Date: Mon, 9 Nov 2009 19:57:41 -0500
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: The Exile, Chapter 12

***Translator's Note: I have labored now for many months rendering the
original manuscript into our modern tongue for the benefit of all, but I
feel some disclaimers and warnings are necessary. Markis writes with
complete and often graphic honesty, depicting mature themes and vividly
describing adult situations between himself and others. While these
encounters are always integrally related to the overall arc of his journey,
those wishing to avoid such content or too young to deal responsibily with
it are therefore forewarned. The work of the translation is mine alone, and
I will object strenuously to any reproduction of it in its whole or in any
part without my express permission.***

THE EXILE
A Gay Fantasy Experiment

CHAPTER TWELVE

The time has come to leave Carmathen at last. Too long I have delayed my
work in Broxbourne while I fought to bring order to this wild and
unpredictable city. In truth, I would have left more than a month ago if it
were possible. My ministers insisted, however, that I postpone my departure
until a "small celebration" could be planned in my honor. The people, I was
told, would benefit from a little festivity and a break from work, and in
this way we would inaugurate the "New Carmathen" and put away painful
memories of the last regime.

I have passed the time by organizing and streamlining the new bureaucracy
and doing everything in my power to instill a sense of honest civic virtue
in the men and women I have chosen to run this city for me. The rest of the
time I have spent in writing, hoping to finish recording the adventures of
my first visit to Carmathen before my return trip to the north. As it
happened, I had plenty of time to do so, for the "small celebration" my
ministers demanded was nearly four weeks in the planning. It was truly
extravagant, and it drained the city's public funds by an insane amount --
but I am hopeful that my advisors were correct and that a little
cheerfulness did the people some good.

Today was the day appointed, and at mid-morning I marched out of the city
in the company of my finest troops and surrounded by my imposing personal
guard (whose identity, though no doubt already a part of popular legend, I
will reveal in time). The multitudes thronged along the parade route,
cheering wildly. The streets were so packed and there was such enthusiasm
that I began to fear that some unfortunate members of the crowd would be
crushed. In some dark and ironic way, it would be suitable if my
celebration had turned into a massacre – and for a moment I grew
panicked by visions of chaos and brutality and of the city populace whipped
up again into anarchistic fury. But, thankfully, to my knowledge there were
no major incidents. The morale of the City Guard was high, and they
maintained order quite effectively -- I can only pray that lasts. There may
be some hope for this city yet.

The people called my name triumphantly, waving hats and pieces of white
cloth and calling me "Markis the Wise" and "Markis the Unyielding," and all
the other titles which I have grown accustomed to hearing. Amongst these,
though, was a new one I had not heard before: "Markis of the Holy Tongue."
It seems my legend has grown. I have never liked hearing my name spoken of
with such reverence and in such lofty terms, but of all the honors and
titles bestowed upon me this new one makes me the most uncomfortable by
far. You will shortly learn why.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Ambassador Hollis of Fermanagh was most certainly dead. Though there was no
wound, no blood, no sign of a struggle or violence of any kind, there was
no doubt at all that his life was now over. Pasha and I stood staring at
him in a gut-wrenching state of shock.

Have I shown you what kind of man this Hollis was? I think I have not. I
have no gift for sketching a man's character, particularly one I knew for
so brief a time. I often neglect to include details that would provide you
insight into habits and inclinations so that you might come to know the
people in my tale as well as I myself knew them. I have not mentioned, for
instance, the way Alek continually scratched a scar on his right forearm,
his movement more out of habit than the presence of any actual itch. Nor
have I said how Pasha would often smile mysteriously out of nowhere,
sometimes giggling at some secret thought. Jelena had a habit of chewing
her bottom lip as she thought, while Valen would roll his eyes up to the
ceiling as if to importune the heavens. From such trivia you might have
formed a clearer picture of the people of whom I speak - that you might
feel their role in my story more fully.

Perhaps I have no gift for literature. And yet I cannot simply play the
historian and record my life in a series of facts and dates. I must try to
make my story live, and when I fail I must ask you to do much of the work
for me. It is your mind and your imagination that must breathe life into my
dead words.

