Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 16:16:22 -0700 (PDT) From: Kris Gibbons Subject: SongSpell-15 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. I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com This chapter has, so far, the most endnotes. The odd element here is that only two endnotes clarify non-English words. If I used the terms incorrectly, someone let me know. Like the story? Hate it? Let me know. Copyright 2003 Kristopher R. Gibbons. All rights reserved by the author. 15 The Soul Of Nero Hamlet: O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom. Let me be cruel, not unnatural; I will speak daggers to her, but use none. Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2, Line 401 Evendal felt his nerves quiet, the ringing in his ears dropped dramatically. Just to be held, safely, felt like being secured into his own body, made solid and valid. He knew the honesty of his friends, tried and tested, and heard, with his body, all Ierwbae, Bruddbana and Aldul tried to say so often. He was no stranger to them. They shared his obsession for justice, for healing. They understood his love of Osedys. And they were not the kind to be swayed by his words. From the day after Abduram's death, he had sensed their watchfulness, their careful scrutiny. At some unannounced moment each one of his Guard had, no doubt, reached his own conclusion, guided by his very personal criteria: They trusted him, cared about him and his well-being. Being king and willful brought him under their scrutiny. But it was not his being king, not his eccentric decisions, that elicited their love. He acknowledged Aldul's trust for the most precious of all, as he had stayed beside Evendal in infirmity, in his amnesia, at his most terrified and terrifying. He heard Kri-estaul mutter unhappily, and trusted Aldul to belay his son's discontent. After the initial hard slam, Ierwbae simply held him, steady and undemanding, and he felt the turmoil in his gut, the roil of conflicting emotions, ease. When Ierwbae started patting him on the back, Evendal disengaged, kissing him on the cheek in passing. Evendal retrieved Kri and sat back down. "Feel better, Uncle 'Bae?" Ierwbae smiled. "Much better, Kri. Thank you." "Papa, I'm hungry." And Evendal realised that suppertime had long past. "And you need your painkiller." Kri-estaul protested. "No. I hate that drink! I feel all silly after I drink it." "You are in pain, Kri. I can tell. Please, you will take it with dinner. I think I can eat without getting sick to my stomach, now. I couldn't have eaten earlier. The person I most want to speak with is Wytthenroeg." He paused, brow furrowed. "With my mother. Its hard to comprehend..." "May be you can do that after morning audiences tomorrow." Ierwbae suggested. "If you wish, I can have Shulro send some food up now. And if I might have your leave, I would like to apprise Metthendoenn of the... expansion of our family." "Wait, good Ierwbae. It is larger than you know." Evendal rushed the words out, both excited and uncertain of his kinsman's reaction. "Wytthenroeg, unbeknownst to her peers, married, and bore three children to Rw-addrwann of Osedys. I... have half-brothers and half-sisters." Ierwbae halted. Utterly. He moved not at all except to enquire. "And how do we stand, with this unexpected enriching of your line?" The darkening of the Guard's skin told Evendal the toll of Ierwbae's honesty, that the Guard again fought his own placatory tendencies to ask a bald question. "Where you want to be." Evendal could not help sounding aggrieved, knowing more than he needed about Ierwbae's habits of thought and action. He decided to make that much plain, at the same time he realised the two kinsmen but needed reassurance. "Ierwbae, I know you better than you would wish." Evendal m'Alismogh paused, deliberately, and then added. "You and your spouse 'stand' where only three others abide. My mother, my son, and my first friend. Thunders, Ierwbae! These half-siblings are not even names to me yet. You guard me, advise me and companion me. Where do you think you stand? Silly man." "I needed to know, lord." Evendal sighed, the whole purpose to his announcement, the wonder of the news, stillborn. "Yes, you were right to ask." The discomfort in the silence which followed told Ierwbae all Evendal would not say. "I'm sorry, my lord. When you meant to share your happiness..." Evendal shrugged. "Who knows. They may prove the most churlish of kin. Mayhap Wytthenroeg sent them back to Alta for her own serenity rather than their safety. But. To have a mother again, and the one of my heart. She was all that Onkira was not... My fancy wants to see it all as the most amazing of gifts. But they are all unknowns except for the youngest; a man of simple mind and gentle manner called Edrionwytt." "I truly do hope, as you learn more, that they remain a cause for joy, Evendal." Ierwbae insisted. "If I have your leave?" Evendal grinned, having finally heard the Guard use his name and not his title. "You have Our leave, Ierwbae." "And ours." Kri-estaul whispered timidly. "Be well." The next morning began windy and chill, requiring Evendal's meetings be held in the, under repair, Council Chamber. Aldul sat beside the King, in attendance as Archate emissary, a station near equal to a sovereign. Ierwbae had quietly performed many unrequested services since Robiliam's death, the most questionable proved to be flushing the Chancellor of the Exchequer out of hiding. Initially, Evendal rejoiced at having the culprit responsible for paupering a kingdom readily available. But as familiarity grew, the King came to see the man as, in many ways, the duumvirate's oldest surviving victim. "Your Majesty, you cannot do that. Your coffers cannot support such extravagance!" Evendal sighed. He had done a lot of sighing around Fillowyn aghd' Efferdiy. "Master Fillowyn, your protest is irrelevant. We will not countenance a Bewaring tax, nor a regulation against the exchange of wares. Your argument that Our city is still fragile and beggared is exactly why. It is also why We rescind the interregnum's 'bar fee'(27) the tithe for ernes(28), the price they imposed on manourlords who merely turned plots of their own land into essartum(29) or arable. And do not, I warn you... Do not say one word against my revoking the murage(30)!" "Your Majesty is too kind. Too soft-hearted at a time when it would be kinder to be cruel." "That you live, Master Fillowyn, is evidence of my soft heart." The naturally pale man, stiff-backed from long-standing physical pain, bowed his head in acknowledgement, but did not recant his proposals. It was for that courage, alone, that Evendal felt he had a valuable advisor. "Barter is not our enemy here, Master Fillowyn. Such exchanges, unthreatened, are how this city survived nine years of leeches. Rejoice that, because of your efforts and against my better judgment, I have not revoked the ostensio(31), or the tronage(32) and pellage(33) duty. Though I want to, even now." "I applaud Your Majesty's wisdom and good sense." The low-point of the morning crept in with the third bell, and the petition of the Silk Distributors' representative. The emissary arrived suitably decked in a pastel-green silk tunic and hunter green silk vest, her coterie each in pale aqua silk. Evendal secretly thought it absurd and ostentatious. "Your August Majesty," "Merchant Goald-lek, rise. Have you come on a concern?" "Yes and no, Your Majesty. First, may I offer felicitations to your most noble and righteous Magnificence, on behalf of our assemblage? Your return has unfettered us all both in our hearts and in very deed." The King clenched his teeth at the florid address, until he could respond with some measure of civility. "You are most gracious, good Goald-lek. But desist, please. We are aware of Our worth. And Our faults." "Very well, Your Majesty. We were given to understand that you had, through some mysterious agency, repaired Matron Drussilikh's dreadful monstrosity of a home. Is our intelligence accurate?" "Indeed, quite accurate." "And we understood further, that your effort took but a moment, and restored the stone which had been warped and cracked, even to the foundation. Is this possible?" "We do not know if it is possible. But We know that it was so accomplished. This service We would offer to all the guilds and assemblies that had likewise suffered due to the duumvirate's avarice." Aware of the faction he addressed, Evendal added. "As We offer it to all gentry likewise afflicted." Goald-lek's eyes gleamed. "Your munificence is breathtaking, Your Majesty. The joy of your largesse leaves me speechless." 