feeling very much the abusive overlord toward this Guard. "Very good. Mar-Depalai, may I present Jaserle, emissary to the surviving stone-haulers and camp-workers." The Guard said nothing. After a tense pause, Jaserle explained, flatly. "We've met." Another long gap of silence. "I still cannot quite absolve you. But for giving me this moment, I thank you." "I know. I would still do as I did." The Guard said, and then winced. "I think." Jaserle sighed. "That work-camp made every virtue a vice. I should never curse someone for kindness." The comments came out too pointed, and Jaserle looked too troubled, for the King to simply let the interchange stand as a forgettable violation of royal protocol. A protocol he himself had asked to have discarded. "May We know what you speak of?" "After my wife died from fever and flux, I got my arm crushed under a stone-cart. The wheels had partially rolled over my stomach, as well. Young Mar-Depalai running an errand at the camp on that day witnessed my mishap. A common accident there, and mortal. I would have died, but for your Guard summoning a healer." "What can you not forgive?" "At the time? Your Guard summoning a healer." The man replied in an unconsciously depressed tone. And Evendal quietly acknowledged that over some wounds he had no power to ease, and no right. Seeing his sorrow reflected in the King's face, Jaserle elaborated. "The time when death and I flirted is past, Your Majesty. I look back on that day, and think I was more offended than anything else. Because in the one moment where I had some illusion of control over my life... That one moment was stolen from me, as everything else had been." "I do not understand, Jaserle." "I was dying. Nothing the Stone-wrights did to me would change that. They themselves never summoned a healer for any of us. So they would only be able to rush my death or not. They could not stop me from dying. They had no authority over me in that moment. Only in that moment." Silence stretched out uncomfortably. After a brief reconsideration, Jaserle realised that Evendal would not speak first; that to do so would dishonour Jaserle's pain. "But that is a victory that we no longer seek, it has lost its sweetness, for we are no longer chattel." Evendal nodded, sobered. "Is the grange We provided sufficient?" "An elegant sufficiency, my lord. The comfort, the fires and the provisions may save a few we feared too weak to survive this season." "And how fares Melisto?" the King asked, thinking on the young girl who visited previously. "She is well. And we thank you for the gift. We are still enjoying him. How may we serve?" "We would, under your advisement, gift you further. You see before you..." "Members of the Stoners. I recognize many a jailer. Pardon, I meant 'many a guild-member'." "We wondered if you would be willing to accept these... t'bo with certain provisions?" Evendal outlined his idea. As the King came to an end, Jaserle beamed at him, showing more gaps than teeth, but the pleasure and relief shone clear. "Your Majesty..." The man halted, struggling for composure. "There are many who... who feel Osedys is poison to them. Too many. They see places and people they knew, and all they feel is bitterness. Leaving the place that destroyed them, for other sights and the making of new memories, may be just what some have need of." "We were uncertain, Jaserle. Sometimes the opportunity to enact vengeance heals, sometimes it fixes hate in the heart. Would the gift of your tormentors serve toward healing? Or should Ours be the hand that executes them?" The older man stared hard at Evendal, waiting for something that, apparently, did not come. "There are some, of fragile mind, I can prevail upon to forgo this opportunity. But seeing our persecutors under-brand may hearten the majority. There is no way of knowing beforehand, Your Majesty. But how will you get these slugs to confess on demand?" Evendal m'Alismogh smiled. Each carver of stone here poised, Remove their power of choice, To speak aught but the truth, And treat themselves without ruth, Let the tale of each crime and omission, Leap from their lips without inhibition. Evendal stepped up to one woman in a slate gray smock. "Why are you in this company?" "I led over forty press-ganging forays. Thirty into the outskirts of the Cinqet..." "Enough!" the King barked. "We hope that will serve, Jaserle." Unwelcome though the support might have been, Jaserle involuntarily leaned against a ready Mar-Depalai, his complexion chalky. "You. You frighten me, my lord." If Evendal heard the comment, he gave no sign. "Do you accept Our gift, with Our continued regret for the infamy done to Our citizens and visitants? We wish you all well, with what peace you can achieve." Again Jaserle waited several breaths before responding. "Many of us have begun to speak... hopefully of you, Majesty. And yes, I accept your gift, along with whatever strictures you require." "And you still wish to dwell where you are now? So far from the city proper?" The balding man sighed wearily. "Your Majesty... Unless you are willing to cast that... glamour throughout the entirety of the city, and abide by the blood-bath that would ensue as we Stone-haulers enacted our own justice on those neighbors and family who scorned us or sold us... Unless you want that, you will allow us to remain a separate... enclave of citizenry." Evendal hated the helpless feeling that was fast becoming too familiar. "You know Our answer. But all your anger and grief does not change who you are. You are exactly the same people as those you burn toward in your anger. Your enclave may last only until the Temple confirms that as complete a healing as is possible has been accomplished among your members." Evendal moved to leave the room, then halted in mid-stride. "Jaserle," "My lord?" "Speak with Drussilikh of the Scriveners, and Lady Sygkorrin of the Archate." "To what purpose, my lord?" "You may not have been