Why this sense of urgency? Why do I sit here in a sweat of worry that you,
my mysterious reader, will not comprehend the full depth of my story and
the people who inhabit it? My time is short. I must pass on the secrets of
my life before it is too late. This account is an explanation of my actions
and a defense of my life -- a gift to all future generations, but
especially meant for one person in particular. You will not understand, my
special one, why I must do what I must do. Perhaps when the day comes that
you read these words (for that day must come - I have known it since I
began) you will understand and you will forgive me. I have spared nothing,
I have told you all. I did not think I would ever write for you alone --
but I was fooling myself. I must restrain myself from doing so any
further. I nearly blotted out this brief mention of you, but I shall let it
stand. You must know I never forgot you.

But I must return to the point.

How can I, with my paltry skills and unlearned technique, make you see and
know this Hollis who is gone from my story so quickly after entering it? I
cannot, though I have felt it my duty to try. He was my friend, in the way
that men who have only just met can be friends. We understood each other. I
certainly had entrusted him with my secrets, more than I had even shared
with Alek. I admired him, and I still do, for I believe he was a man of
deep principles and compassion -- but how can I be sure? Men have many
faces. I have lost count of mine. Still, if my impression of him is even
partially correct he was as good and noble a man as any I have met.

I did not weep for him. I barely knew him. My first reactions to the news
of his death were impersonal ones: astonishment, followed by a human
concern for my own problems. How would we bring our case to the Council
now? Our cause was lost, and Broxbourne would pass through Carmathen lands
to reinforce Valessa's amazarii without resistance.

It wasn't until I saw his lifeless body that I felt pity for the old man
himself. I call him old, but he ought to have had many more years left in
his life, two decades perhaps. Looking on him, slumped over his desk, eyes
closed and his face against the wood as though sleeping, his skin pale as
the palest moon, I felt at last the tragedy of it. It moved me - not, as I
have said, in a sense of personal loss for a loved one, but as a sort of
general human grief at the senselessness of life cut short. It was the pain
of my consciousness faced with the reality of its finite end, the sudden
sure knowledge that there would come a time when I would no longer be.

It was the first time I fully knew the fear of death. I had seen men die,
of course, and even sent men to the grave myself. But I had never before
fully allowed myself to consider what that thing called death might
mean. As a Priest I had taught the doctrine of eternal life, of a world
beyond this world. But as an exile I could not claim such certain
knowledge. Everything I had learned in the village of my birth was now
called into question. Perhaps there was no after-life. Perhaps death was
the end – a complete and utter end. Contemplating such nothingness for
myself and knowing that I had brought that annihilation to other men nearly
drove me mad in an instant. My knees grew weak and I felt drained, a
depressive weariness settling over me for the first time that was to plague
me for some time afterwards.

In the crowds of Fermanagh, and then again in Carmathen, I had faced the
fear of my own insignificance. What was the point of life when I was but
one soul in a sea of so many? Now, faced with Hollis' death, I faced the
fear of my own futility. What was the point of life when it could end
suddenly, without warning, without mercy, forever? My tongue felt dry in my
mouth, my heart pounded furiously, and my hands shook beyond control. I
felt like I was falling into the open nothingness of the sky.

"He was fine, he was talking to me just minutes ago," Pasha muttered to
himself. The poor boy was in such a panic himself that he did not notice my
fear.

"What happened?" I managed to ask, and Pasha swallowed and tried to compose
himself.

"I woke him up as usual," he said, "I brought him his morning meal. I
stepped out to get a fresh shirt and clean his boots, but when I came
back..." He trailed off into a squeak. "They are going to think I did this,
aren't they?"

"Calm down, Pasha," I said, though I was far from calm myself, "We have to
focus. We don't know what happened."

"What do we do now?"

"We go to the authorities," I said, and when I saw his face turn pale, I
added, "We have nothing to hide. We're completely innocent, aren't we?"

He sputtered an agreement, and I turned to leave. I wanted to flee the
terrible sight as quickly as possible. I took one step toward the door and
nearly fell, for my legs buckled beneath me as though all energy and
strength had left them. I felt fatigue in every part of my body, even
breathing seemed a heavy burden. I managed to correct myself at the last
moment and stay upright, but Pasha noticed my stumble and rushed to my
side.

"Markis!" he shouted, grabbing my arm, "Not you too!"