'Not bloody likely,' Evendal thought. "It is on that very generosity that I have made so bold as to petition your indulgence." Goald-lek snapped her fingers, and one of her cohort stepped forward, knelt and handed her a roll of parchment. "Our own merchant-house is just so in need of your grace. The place has been the despair of our number for some time now. If I may be so bold..." "Continue, Merchant Goald-lek." Goald-lek daintily set one edge of the parchment on the floor, weighted it with a stone, and unrolled it, weighing down the opposite end as well. The roll was a building overview, with turrets in the shape of gigantic human figures, windows of chaotic dimensions, and doors the height of three people. Kri-estaul took one look at it and started giggling. "And this is?" "What we hope Your Majesty, in your foresightedness and by the radiance of your generosity, will remake our poor beleaguered meeting-house into." Evendal looked over the drawing a second and third time; it did not get any better. "An ambitious vision, Merchant Goald-lek. Stunning. We admire the imagination of the author." Goald-lek smiled, delighted. "Some of our number feared your displeasure, but I trusted in your fair pardon and liberality." "Pray, tell me. What damage did the co-rulers inflict upon the present edifice?" Goald-lek looked blank, befuddled. "Why, none, Your Majesty." "Perhaps We misheard, good Goald-lek. Did the Beast or the Wise Counselor cause any mayhem to your merchant-house?" "No, my lord. When they demanded, we did our best to provide, eschewing any mention of the cost. They had no cause to torch us, thankfully." "So you visit us as one would visit the now-outlaw Stone-wrights, to commission your sovereign to cease all other concerns. Ignore the people huddling around moss fires for warmth in their devastated manors, nursing weather-sick members, who struggle to swallow their pride and approach us. Ignore the King's Cinqet, the victims of the under-grounds and the stone-hauling. Ignore the farming gentry, that ancient estate that suffered no less than any guild under the Interregnum's threats and demands. In order to build you this physically unsupportable idiocy? People come to Us in extremity, Goald-lek. This city is nowhere near healed or self-supporting, and you come to Us, a woman in a comparatively comfortable manor, with menials groveling around you, swathed in silks like a walking advertisement or a like a blatant request to be robbed. And you want Us to build you a four-year old's idea of a castle!" Goald-lek swallowed hard. So rich you seem, Goodly merchant, so fair. So secure you've been, Building dreams out of air. Ir use Our rage, Let Us not overdo, Help this one learn balance, Her callousness rue. As like calls to like, Let her be but a deputy, For those of her own Who have failed in humility. For these weavers in air, Ir, Do what you must, Let your wheel turn true, Let them taste dust." Evendal growled out the last word. "Take your scribbling and your nonsense and depart, quickly, to your despair of a merchant-house." Biting her lower lip, with eyes darting all around her, Goald-lek hurried out of the Chamber. "Nothing happened!" Kri-estaul protested, drowsy. Evendal smiled. "My blood-drinker! All I did was bring our Protector's attention to an inequity that I didn't trust myself to treat impartially." "Oh. Okay." The people sitting in wait, alarmed at the merchant's precipitous departure, spoke amongst themselves. The sound, readily amplified by the room's acoustics, grated on Evendal's nerves. Thwarted for his anticipated excitement, Kri-estaul looked around the Court, singled out equally bored-looking attendants and shared ugly-faces with them. "Let Us be clear regarding the use of Our gifts and influence." the King called out. "We act as the Left Hand of the Unalterable, so our gifts are for the sifting of truth from lie, for the enactment of Our judgments, and for the comfort of the oppressed, the unwilling victim. That is all We will exercise our powers for!" He paused to let his explanation register. "Our first Council, and Our audiences, has revealed those guilds and civic manorhouses needing Our care. If any of today's mercantile petitioners anticipate that We would evoke Our gifts for less vital concerns, or if they look to have their curiosity satisfied... For the sake of your continued health, We recommend you leave. Now!" After a long silence, twelve people remained of the original thirty petitioners. Kri-estaul, looking around the Chamber, noticed a lean, disheveled figure in a far corner, whose clothes blended eerily with the wall. The tattered form, genderless in the dim light and distance, shifted slowly, furtively, toward the newly restored doorway. With a tug on Evendal's tunic and a nod of his head toward the back of the room, Kri alerted the King. Evendal signaled one of the attendants flanking the door, and the scruffy observer got an escort to the steps before the Throne. Up close, Kri saw the ragamuffin as a thin, hollow-faced boy. Fear slumped the boy's shoulders and shaded his eyes. The clothes were an uncoordinated jumble of different sizes and stages of deterioration. The boy's hair might have been blond under the oil and grime, a rarity among Hramal. Kri noted the boy's fingers twitch and clutch at odd moments. "I didn't do nothing. Please. I wasn't going to bother you. Let me go, please." The panic in the boy's voice surprised Kri. "Rest easy, child. We do not mean you harm, either. But if you braved Our Guard and these curmudgeons and spectacle-seekers, to stand in here, you deserve to be listened to. Calm yourself." Looking all about him, and seeing no one pull a weapon, the boy relaxed his thin shoulders. "Can I go? Please?' "No. Not yet. Now I will not harm you, nor sell you up the river." The boy snorted. "Nor set you to some ridiculous labour. Those days are gone. Relax, boy. May We ask? What are you called?" "Ierowen, Your Lordship. Ierowen of Donnath-luin." Evendal nodded. "Greetings and health, Ierowen. You have come a long way." "No. Not really. My master bought me there, from my Dad. And took ship on the river out to sea and up here. And... And, well, my master died a year ago, without a copper or a crumb. And I've been hooking the nether-home since, hiding from the Claws whenever they give a peep." Kri-estaul frowned, totally confused. A quick glance upward at Evendal's look of amusement, and Kri tugged on his Papa's sleeve. "What's he saying?" "He said that he disappeared when his owner died, rather than be counted escheatable property. He's been evading the Guard, lest they volunteer him for stone-hauling, trying to stay invisible, for over a year." "Escheatable?" "Property that reverts to the King's Court, once the owner dies with no heir. You must have a seal's skin, Ierowen." "I do well enough for a dolphin. I have to." At Kri's frown, Evendal reiterated. "I was just complimenting him on his ability. To have done as well as he did in a strange place and with no one to rely on. A 'dolphin' is someone new to their skills." "As much as you can, Ierowen, lets try to stay out of the Clan-tongue, for my son's sake." "Sure. Sorry, Your Highness." "It sounds weird. Could you teach it to me?" "Good as done." Ierowen flicked a glance up at Evendal. "If your Dad doesn't mind?" "No, I don't mind. He will have to learn it anyway, as Heir." Ierowen shuffled about, darting looks at Evendal throughout this exchange. A wriggle of his shoulders, and the boy wiped the back of his hand across his nose like it was a significant gesture. "Look, Your Lordship, you're being silly to me. What's the cry? Sorry. I mean... You've been real good to me, what with my showing up here without a word. What's that all about?" "It is as I said. You would hardly come here for a lark; I did not want my bad temper to scare you off if you came with some need. What's the cry about you?" "You won't believe me. Now that I think about it." "Let me decide that. Please?" The furtive youth stopped glancing about and risked a moment's longer look at the King. "Thunder! Your eyes!" "Never mind about them. Tell me." Whatever he saw, Ierowen took heart in. "I've been nabbing left and right, since the master burned. Doing the odd hand just to chomp and nod. Err... Stealing things just to be able to eat and breaking into places to sleep. I