told, but the regicides held over one hundred and fifty people in isolation and torture down here in the under-grounds." Jaserle grated out. "I am hardly shocked!" "We just realised, some might be people you thought dead and discarded from the work-camp." The balding man just gaped at the King, then his eyes lit with a speculative glint. He bowed. "You might have given a few of us the greatest gift of all." Again, Jaserle hesitated. And Evendal, attention divided, simply asked. "How can We help?" "Your Majesty..." "You have wanted something of Us since you approached. Speak plainly." And Jaserle felt no reticence, once permitted. "I want to know why, Your Majesty! It is the one question no one of us can answer, and the one question that gets asked." Evendal knew what Jaserle wanted, and could not get. "Why...?" Jaserle had to be clearer. The balding man tore into his reply. "You are right. We are indeed the same people as those we hold - with just bitterness - in our hearts. None of us! None of us sprouted tails or wings or fur overnight, yet suddenly we are treated as less than cattle. By everyone. We are... forgotten! Not merely ignored, though that as well. Avoided. Not mentioned. Not touched. Our 'punishment' might spread to the person touching us. That... unmanned walking abacus, Horest, points at us and suddenly we are... leprous property! Good for only one thing!" "And everything, everything, that happens to us after that becomes as forgotten and unremarked and valueless as we now are!" Jaserle looked up from his tirade, and the hate in his eyes physically moved Evendal back a couple of steps. "We did the only thing wronged citizens..." He hissed that word to convey his contempt. "...could do. Your Majesty. It was not easy; it was not wholly deliberate either. We created our own enclave, became our own communion. We told ourselves it was only temporary. But as time and pain accumulated, every single one of us realised that we were on our own. Or died in disappointment. 'Our' history, 'our' plight, 'our' pains. Our little triumphs, our losses and hopes. These are now as separate from Osedys as we ourselves have been for eight years. But. No. Longer. Unremarked. Amongst ourselves we find comfort, worth and meaning. As much as anyone can. We would continue to trouble no one but ourselves." This was beyond any inspiration, plan, intuition or dwoemer Evendal had ever heard of. And Time only healed so much. The King could sense that Jaserle did not overstate the situation. Memory, no doubt well ritualized among the Stone-haulers after eight years, would turn this uglier still. Osedys had created an enemy of civil discord through human fear and the avoidance-of-pain that everyone reacts with. Fear for this is what had set him weeping in Ierwbae and Metthendoen's room his second day home. "Jaserle. You are a wise man, wise in the ways of the overburdened hearts under your care. You know the only answers that you will ever get from these... frightened sheep." Evendal indicated the Stone-guild. "Those answers will never serve. Because though a man may scream out "Why?" with every nerve in his body, it is not truly a question he is asking. Rather, it is an unendurable burden he is expressing." Jaserle nodded. "After Ederyth died, I kept looking for answers. Mumbled and grumbled that question even in my sleep. One day I realised I didn't want an answer, I wanted to know... What do I do with this pain I have? This life I now have? What I was doing, what I was feeling didn't resemble anything anyone ever described to me. None of us... None of us know what we are doing, Your Majesty. But we are." "Jaserle." The fear in Evendal's gut twisted like a snake. "Do you have... a name to distinguish yourselves?" He felt like he was walking across mud and trying to leave no footprints, to not even inspire the idea of autonomy. He needed to reclaim these people, somehow, even if only by some gesture. The gesture kept a hope alive. "The Rosette." Jaserle smiled, pleasantly. Evendal returned the smile, irrationally pleased by their choice. "That is a name of hope as well as beauty. Let Us reconsider what We declared earlier regarding the disposition of the Rosette. Pending further intelligence or difficulties." The balding man straightened as much as he could upon hearing this, briefly alarmed. Mar-Depalai nodded to her King, silent agreement that she would recall, and later set down, what the King pronounced. "You know that the Rosette is... of Osedys." Jaserle's smile lapsed, but Evendal pressed on. "We must ask that you accept Our decision in this. Not blindly. This need not change the Rosette." "How can it not?" Jaserle demanded, then flinched. "Because you serve a greater purpose than just providing bread and roofs for some of our citizens. You are like the Cinqet in this. And like the Cinqet, can continue. But you are not the King's Fifth, nor do we want you to become it. When Osedys recovers, its people will be very proud of their recovery, deluded that they accomplished it without any loss of what really matters. The Rosette cannot help but become a cankerous reminder of Our peoples' biggest flaws." The survivor raised his chin, signaling how he had already foreseen that result, and deemed it an accolade. "Yes, Jaserle. Rightfully so. If you wish living people to become a monument to pain, that is a twisted route you must choose for yourselves." The balding man jerked his head as if slapped. "If, however, your concern is the healing and wholeness of the people who sent you to Us, then let the future of the Stone-haulers tend itself. Under Our governing." Evendal signaled Mar-Depalai and her escort to stay, and unwisely motioned Jaserle toward a more open area of the room. "I, myself, have a question or two for you of a personal nature. Are you willing to bear them?" Evendal felt a curiosity toward the one man who had appeared on both Drussilikh's list and Sygkorrin's list of potential