I laughed, and I'm not sure why. He sounded so dramatic, and I didn't feel
like anything was worth that much energy. "Don't be silly," I told him,
"Just a moment of light-headedness."

But he held on to me anyway, and I was grateful for the support. Together,
we made our way to the door. I reached out to open it.

"Wait," said Pasha suddenly, "Don't."

I sighed. "Pasha..."

"I have a bad feeling," he explained. "Something bad is going to happen."

"We have no choice," I said.

We were both correct.

The door swung open, and in the hallway beyond stood a tall, imposing woman
with long graying hair flanked by two muscled amazarii guards. Her face was
bony and regal, showing only the faintest beginnings of the wrinkles of
age. She held her chin high, her hands clasped in front of her. Her
searching eyes passed over us in an instant, then flashed to the room
behind us at the gruesome sight that lay revealed there. My legs nearly
gave out again, and I heard Pasha gasp.

"Ambassador Liana," Pasha squeaked, "You've returned?"

I knew then that I was looking upon the second representative of Fermanagh
to the city of Carmathen, the one who served Valessa's interests and was
therefore my enemy.

"I've come to see Hollis," Liana said, her tone dry and menacing and her
eyebrows arched in bemused surprise, "But it seems he is not available."

"We can explain—,"Pasha began.

"Silence," Liana said, with a tone of casual command. Pasha fell quiet
immediately. "I would save your explanations for the City Guard, if I were
you."

"We had nothing to do with this," I said, gathering all my strength to
speak with conviction and purpose.

Liana laughed, and in that laugh I could hear Valessa too, both of them
mocking me. "So you are Markis," she said, "I'm so pleased to finally meet
you. The Queens speaks very highly of you. She is eager to see you again."

"I'm sure she is," I said wryly. My silver sword was up in the room with
Alek and Cedrik, but I felt so weak that I don't know that it would have
done me any good. It would have simply have fallen into Valessa's hands
once again.

"Restrain them," Liana ordered her amazarii escorts, "And summon the
guards."

"No!" shouted Pasha.

"We must make sure that justice is served," Liana said, but her smile was
pure evil.

"Markis, what do we do?" Pasha whined, squeezing my arm.

I closed my eyes wearily and muttered to myself. "No choice," I repeated,
"No choice."
___________________________________________________________________________________

So far in this account I have limited myself strictly to those events which
involved me directly, that I saw with my own eyes and have pulled from my
own memory. Here I must depart briefly from this pattern, for of my own
story there is not much to tell. Pasha and I were arrested and brought into
detainment. We were placed into separate cells, where I languished in a
depressive lethargy, awaiting our fate. Pasha tried to whisper to me
through the decaying cracks between the stones in the wall, but though I
could hear him I could not bring myself to respond. Time lost all
meaning. We must have been in there for many hours.

Therefore, I must relate to you things I did not see but heard about in
detail from Alek at a later time. I will try to remain faithful to his
account, but I will be forced to make guesses at certain particulars, and
to recreate from my own imagination the specifics of what was said and
done.

It so happened that Liana's arrival in Carmathen did not go
unnoticed. Jelena, ever observant and intelligent, was on her way to the
Consulate for her daily check-up on Cedrik. She was a faithful, tireless
physician, but her obligation to her patient and her promise to Hollis to
aid us were not the only reasons she appeared so frequently, and we all
knew it. She came to visit Alek as much as to tend to his brother, and this
was more and more obvious as Cedrik's condition improved and her constant
attention was no longer needed. As much as this annoyed me, however, I must
confess that I am glad now that she came so frequently. Her presence saved
us all.

Recognizing Valessa's Ambassador and her fierce escort, Jelena knew
immediately that we were all in danger. Alek had told her everything, of
course, during their long conversations, and she knew the threat that a
servant to the Queen would pose to us. She rushed to a back entrance and
made her way to our room, not knowing that she was already too late save me
or Pasha. Alek told me that he had been sleeping quite soundly when she
burst into the room, waking him and his brother with a start. She quickly
explained what she had seen.

Together, Alek and Jelena helped Cedrik to stand. He was growing stronger,
and was every day more himself, though he had often been in an
unintelligible stupor from the force of Jelena's medicines. They gathered a
few of our things, leaving what was deemed unnecessary, and headed out the
same way that Jelena had come in. When relating this story, Alek informed
me that he was so panicked by the idea of facing Liana that he had nearly
fled from the room without remembering my silver sword. Even now my heart
skips a beat to imagine it. At the last minute, however, he came to his
senses and, leaving Jelena with his brother, ran back into the room to grab
it.