didn't like it, but with Mean and Ugly in the... in power, I figured it was survive as you can. I got wise in it, though. I learned who was their friends and who wasn't, and I nabbed from the friends. I figured they would get more to replace it. Ir knows their enemies couldn't afford any loss. But see, in all this I learned sharp, I could snatch a steak sitting beside a Guard and he would think a bird nabbed it. Got me?" Ierowen, fascinated by the King's glowing, didn't even blink. "Yes. You lived how you had to, but you did your best to keep some self-respect. And you learned how to be 'invisible' better than anyone." "Beauty! Now as there is no Mean and no Ugly anymore, I don't have the same choices. So I figured it was time for a new skin... way of getting by. But, a week ago, I stumbled on a job that turned my eyeballs red! And, and I didn't knack what to do. So I thought, see if the new King's a bleeder or a shadow. I mean if you were sincere or a hypocrite." Ierowen finally blinked. "What did you see?" "Tents. Like at a fair. And pokers in black leather. And pokers I know aren't your Claw, but dressed up in Claw kit." "Pokers?" "Fighters, Kri. Traditional mercenaries, and mercenaries in Guard livery." "This was more than I rolled for. And I knew better than squawk to a Claw, he might be one of them. And I thought, even if I made it here, got to see you and you were a bleeder, there'd be no way that you'd believe I bled over this. That I wasn't fogging you... Umm. Lying to you. Making it all up." Ierowen sweated, tears filling his eyes but not falling. "You are from another province, so you would not know our ways here. One of my titles is 'Left Hand of the Unalterable'. The Right Hand is the Archate Temple. We know Donnath-luin has a very fine one. But the Left Hand is Ourself, and only Ourself. And we can discern any mendacity perpetrated on Us. You have spoken only truth, so far." The dozen petitioners, initially restive and annoyed, shouted at each other in dismay at this. Evendal gestured them to quiet, never changing his focus. There was more here, he was sure. "Continue, Ierowen. What you've told me angers me, but doesn't surprise me." "Oh, Ir. I was so afraid what you might do if you thought... Well, I was all set to ramble elsewhere, when one of the nest-cocks shouts at his hens. 'Ain't no way you girlies are going to be ready for the Palace in two weeks!'" "And how long have you been hiding since then?" Ierowen swallowed before muttering. "A week, Your Lordship." Evendal closed his eyes and nodded. Suddenly there was a restraint around his legs, and Evendal almost kicked in reflex before he realised it was Ierowen, weeping, hugging his ankles in supplication. "Please, Your Lordship. I'm sorry, Your Lordship. I... I was afraid. I didn't know what to do. One of them nearly nabbed me." Moved, Evendal rested his hand on Ierowen's slimy head. "Rest easy, I say. You did very well. You have given Us a chance to survive. Gave us warning where We had absolutely none." He turned to Aldul standing beside him. "I do not want any of these Guard absent. Would you find and retrieve Bruddbana and Ierwbae?" Aldul nodded and left. Evendal kept his hand on Ierowen's head. "Stay a while, young man. Right here is now both the deadliest and the safest place to be. Guard! None of these petitioners is to leave this room." He turned to the people below him. "Our apologies, but until this danger is resolved, We cannot trust in your promise of silence about this intelligence. One of you would be enough to let this... militia know it lost the element of surprise." A few cried out their innocence. "Yes. Yes. You may see this as impugning your loyalty, maligning your good character. That is your choice. Regardless, We cannot afford to be slipshod or stupid. Look on it this way. You will have a bird's-eye view of your King in command." "While we wait for Bruddbana, there is another matter to address, Ierowen." The child looked up. "My lord?" "When was your last meal?" "I guess a week past. I didn't dare tip anyone to my cubby." "On the run since then? Gods, child! Wait but a little while longer, and I would remedy that as well." Through the royal entry, Bruddbana strode, to kneel before the King. "By the Five Thunders! Stand, my friend! You know I hate that from you." Bruddbana smirked. "I know." "Bruddbana, I present to you a courageous young man called Ierowen of Donnath-luin. Ierowen, I present my Captain of the King's Guard, Bruddbana." "Greetings and health to you." Bruddbana hailed. "The same," Ierowen replied economically, looking the Guard over. Kri-estaul appreciated the sentiment. Ierwbae entered and waited behind the Throne. Out of the corner of his eye, Kri-estaul detected quick movement. A woman, with a thick head of long hair, heavily garbed and bundled, stared up at the dais from the corner Ierowen had abandoned. Even with the distance, Kri-estaul could tell that Ierwbae's arrival had elicited her abrupt attention. Out of charity, Kri-estaul reminded himself that some people liked Guards. "Ierowen was doing a bit of quiet finger-work around some Manourlord's grounds, when he came across a mass of mercenaries, some of whom were wearing Guard livery." The Captain scowled. "Not good." "Further, their intended target is the Palace, within a week's time." "Do you know where you were?" Bruddbana asked. Ierowen nodded, intimidated by a Guard being so close to him. Bruddbana smiled. "This ought to be interesting." "We directed the Guard to retain these good people since they witnessed Ierowen's confession. We could sing to mute them, but as Left Hand of the Unalterable... they haven't done any ill, doing so would bring no solace, and there is no lie to unearth here. It would be an abuse of authority." "I think I can confine them in suitable comfort, for the interim. What of Ierowen?" "Ierowen. If I tried to keep you here, you'd make your own way out. So, instead I ask. Will you abide here for a few days? My guest, under what protection I can provide?" The youth stared at Evendal's shoulder, avoiding the King's eyes, so he could think clearly. Evendal's manner unnerved him, kind, familiar, but commanding. If he stayed, it might be that his chances of survival were less certain, dependent on this man's ability. If he departed, he would be left to his own devices, which were purely stealth, dexterity and camouflage - not much help against a sword or morningstar. "If you like. I promised your lad I would teach him the Tongue." Kri-estaul grinned as Evendal nodded. "If you would accompany Bruddbana, please. We saw your anxiety, but you are safe with him." Ierowen nodded. "Give him what he asks for, Ierowen. Bruddbana, find him some gear. Have him protected as he bathes. Present him to Shulro, again with protection, and let him know where his bed is. Delegate to someone unflappable." Ierowen's eyes bulged out. "If you aren't the cat who bought the cow!" Bruddbana and Kri-estaul stared at Ierowen, making Evendal chuckle; he knew that apologue. "So I could have all the cream I want!" As Bruddbana turned to go, Ierowen in tow, Evendal stopped him. "I just had an idea. Send for Liaison Heamon, if you would." "Certainly, my lord." Bruddbana promised as he left. "Aldul?" The Kwo-edan stepped forward from the royal entry and inclined his head in inquiry. "This is not the safest place to be right now. If We gave you leave to secure yourself at the Temple...?" "I would thank Your Majesty, and then punch m'Alismogh's face." Aldul replied, in all sincerity. "Am I not your friend? Or was that bombast, a moment's humour?" "Very well, I won't say I'm sorry you're staying." Aldul grinned. "It would be a lie, if you did." "Are you armed?" "As much as I am going to be, yes." He replied sternly. "I have learned a few lessons since that time I got 'nabbed'." "Then we wait." Evendal concluded. A half a bell passed before Bruddbana returned, Heamon behind him. This time eschewing any teasing, the Guard stood as he related what he had gleaned. "If the boy is not exaggerating from surprise or fear, we might be outnumbered. The greatest number were the ones in standard black, of course. At the most, five hundred. At the least, three hundred." Evendal simply nodded, the muscles in his face taut and outlined his arms remained relaxed around his dozing son. "And where are they harboured?" Bruddbana's confident attitude disappeared. He hesitated. "My lord. This may not mean anything. It may be that they knew the land was poorly attended-to with the owner's absence...I've seen such happen what with the loss of labourers from the press-ganging..." "Enough, commander! Who's is it?" Kri-estaul started awake, blinked at Bruddbana, and rearranged his torso more comfortably. "The Dowager's, my lord. Her retreat." Bruddbana answered, clearly unhappy at being the messenger. Aldul, expressionless, nodded. Evendal knew he had not mis-heard, but nonetheless gaped in shock. 