representatives for the Stone-haulers. The man scowled, his breath sounding heavy in the pause. "You have been absent and a mystery for nine years. You return and that mystery remains. You ask me to trust you, Your Majesty, but gift us with uncomfortable gifts." He shook his head in admonishment. "Question for question, Your Majesty." Were he not so worried the King would have smiled. "Nay. I grant you two for each of mine. The only time I can be less than forthcoming, is if the matter touches another innocent's life or privacy. But let your questions reflect the same nature as mine." "Done." "Are you yet a citizen of Osedys, Jaserle?" And the man saw the trap he had walked into. "Your Majesty..." Evendal raised his hand, himself alarmed when he saw Mar-Depalai tense in response. "Calm yourself, Jaserle. The answers you give will only have one consequence: Helping me to work with you. But I need truth." "Then in truth, I do not know. In my heart... all my attention is for the precious vulnerable of the Rosette. I cannot see returning them to the people who did not care, or did not dare to try. I have not thought of myself as anything like a Thronelander." "Do you feel lessened if I call you 'citizen'?" "In truth, no." "Let us start there. Let us both presume you a citizen of Osedys, until you notify me otherwise. Is that acceptable? Understand, the nature of that citizenship is entirely up to you. On that issue, all control remains yours." He did not clarify that this had always been so, with everyone of Osedys, until Polgern interfered with the institution. The stone-hauler opened his mouth, then reconsidered. "Where have you been, these past nine years?" "I cannot say for certain, patient man. I will answer what I know now. And still owe you two questions." The King looked into a corner, annoyed at the mental weakness; the persistent vacuum. "Two moments of odd vertigo suggest that during more than one occasion I was in mortal danger, in a court or fete setting. That I had compatriots, and enemies. Some sixty-five days ago a priest traveling here from Kwo-eda found me slung over a crate of my possessions. After Mausna and before that day, I have naught but phantasms. Truth, as it stands now." "How fare you? You yourself, Jaserle? You were named the liaison between the Rosette and the Throne. Do you want to be? You are an angry man. You have needed to be and will need to be again. But you must be more than that. Is this a work that can serve, or will the loss you have known call too strongly to you? Once the physical dangers are resolved, will you find you wish to rest? You lost your wife to all this..." Gimlet-eyed, Jaserle all but snarled. "I am likely to outlive you, with all the tact you show! You ask questions that no one can answer readily. What you describe happened to my better. A woman who saw us through, up to your emancipation... and your restoration of our liberties. Her children did not survive, and so - most of us feel - she did not want to. But Living and I are old rivals: both adversaries and friends. My wife may have been my better nature, but she was not all of my joy." "So, I see the Court face of the Rosette, when I look on you?" Evendal repeated. "I would say yes." "Then permit me to congratulate you in your new estate, man of the public realm." Jaserle actually relaxed visibly with that decision. His back straightened and a hunching tension in his frame dissipated. He glared appraisingly at Evendal. "What do you so fear from us? We of the Rosette?" "Too many things. You do not know your power to shape a future of this kingdom, depending on the decisions you make. Everything I heard demands that I keep you close. It may be suicidal to tell you but... I feared, and still fear, the Rosette claiming utter autonomy. Revolution." Jaserle took longer than usual to respond. "Are you moonstruck?" He demanded. "We wouldn't survive the next month without your largesse. We certainly would not survive... anarchy! And none of us know statecraft. Or even claim property." "Your enclave is a wronged innocent, Jaserle. That is a Power beloved of Ir. Were your rage at Osedys so total, and you insisted on utter isolation and renaming as a new faction or community, with no areas of friendship between us. Only bile. What would result? No. What could result?" "Increasing misunderstandings between our community and the city proper. Resentment and ire on both sides. Some tavern brawls." Jaserle saw only more minor discord. Evendal shook his head, correcting the picture. "Osedys' guilt, unconfessed, toward the Rosette would come out as fury to a people acting "above themselves" or "above their true estate." I would be forced to intervene, using the Guard. Or citizen vigilante clusters would appear, strike, then disappear like mist. Regardless, an unjustly persecuted people would either initiate continued civil unrest, or be utterly destroyed." Evendal's voice rang suddenly. "Soon enough the origin of the Rosette would become irrelevant, only its role in changing the open nature of the people of Osedys might be remembered." "That is what I fear from the Rosette, Jaserle." The one-armed man stood still, again chalk-pale. "Your Majesty. You congratulate me on a position, and then show me I have no right to it. I do not think of the movements of people in such a manner. And I have not doubt as to the inevitability of what you describe. I would not offer up the uncomfortable confidences you squander on me. Obviously Court holds much of ambition and chill fierce argument. I have never been ambitious for anything but to survive and help a few others survive. And I make a poor merchant, in that I do not haggle but instead state what I know and want. I then either get it, or live without." "Jaserle, both the Quill-master and the Archate recommend you. What you need, if you do not have, they will provide. If they cannot provide, then We and all of us shall simply 'live without'."