Alek wanted to search for me, of course. He was quick to tell me as much
later. Jelena had urged caution, and Alek had listened to her. After all,
he knew Liana would recognize him from his days as the Queen's chief
manservant, and to be seen by her could prove disastrous. At any rate,
Hollis's untimely death and our arrest were announced publicly almost as
soon as the civil guards were involved. It was not too much later, then,
that the three of them overheard of my fate. It was, Alek told me, the
gossip on every street corner. Of course Alek blamed himself for not trying
harder to protect me. Jelena, ever practical, told him there was nothing he
could have done - he could not have fought the amazarii and the entire
civil guard by himself. She was right, of course, but I love that he still
felt he should have tried.

The three of them lost themselves into the crowd of the city, knowing now
that they could not return to the Consulate at any cost. Jelena and Alek
supported Cedrik between them, for he had been bedridden for some time and
still felt weak. Alek said that they walked through the streets in this way
for some time.

"What do we do now?" Alek asked.

"We find some place to hide," Jelena suggested, "The guards will be looking
for you two as well."

"Why us?" Cedrik asked blankly, his mind dulled by the pain-killing
medicine, "We had no part in this!"

"Neither did Markis, I suspect," Jelena replied grimly, "It doesn't
matter. Don't you see the motivation for this is political?"

"Of course," Alek scratched his arm absently, "The Queen wants to discredit
us before we can speak to the Council."

"Clever girl," Cedrik mumbled.

"The Council are part of it too," Jelena explained, her voice bitter, "They
don't care about truth – they will pronounce you guilty by mere
association."

At least this is how the conversation proceeded in my imagination. These
things were said and discussed, but who said what and in what order I
cannot pretend to know for sure. What is certain is that Jelena herself
suggested their next course of action.

"I know of a group of people," she said, "They have no love for the
Council. We'll be safe there."

"We have no other choice," Alek said, reflecting the same bleak fatalism
that I myself was feeling at that exact moment. "We can trust them?"

"Though I've often spoken ill of them, I cannot deny that they are
honorable," Jelena assured him, "And their leader, Gavril, is an old friend
of my family."

"Lead us there, then," Alek said.
_________________________________________________________________________________

And so they sought refuge amongst the Tharonites, which is no surprise
given what I had learned about Jelena from the Ambassador before his
death. Several members of Jelena's family had been Tharonites. Her brother
had been captured and put to death by the Council because of it, and though
she had nothing to do with the cult directly, she had been singled out as
well. Her medical license had been revoked and she had faced hostility and
contempt wherever she went in the city. Only Hollis, with his sympathy to
Gavril and his band, had shown her any kindness. I must admit that it is to
her credit that Jelena rarely spoke a word of this, but bore her
persecution with nobility and grace. She was a formidable woman – this I
have never been able to deny.

It was some hours before they made contact with the Tharonites, but once
they did they were welcomed warmly not only because of Jelena's family but
also because of their connection to me. I had shown them no love and little
courtesy, and denounced their philosophies in no uncertain terms, but still
they thought of me as one of them, as their champion. Gavril, it seems, was
already aware of my plight and was making plans to come to my assistance.

But I shall write more on that later. I must now return to my own story,
and relate one of the darkest moments of my tale. I do not relish the
thought of reliving that moment again, even now, but I have sworn to record
all.

I did not know if it was day or night when the door to my cell finally
opened. Liana herself entered, followed by a gang of smirking amazarii and
two of the city guard. The women swarmed me, holding me fast and binding my
hands together at the wrists, while the guards, who were supposed to
protect me until the trial, stood and watched.

"Bind him tight," I heard one of the amazarii say, "Do not make the mistake
of underestimating him."

When I was completely incapacitated, Liana approached me, looking down at
me with a sneer. Beside her, the amazarii who had spoken drew a short,
cruel dagger and began to sharpen it against a stone, slowly and
loudly. For many minutes, the scraping of the metal was the only sound in
the cell, and it echoed menacingly against the cold walls.