'This makes no sense,' was his first coherent thought, 'she doesn't want me dead!' Then he reconsidered. Onkira would probably not have allowed herself to consider a 'militia action' in that manner. All she would have focused on would be the fulfillment of her desires, her expectations. Whatever those were. Any other results would be regretted or enjoyed later. 'When I was a loss to be mourned, she had an audience, respectful and adoring. But any play she might have made for primacy would have looked pathetic against the duumvirate; it would have doomed her. That is not true now, they're gone.' "Heamon, We have a problem. The Dowager has managed what the Wise Counselor hadn't. She has a few hundred mercenaries training at her Thronelands retreat, preparing to besiege the Palace within a week." Bruddbana protested. "But, Your Majesty, it could be as I said." "No, my friend. Consider. I return, against all expectation, publicly defy her, and fail to submit to her 'seduction.' Had there been no conspiracy, and Menam simply died in battle, Onkira would have deigned to take the Throne. But Polgern had planned, where she had simply expected. And faster than a snake-strike, the Beast and the Counselor had the Council in a stranglehold. Abduram and Polgern, so obsessed with each other, overlooked moth...Onkira as someone with her own ambitions. As I surely overlooked her. Someone who, as widow of Menam and one of Arkedda's royal cousins, had the venues to - quietly - acquire the army they could not." "But here I throw her out. She is forced back to a city she hasn't seen since she had thirteen years. And the only way she will ever return is if I am no longer sovereign. She certainly knows that." "That sounds like the Dowager I knew, Lord Evendal." Heamon interjected. "How can you say that?" Bruddbana asked. "Bruddbana, you did not get Palace duty as much as I. As I sought it out in my fancy of knifing the Counselor. But the Dowager Onkira developed two reputations. One camp had her as the Palace version of the Cinqet-oaf: Sweet, harmless, easily led around, and profoundly grateful and gracious to any Council-member who paid Court to her. The other gossip-web made her delusional, arrogant, scheming, whorish, and never one to do forthrightly what could be done through indirection. It presented her as a woman who demanded and expected the rewards of her husband's station, who thirsted for authority. Needed it like air." Heamon elaborated with the cool indifference of one wholly removed from the topic. "That sounds like the woman I know and dread, too." Evendal quipped. "Both views." "Lord, why summon me for a military matter? I am no longer a Guard, but liaison for the Cinqet." "Because, I hope for the Cinqet to assist me in sabotaging the camps of these churls." Heamon stood aghast. "You are jesting, no?" Evendal looked the man in the eye. "No." "You know I won't countenance putting my people in such danger. They have been through more than enough." "It is not your decision to make, Heamon. You are liaison, not King of Misrule." The ex-Guard's jaw dropped further. "How... How do you even know about him?" "Part of my, no doubt, seedy and dissolute childhood. I honestly could not say how I know him. But my point is you can only inform and advise, not judge for them. Also, what do you think will happen should the Dowager succeed? Not only will she have between three to five hundred blood-drunk mercenaries to pacify, but a panicky populus. And where do you think both will flow to?" Heamon understood, and the realization brought him no joy. "The people, dispossessed by the army, will flee to us. We held against the duumvirate, so they will think us impregnable. A sanctuary. And with that egress, the mercenaries will follow." "Now," Evendal recalled grimly. "What was your protest?" "Ill-considered is what it was." Heamon turned rueful. "You would think I'd know by now. You have never called on me unless the matter was vital to the King's Quarter." Evendal hesitated. "Do not ever doubt, Heamon, that We regard you highly. You are a man to rely on at need. At need." "Exactly, Lord Evendal. We understand each other." "We learned of this threat from a young boy. A former slave who has been on his own, outside the domain of the King's Quarter, for over a year. As a silk-snatcher and vagrant." Heamon lifted an eyebrow. "Resourceful." A young girl stepped up on the other side of the royal entry and gestured to Ierwbae. The Guard stepped out and listened, then returned, frowning. "Very, but he reminded Us of a pool of such talent at Our very doorstep." "I am sure I would not know to what you are referring, Lord Evendal. My Clan is, beyond all expectation, gifted with individuals of many talents. But all are people above reproach." Heamon grinned slightly. "We have a week, good Heamon. We do not intend to wait that long. Let me outline my hopes regarding your 'family'." A cough sounded from the bottom of the dais. Balding head bowed, a woman knelt, awaiting the King's courtesy. He gave it. "Greetings and health, Your Majesty." "And health and prosperity to you. How are you called?" "I am called Driswan, Your Majesty. My family excelled in our leatherwork, patronised by your own august line up until Mausna." "Be at your ease, good Driswan. What is your matter?" "My lord, I am well. Firstly, I came to express my gratitude, my family's and mine. The Stone-wright had recently abducted both my husband and my daughter. You gave me my life back!" "And they are well?" "My husband is still recuperating. Malnourished. Underfed by that insect! My daughter got better treatment, as she was chosen to pleasure one of the Counselor's supporters. You may not have meant it, but your timely arrival and coup saved my daughter from abuse and death. I thank you from the depths of my heart." "You are most welcome, Driswan. We are delighted to hear of good fortune." "But that is not, now, why I dared to approach, Your Majesty. I could not help but hear some of your conference. When your new confederate spoke of what he had seen..." "Yes?" "Well, as a leatherworker, I have a surplus of boiled leather jerkins and bracers and greaves, in your common black. If that should be of any use, it is your's. Also..." Evendal saw the sweat on Driswan's forehead and on the cloth under her arms. "Do not fear, Driswan. Having said that much, We can guess what else you have to say. But We rely on you to speak it, anyway." "The reason I have this surplus, Your Majesty. You august mother had commissioned the armor, several months ago, through an intermediary. We were the suppliers of those mercenaries. Much to my sincerest shame." "Good Driswan, be at ease. Nothing but commerce was involved, then. You doing what you know, in good faith, for a member of the royal family. However. We might, should Heamon be eloquent enough, have uses for the armor you still have." "Then again I thank you for your timely success and for you clemency. I will not further incommode you. If I may be so bold..." "Certainly, say on." "It might be better for your planning and our peace of mind if you would have someone...escort us petitioners to a more informal setting." The merchant walked back to where she had been sitting while Bruddbana arranged just that. "I liked her." Kri-estaul decided. "Why?" "I could understand what she was talking about." Evendal smiled. "I am afraid most of the day is going to be like that, Kri. People talking about battle plans, subterfuge. Do you want to go back to our place or the kitchens?" "What about outside?" "No, not until this is taken care of. Not without a squad of Guard." "Then I want to stay." "My other self, eh?" Kri-estaul found his lap fascinating. "Is that okay?" "Very okay." Evendal kissed Kri on the head. "I may have to use the jakes..." "So? I may have to also, just let me know. Interrupt us, on my order as King." Evendal outlined a plan, sketchy and basic. Ierwbae kept his own counsel. Heamon kept trying to minimize the rôle his Clan played. Bruddbana, not happy with having 'undisciplined' citizens involved, cooperated in Heamon's effort. Finally, Evendal glared at Heamon and declared in a flat voice. "Continue to oppose their participation and you guarantee that those you are trying to shield will die in the homes you want them safe in." Heamon conceded the truth of that, and quickly left to alert his Clan to their impending danger. Ierwbae stepped forward, his face chalk-pale. "My lord, if I may beg a moment of your time..." "Of course. What's toward?" "My lord, Metthendoen... Well, he insists he is fully recuperated. He felt useless. So, he has left his bed to show he is fit for duty. Please..." "He is an idiot! Go, you and Bruddbana, and cart him to me!" The two fled, and returned with a snow-white, sweat and bloodstained boy-man breathing like he had run a race. With a smoothness born of practice, they set him in a chair. The blood was negligible, but still curled Ierwbae's hands into fists. Again the woman now standing on her tiptoes in the far corner of the Chamber diverted Kri-estaul's attention. Her entire body strained forward as if she were rooted to the ground and pressed by a harsh wind. Her hands were pressed to her mouth and clenched into fists, like Ierwbae's. Her face, what little Kri-estaul could discern, seemed in an agony of anticipation. Her attention was no longer for Ierwbae, Kri noted, but all for Metthendoenn. Kri-estaul felt uneasy. "So, you think you are fit to return to duty? The duty of bleeding to death, to no purpose, at a post?" To everyone's surprise but Ierwbae's, Metthendoenn shouted his anger. "You are threatened, and I am expected to lie down and do nothing?" Kri-estaul shied back against his father. Quickly enough the Prince realised that his uncle had exhausted himself, and only sounded angry, like his Mama used to when she was worried. Kri-estaul went back to watching the woman with the over-abundance of hair. "No," Evendal replied, more gently. "You are healing. You are giving Ierwbae a reason to live." He glanced sharply at Ierwbae as he said this. "You are our friend, advisor, and brother. If it comes to a fight, you must be here, helping to insure that calm heads prevail. Calm heads! But right now, Metthen, be my brother more than my Guard." The woman straining in the corner jerked her head briefly to the King as if she had been slapped, but quickly returned to staring at Metthendoen. "Bruddbana, the first thing that comes to my mind is confirming their existence and their placement. Their numbers and their layout." "Without being found out? Don't want much, do you?" The King smiled. "I have so much, what is a little more?" "I already sent some veteran fighters to scout. We should know a lot more by sunset." "Thankfully, Onkira's homestead is comparatively small." Evendal observed. Just then a young lad, wraith-thin, slid into the Chamber through the royal entry. His most remarkable feature, his hair, shone strawberry blond; it stood out against all the other black and brown-headed occupants, even with a cap covering the greater portion. He dressed in a green tunic-shirt and gray pants and over-tunic, his feet unshod. Kri-estaul beckoned him over. "Ierowen, you look great! Almost human." He giggled. "Thank you, I guess." Awkward, Ierowen bumbled through a standard genuflection, only to hit the floor hard with both knees. "Your Majesty, I want to thank you for your care and generosity..." Evendal glared at Bruddbana, who pointedly failed to notice the look. "Ierowen, stop. Please. That isn't necessary, and it isn't you. A certain Guard worries too much over such formalities. If you feel grateful, in truth, show me in your own way. If you're not comfortable with the idea of getting something for nothing," Ierowen looked up sharply, alarmed at being so transparent. Evendal just smiled. "Then remember that you did Us a great service, in payment if you wish." Ierwbae, Bruddbana, Ierowen and Aldul pulled up chairs from below the dais and sat. "Now, anything else you can tell us about these soldiers?" "Well, they're not soldiers, Your Lordship." "What do you mean?" "Well, that's why that bird-keeper was shouting. Some barely knew a pickaxe from a pike. Those that I saw looked like they hadn't known a sober moment in years." "Hmmm. Mo...Onkira may regret having hoarded all those wine bottles in her cellars." "We can't rely on that sort of thing, though." Bruddbana pointed out. "No, not without confirmation. And what do you mean about their not knowing a pike?" "The ones I saw, some weren't in bad shape. A little too much adulterated beer, you ken? But some of them, they limped, or had an eye missing, fingers. And some, you could see, were just warm bodies - there for the pay or the pillage, without an idea that some bird hadn't put there. Wouldn't be able to shiver up a high-road to the first storey." "What?" Ierwbae asked. "Sorry. Wouldn't be able to climb up a wall to the first storey of a building." "The best of them's the team leaders and their helpers. I saw a lot, but didn't ken what I was bagging until your Claw here," He nodded to Bruddbana. "Till he talked it through with me. All I thought at the time was 'Thunders! It's an army! And huge!' So I frog out of there, messing up some lag-about who tries to put the... tries to nab me. Persistent bugger, too. But I danced a fair shadow and coshed him. I mean, I finally got around him, stole up on him and knocked him out." "So, did they each carry weapons at all times? Or did they leave and retrieve blades from a central tent?" Ierowen thought a moment. "They had maybe three tents they used for weapons. I came across them at owl's light, err...midnight, and stuck around to see what the cry was on these pokers. So I had a good gander at them. I thought maybe I could nab a chomp, I mean find some food. I saw some go up to the tents with daggers and shivs, but no heavy stingers till they left the tents." "Sounds like the captains don't trust their own fighters," Ierwbae tendered. "If you would rely on his perception." "Rely? In matters of war? Never. Weaponry? A qualified yes. To discern if a man had the body and instincts for close fighting, yes. He has had to learn similar skills." Evendal replied. To which Ierowen nodded. "I can ken a right joker from a mean poker." He asserted. "Did you remark anyone particularly? See any one, commanding, personage?" Evendal asked, to which Ierowen shook his head. "Well, then. Since Ierowen did not single out any individuals, it serves us best to keep a roster at every Guard assembly. Also, we do not implement any unusual exercises on the Palace grounds, nor any public gathering of the Guard. And no discussion of this crisis away from Our presence. The only exemption to that is Aldul, who must apprise the High Priestess." Not long after, a Guard in brown and gray came through the main Chamber entrance. Betwigged and slightly out of breath, Falrija knelt just below the raised area. The King bade her rise and report. "It all is indeed as Ierowen detailed. A large assembly, at my guess numbering between three hundred and fifty and maybe four hundred, in indifferent order and damn little discipline. It looked more a congregation of ruffians with the same livery than a real troop. At first, I could see no headquarter, no central leadership. But eventually a man stood maybe six lengths(34) from me and just stared around him. After a half a bell, all the fighters had assembled before him. Some of them stood at attention, some acted like the man was not there and chatted, some sat in the dirt. It was a baffling sight for me. Anyway, once the ragtag is together, except for the perimeter guards, this man starts talking to them. He said that they had heard right, they were scheduled to attack within eight days. So, with the deadline so close, he was implementing more training sessions and practices. Those who wanted to survive the assault would be wise to show up and participate. The others, he said, were not his concern. Nobody responded." Falrija stopped. Evendal mistook her halting for exhaustion or thirst and offered a mug of the cloved cider he had beside the Throne. Falrija accepted, but prefaced her next detail deferentially. "I am sorry, my lord. He then said... Their patroness was not going to provide any more gifts until their maneuver was completed, and the Palace returned to its rightful sovereign: The Dowager Onkira nier Menam." "I am hearing that name a lot." Kri-estaul complained. "Who is she?" "The woman who tried to raise me, the woman I thought my mother. I sent her away because she was acting bad, and didn't want to stop acting bad." Kri frowned, thinking through what he had heard. "So, she is mad and wants our home? And she sent a lot of people to take it for her?" "Yes." Evendal loved Kri-estaul's saying 'our home'. "That's stupid. Nothing says they would give it to her once they get it." "That's right. But she doesn't think of those things, belovéd." "My lord," Falrija interrupted. "Continue, Falrija." "I was going to say that Your Highness is right on target. Because the man was projecting his voice for all he was worth. And his tone over the words 'patroness', 'sovereign', and 'the Dowager' was... well, contemptuous." "He then told them that, because the oilcloth was needed elsewhere, he decided to consolidate the weapons under one tent. There were some groans with this, some complaining about moving all the...stuff. Since some of them would be unfamiliar with the layout of the city, they had just received a set of maps giving the general regions, and a route through the forest to the Palace." Aldul and Evendal looked at Falrija in disbelief. "What?" Aldul sputtered. "Through Kh'anderif?" Falrija nodded, confused. Likewise, Evendal glanced at the Kwo-edan. "This is shaping up into an epic of misadventure." Evendal mused. Ierwbae, Metthendoenn, Ierowen, Bruddbana and Kri all waited for the King to elaborate. He chose not to. Bruddbana broke the silence. "Well, that makes sense. For some reason no one thinks of Kh'anderif, yet it's the most direct approach to the Palace for any cohort wanting the freedom for offensive formations." "The joy for us though, is that we have Guard who are weapons-trained, in archery as well as sword. And not afraid of heights or fighting around obstacles." Falrija observed. "We are not going to deploy any Thronelander beyond our border of Kh'anderif." Evendal commanded. "No one, no matter the reason or argument, is to take a single step inside Kh'anderif. Unless it be in Our company. I need your complete obedience in this, my friends." "My lord?" Ierwbae responded, the desire for explanation in his voice. "Why prohibit us from the best place for defensive strafing?" "Before We brought Polgern to Council, Kri and Ourself visited him in Hrioskunra Tower. We spent our time confronting Ugly, as Ierowen aptly labeled him. Kri spent that time trying to get a better look over my shoulder and was showing his monster faces to someone." Evendal stopped. "So?" "My Guard stood flanking Polgern. There was no one We could see behind Us. When we left, Kri asked why I spent all my time with that mean man and ignored the funny man standing beside me." "Oh. But Henhyroc and other Guard held their post at the Tower unscathed." "We expect that whatever inhabits the Forest is not mindless, nor utterly indifferent to our purposes when we encroach. But none of us should presume upon its goodwill." "Courtesy to a forest?" Bruddbana asked. Ierowen chimed in. "You gabbing about the twigs just north of here?" "Yes." "Oh. I thought you were, and about that weird forester that patrols it?" Bruddbana and Evendal asked in chorus. "What forester?" Uneasy, Ierowen's befreckled face flushed. "Don't you have a fellow patrolling in it? Eyebrows and jaw like Your Lordship's?" "No. Did you see someone?" Afraid he had transgressed, Ierowen muttered. "Just... I didn't, quite. I saw him leaving it. Once." Evendal smiled. "Ierowen, you may be an old man at the odd hand, but your face couldn't convince a king of his crown. Do you want to roll us the true cry?" Still red-faced, the youth capitulated. "It was when I was dodging that faux-Claw. He wouldn't leave me my road. I figured to wink into this band of twigs just west of me, maybe dodder him away from my nesting. So, I to and fro once I'm through the first few standers, mess the guy up on finding the right trail. Then I high-road it up this fat stander, as high as I dare and think like a twig." "Pause, a moment, Ierowen. You have lost the others. Translate, please." Ierowen's face turned brighter. "Umm... I was running from the poker that saw me, so I figured I'd run into this lot of trees to my west, lay a few false trails, so the guy had to waste time. Then I climbed up this big tree, as high I could. You ken? Well, sure enough, the fellow dances right past my perch and keeps moving. He walks right past this other guy, in green and gray, who is looking up at me. I almost went for the moon! I mean, one moment I was eyeing this hound-dog, the next moment he walks past this fellow, practically brushing sleeves, without a pause or a turn of the head!" "Once the poker got a few lengths from me, I crept down the tree. Green-and-gray hadn't moved the entire time. I get down and he asks me what I was doing. I told him how I was running from that pisser trying to feed me steel. He asks why. I asked him what business it was of his, and he said that he guarded these twigs. I got a bit fire-headed and told him he wasn't doing very well. He just looked at me kind of strangely and said how I had best make my way to the Palace if I were half as smart as I was smart-mouthed. Of course I didn't at first. I had to think things out. Never came up with a better scroll, so..." "Why did it take so long?" "Who could I trust not to put the faux-Claw onto me? How could I be sure, once I got to your nest, I would be able to fly out? I couldn't go to my usual treasure-chests, err... friends and hideouts. And if I were pegged even before I shone, I could be ash without a song." He caught Kri-estaul's glassy-eyed look. "I mean, if I were recognized before I got to the right person, I would be dead before I could say anything of what I saw." "Have you been fed adequately?" Ierowen grinned. "Your Empress is one royal treasure! Scary. She made sure I didn't hurt anything, eating. Said after a week of nothing, not to try too much at once. I sure wanted to, though." "I named her aptly." "But she's not scary!" Kri protested. "Not that kind of scary... Like impressive. Overwhelming. She is a 'caution,' as she says. Though I'm not sure what a 'caution' is." Evendal nodded to Aldul. "How do you know of Kh'anderif?" "All Temple officers know of that place, Lord." "All? Do you mean not just the Temple priests in Osedys?" "Yes, Your Majesty. All. It is one of a small number of mysteries we are expected to remain alert to. What you and Ierowen experienced is a familiar tale." "Do you know its cause?" "If we did, it would no longer be a mystery, Lord." "So, you are familiar with our antecedent, Surn-meddil?" Aldul's expression changed from calmly content, to alert and wary. "No, my lord. I have seen the name in your family lineage, but that is all." "A man who died in Kh'anderif. He fell from Hrioskunra." Aldul looked confused. "From what?" "What do you know of Kh'anderif?" "I know its general size, its springs and their locations. I know that no one, aside from someone of the royal house, has ever walked through the forest sane. I know that often its trees will act out of season. So that one would see summer blossoms in winter, or winter barrenness that lasts a year and a half. Supposedly, the sun sets and rises at different directions as well." Evendal said no more about Kh'anderif or Surn-meddil, feeling that, as it was not - strictly speaking - his secret, it was not for him to enlighten his friend. "There is very little else I can think of to do, right now. I've changed my mind about the Guard gathering. Bruddbana, assemble all that you can. Tonight. Give out, eventually, that it is for a surprise march on Kernost, or some such." Bruddbana nodded. Ierwbae asked. "And what of Heamon? Why enlist the Cinqet's help, and then decide that the Guard attack?" "Both may serve a need." Evendal would not elaborate. "Later. I anticipate a visit from Heamon within the next few bells." Heamon met with Evendal and Kri-estaul at the third bell of night. Heamon's arrival did not disturb the Prince's slumber. The liaison's normally pale colouring had faded to ashen with exhaustion and distress. "The Old Man is... eager to join the fray. He pledges that what pouch-pickers you need are yours at a word. You never even hinted that you knew him!" "I did not know." Evendal whispered. Kri-estaul slept in his father's lap. Heamon cast a jaundiced eye at his monarch, thinking him glib and simply wanting the final word. "So. What now?" "Now?" Evendal repeated. "Now We go and pay a visit on an older friend, whom We actually do remember. And unless you have other work to accomplish, you would do well to go with Us." "I fear I do have other work. As I suspect you will want to move soonest, I must gather the unfortunates who will be helping you." "Should they be proficient, they will return unscathed. Very well, you have Our leave. And you have four, maybe five bells." "What?" Heamon glared at Evendal. "Tonight? I thought you wanted them for later." "No. Assemble those who will answer to you in four bells, five at the most, at the southernmost point that the Tagowlog beri(35) touches the Kh'anderif. Along with as many shovels as you can 'find'. The greater the number of 'talented' web-fingered you enlist, the sooner they can go home." "As the King has said." Heamon replied, ambiguous as to which king he referred to. "Emissary Heamon, believe it or not, a King rules and survives by trust. Until later, good Heamon." He dismissed the temperamental envoy, then turned to one of his ubiquitous shadows. "Falrija, thank you for your report. Do you know anyone who could manage some footwear for Ierowen? We are going with him on a walk outside. Also, some protection inside the Palace for Metthendoenn, as he will be my proxy." The Guard nodded. "Henhyroc? Fancy a return to that ænigma tonight?" "Nothing would give me less pleasure. Whom shall we leave the child with?" "No one. He comes with us." That answer pleased Kri-estaul and disturbed the Guard. "Is that wise, my lord? Not wanting to impugn your good sense, but that place is dread and uncanny." "Uncanny, yes. Dread? It depends. Besides, he is likely to be safer there than either of us." Night holds it own strengths, a character or modus operandi that is not merely the contrary of day. Night grants not just the cloak of mystery it puts on those objects that day renders common or harmless, but gilds an import or solidity by torchlight that cannot be imitated, imbuing significance on whatever gets illumined. This can also accentuate the anxieties of those uninitiated to its' wonders. Ierowen's head swung about like a weathercock, his apprehension etched sharper than the veins on leaves. The King crunched calmly beside the youth through occasional old tree-litter, a diminutive Kri-estaul snuggled on his back in a sling. Kri-estaul fought the effects of his potion and the lateness of the hour, wriggling wide-eyed at all that he could see when people weren't blinding him with torches. Utter darkness and he had a closer acquaintance than anyone else in their train could claim, but night outside held wonder. The winter cold passed through him with the random breezes, but the hints of an almost unnatural landscape kept him from hiding completely inside his Papa's cloak. The play of shadow and the accentuated texture to tree-trunks and branches, teased his eyes. Sounds he had never heard in the under-grounds, of creatures he could only guess at, worried him in a delicious way, from the emotional distance provided by Evendal's nearness. But most amazing of all, the awesome and fearsome expanse above him. Evendal loved this forest. More than any place in the Thronelands, with the possible exception of the cliffs far to the north, the Forest Kh'anderif energized him, called to him even as a child. He dimly recalled being the despair of Wytthenroeg and fury of Menam; they would turn the Palace upside down looking for him, hoping he had not gone where they well knew he had gone. For whenever he got the notion to invade the Forest, it was as if he had utterly disappeared; neither His Majesty, nor the few Guard he could bully into searching, could ever find him. "Ierowen. Henhyroc." Evendal called. The Guard and the silk-snatcher stopped abruptly. "Relax. What you fear, you may summon. Desist. This is, perhaps, the safest spot in the Thronelands, right now. And I would not bring you here were it otherwise." "Are we going to see your ancestor?" Kri asked. "Our ancestor," Evendal corrected. "And, yes, I suspect so." "Is that why we are headed for the tower?" Evendal wondered how the child knew where they were going in the darkness. "For want of a better idea, yes." "Papa, can we stop over there?" Kri-estaul indicated a place where a large root undulated above ground in three man-sized humps before submerging. "Why? Are you needing to piss?" "No!" Kri responded indignantly. "I thought it might save time." "Save time, how?" "Well, since he's been escorting us since we left the Palace yard, and he's the reason we are here, I figured we didn't need to go any further." Evendal stopped, twisted his head to peer at his son, who pointed to their left. The King looked where indicated, sensing nothing but a prickling along his neck. He bowed. "Father of my fathers, Uaestrho(36) Surn-meddil. How can I see you?" Kri-estaul tugged on his father's ear. "Well?" "What? Did he say something?" "Oh. I can see him better than I can hear him. But he said to follow him. Without the Guard, for some privacy." Kri pointed again. Evendal suspected 'without the Guard' to be Kri-estaul's addition, but he nodded, not surprised. "Gentlefolk, if you will pardon me for a moment..." "Lord, it may be a trap." Henhyroc protested. "See you aught?" "No, my lord. Naught but this unseasonal green." The company had walked into the Forest in its summer foliage. "Then any malice intended could have been accomplished without my isolation. Bear with Our humours awhile." The King handed his torch to Ierowen. Evendal and Kri-estaul stalked off to the left at a deliberate pace. Totally oblivious to anything else, Kri-estaul stared upward at the spillage of brilliance that was that night's sky. Once out of view, Evendal halted, to adjust further to sight under starshine. He took another step and felt a stomach-tightening moment of dizziness. The world went black for the space of three breaths, and then reappeared. Directly in their path stood a willow, river-less, three arm-lengths wide, with a deep concavity growing naturally in its trunk. Nestled in the tree's hollow, short and lean of frame, a black-haired man looking to have forty years smiled upon their slow approach. The fellow's clothes mimicked the same colour, shade and texture as the bark of the tree cradling him. "Greetings, children of my children. What brings you to deliberately accost me?" "You are Surn-meddil." Evendal intended a question; it did not come out that way. "I had that designation once." The man sounded unhappy at the name, shy. He looked at Kri-estaul, then glanced away as if burned. "I could tell you who you were, also, if you wish." This was clearly directed at the child, who looked back in bafflement. Surn-meddil sighed. "I suspected that such was not why you troubled me." "It is not. We have come to both warn and petition you." "Oh, you mean to advise me of the rabble east of here? That pathetic crowd of future compost?" "They mean to dance through Kh'anderif, on their way to the Palace." Evendal warned. Surn-meddil's nostrils flared. "That I was not aware of. Not wise. What kind of fools are these?" "Near as I have gathered, detritus from Arkedda, and leavings from nine years past." "Your foster-mother?" Evendal felt a flush to his face. "Did everyone know but me? Yes." "She was heedless enough to ride through here when she first came to Osedys. Had your luckless sire not escorted her, I would have given her a memorable last league to her journey. Her nature budded out of her even then." Surn-meddil paused, then asked. "One of those from out of their camp is among your company. Why do you countenance it?" Surnmeddil stepped from the tree. Evendal shook his head. "No. He is simply a former slave from Donnath-luin, who tried to lift an item or two from their camp, saw what was toward, and escaped to inform me." Surn-meddil smiled. Teeth of polished quartz-stone twinkled, even in the absence of moonlight. "Oh, one of my dear ones, eh?" "He certainly seems a quick one. Yes." "I will ask again... What brings you to me? I know many things. What I can do. What needs to be done. But, you clearly know these things as well." "To warn you, as I have done. And to see what you might intend. If you wanted to deal with them, or should I." The dead man looked at Evendal with amusement clear on his face. "And how would you help? With equal numbers of my citizenry? Sacrifice the people you would be protecting?" "No. I would use the Clan to confound, only." "Then how?" Evendal smiled. "With song and sabotage." Surn-meddil said nothing for a cricket-silent moment. "Ah, I almost understand, since we are indeed kin." Evendal did not think the specter referred to his lineage. "How so?" "I am a will. A force like unto Nature. A reason and a purpose. The abiding... drive of my life matched an 'niche,' an emerging need not yet personalized at the time." The revenant shrugged. "But I am reactive, incapable of initiative. I respond when confronted or challenged by whatever I deem a violation. You are the opposite. You are active, not merely reactive." The man nodded, then shrugged again. "Any individuals you wish for your own satisfaction?" "None that will be there." "I understand. You know she will persist." "Yes. She is foolish enough." Surn-meddil eyed Evendal warily. "Do not ask me to intervene with her. Arkedda is too far beyond my demesne." "No," Evendal replied. "She is my responsibility. As Left Hand of the Unalterable." "Rocks and Thunder! I haven't heard that honorific since I fell. Do you even know what you invoke, boy?" Grimfaced, Evendal took a deep breath. As the wheel of Fortune does turn, And as mine eyes do burn, Let the plan to murder my mentor old, Rebound on the planner eleven-fold. "You do know," Surn-meddil concluded with a heavy tone, as to someone struggling with a dreadful burden. "Down to the appropriate number to invoke for consequences here." The past and present of Osedys stared quietly at each other, not assessing, not defiant, merely comprehending a perverse moment of peace in each other's presence. Here were two entities well familiar with true authority and its demands, its necessities: Watchfulness, discernment, purpose and compassion. "I use to imagine I was you." Evendal confessed. "When I was a child, I wanted to be as strong-minded as you were. Are. And loved as you had been." "The people did not always love me. You cannot want that, you are not so dumb." The King shook his head. "I don't mean loved by your people." For some reason Evendal suddenly felt awkward, wishing he had not revealed his fantasy. "Oh," Surn-meddil faded briefly. "Yes, Ganil. I avenged that." "Avenged?" Evendal looked startled. "What do you mean? All our writings... What my teacher found stated that you... threw yourself off the tower when you learned how he had been killed by Forest-dwellers." Surn-meddil actually laughed. It started out as a huff, like Aldul had, then graduated into a high lighthearted cackle. "What romantic nonsense! Oh, my! No, good cousin, I fell. I simply fell, tear-blinded. Purely unintentional. And my friends would never have harmed a hair on Ganil's head. When I received word that Forest-dweller weapons had felled him, I knew that in truth the Forest-dwellers were guiltless. The faction in Osedys that did not want peace with the Forest-dwellers, that wanted more land for their second and third-born, had ambushed my belovèd and killed him deliberately." Something in the timbre of the voice, or perhaps in the words themselves, sent a chill down Evendal's back. He felt the truth in Surn-meddil's recounting, and his throat swelled shut in pain and loss. He could almost see a body, arrow-riddled and blood-flecked, crumpled beneath him in his mind. An upsurge of denial that a familiar and comforting touch would never be felt again. "I knew my belovéd's killers, sought them out after I fell." Surn-meddil's voice turned corpse-cold. "I gave them no more mercy than they showed my general, my heart. Their head-weasel died very publicly and very disgracefully. A great mystery in its time. Well forgotten now." Evendal said nothing for a long time, feeling dizzy and muddle-headed. Surn-meddil's fury, centuries old, remained unalloyed, fed by his grief and solitude. If he did not suspect the gesture would seem an impertinence, Evendal felt ready to hold the dead man, to offer what comfort he could. He chose to divert with an irrelevancy. "My old teacher would love to be here. She would be sitting under your tree, listening and bombarding you with questions for days." "You mean Wytthenroeg?" Evendal froze, nonplussed. The willow had disappeared, in a blink of his eyes. "Oh, I know of her. She went hunting for you in my tower twice, remember? Because of that, I've been able to mark her and keep a watch on her. You surely don't think you arrived at her doorstep at that so opportune moment without help? I had a damnably difficult time coming up with ways to botch that twisted tart's efforts at an effusion. Causing different mishaps and delays until you got off your bum and finally arrived!" Surn-meddil made a great show of looking around Evendal's shoulder, and waved his arm in a broad inclusive motion. "Come ahead. Don't loiter. As you can see I haven't eaten your King. Yet." Henhyroc, Ierowen, and the King's two body-Guard stepped out from the encircling shadows. "Henhyroc, Bruálta, Ierwbae, Ierowen. I present you to Surn-meddil, my many father's past ancestor, former ruler of what became the Thronelands." "Greetings, wholeness be yours'." The dead man turned back to Evendal. "I will leave the disposition of the rabble to you. Should any escape, they are mine to plant. And that is not a poetic phrase." "Would Wytthenroeg be welcome here?" "Most warmly, as would you and Ierowen." And your mean little brat of a son!" Surn-meddil stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. Kri-estaul tried to do the same. "Ierwbae," Surn-meddil called. The Guard looked up to see a grim, frowning expression on the dead man. "I... I envy you, a little. I also wish you and your belovèd well. But I cannot welcome you to return here; it unearths too many regrets and longings. Forgive me, for I otherwise would." "It has been...how many years?" Evendal asked. Surn-meddil shrugged. "Close to a thousand, perhaps. I do not count them anymore." Before Evendal thought through the question, it came out of his mouth. "And there has been no one... else?" The dead man scowled. "How could there be? When I said that Ganil was my heart, I was not spouting mush! I stated fact. After the deaths of my enemies, I... slept for several centuries. Doing nothing more than securing my home." His arms swept around to indicate the forest. "This I did ruthlessly and thoroughly. I could have given lessons to your two predecessors. What did I care for people, for traitorous, guileful sheep? It was only when I found that Ganil had not gone utterly, but had returned somehow, that I willed to be more than some ruthless fury." Ierwbae interjected. "Lord Surn-meddil, forgive His Majesty, he means no insult. Am I correct?" "Certainly I did not. Father of my fathers. I... Your words make me feel odd. Unsettled." The dead ruler frowned at Evendal. "Say more." "Emotions surge. Pain. Mourning the loss of comfort. His touch. Missing a familiar gesture. Like... the person who always tugs on a lock of your hair to pull you into a kiss. Like an ache in the throat. But overwhelming. Not... hypothetical. These are not reactions I sought to pull out or evoke!" Evendal felt presumptuous, encroaching on a love, and a loss, that had attained an almost hallowed status in his own mind. "No," Surn-meddil responded, expressionless. "Not hypothetical at all. And I may have been mistaken." "About what?" "That is of no immediate concern, youngling. So what do you intend this night? For its obvious you are not out at this bell of the night just to consult with the trees." "That is where you are wrong. You are Kh'anderif, essentially, correct?" "No, and yes. I guard and limit the forest. When I am able, I likewise guard the City against external threats or dangers. But the circumstances which allow me to oversee the City are rare." "So, were I to gather some from the King's Quarter in the forest, in order to acquire some weaponry...?" "From my forest?" "From the camp." Evendal explained. The dead man grinned. ------------------------------------------- (27) A fee taken by the bailiffs or judges, for every prisoner who is acquitted. (28) The loose scattered ears of corn that are left on the ground after the binding. Commonly free for the taking. (29) Woodlands turned into tillage by uprooting the trees and removing the underwood. (30) A toll formerly levied for repairing or building public walls. (31) A tax anciently paid by merchants, etc., for leave to show or expose their goods for sale in markets. (32) A customary duty or toll for weighing wool; so called because it was weighed by a common trona, or beam. (33) The custom or duty paid for skins of leather. (34) Roughly 30 feet away. (35) beri - wadi, seasonal riverbed. (36) Uæstrho - (waist-row) Elder, patriarch of his gens.