Tomorrow you will stand before the Council and be judged," Liana said at
last.

I smiled ruefully to myself, thinking with irony that Hollis had finally
arranged my audience at last, if not exactly in the way he had intended.

You think that is amusing?" Valessa's Ambassador said indignantly. "The
Ambassador's death was most certainly unnatural. The best medicians have
confirmed this.  It was murder, beyond any doubt, accomplished by
mysterious means. An exotic poison, perhaps. It doesn't matter. Witnesses
will be found and evidence produced that show you as the mastermind of it
all. You will be found guilty. And when you are, you will be handed over to
Fermanagh for your sentence. You'll be before the Queen before the week is
through."

The smile disappeared completely from my face. "You know I'm innocent," I
said.

"I don't care," she replied.

"You killed Hollis," I said, and the amazarii hissed and booed. One slapped
me.

"You're so full of dangerous ideas, Markis," Liana said, "So many
accusations. This one, however, is not true. I wish I could claim the
credit for that man's death. It would have given me pleasure to do it. But
it was not me, or any of my people. I don't care who killed him or how he
died – it works out perfectly for our plans. A miracle sent from heaven,
perhaps."

At this the amazarii chuckled. Liana stood perfectly still as she
continued, and all the while her guard continued to sharpen her knife
ominously.

"You have far too much to say about us for my taste. Under normal
circumstances, nobody would even bother to listen to you, an absurd,
hairless man from nowhere with delusions of civil war and
alliances. Unfortunately for us both, they have an absurd custom in
Carmathen concerning the rights of the condemned.  All who are found guilty
in trial are allowed to speak freely to the entire Council, without
restriction or qualification. This is most vexing, as I'm sure you will
agree. There is much you might feel inclined to say. We could hardly have
you planting suspicion in the minds of the more impressionable members of
the Council. We can't afford any interference from Carmathen at this time."

With growing realization I looked at the amazari's knife in anticipatory
dread. Liana continued, and her voice was as casual and calm as though she
were discussing plans for lunch.

"The wisest course of action would be to kill you, of course -- but the
Queen, for reasons surpassing understanding, has ordered that you be
brought to her alive. So I am forced to think creatively. We must ensure
you do not speak. We must make it absolutely certain."

The scraping of the knife against the sharpening block seemed to get louder
and louder, thundering in my ears until I felt as though I could hear
nothing else.

"You'll definitely still be alive," Liana said, motioning to the amazarii,
"Her Highness will have to be satisfied with that."

My hands were bound, so I could not resist, though I tried my best to turn
my face away and clench my jaw shut tightly. It was no use. Arms held me
down, hands pried open my mouth.

"I will enjoy this," said the amazari with the knife. I looked up at her,
and saw a fresh, ugly scar across her lovely face and fierce hatred in her
eyes. It dawned at me that this must be one of those I faced in the forests
when we had rescued Cedrik. I had given her that injury and killed some of
her sisters. I could expect no mercy here. Licking her lips, the cruel
beauty began her terrible work.

The pain was worse than I can possibly describe. I shook the cell with my
screams, until my mouth so filled with blood that I began to choke. The
amazari with the knife waved the mass of my tongue in front of my face
tauntingly before throwing it to the ground. Several of her companions
stomped on it contemptuously. A dirty rag was stuffed in my mouth to absorb
the blood. I moaned into the rag and writhed on the ground, coughing and
shivering in shock.

"You saw none of this," Liana murmured to the city guards, pressing coins
into their hands.

"Saw none of what, my lady?" the men replied, nodding smugly.

"This man is a Tharonite," Liana explained, "They are notorious for
self-mutilation, are they not? It's quite shocking that a man, in a fit of
religious insanity, would do such a thing as this."

"Horrible," the guards agreed, "We didn't see he had a knife, and we were
too late to stop him, poor bastard."

"Exactly," Liana said, "Come, my warriors. Our work is done."

I was left alone. In the void that was left behind, there was nothing but
the pain. I could not breathe, I could not sleep. I could only writhe in a
pool of my own cold sweat and wail in agony.

Through it all I could hear Pasha shouting at me through the cracks in the
wall. "What happened? Markis? ... Markis! What did they do??"

But I could not answer.
____________________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, perhaps at that very moment, Jelena, Cedrik, and Alek sat in
council with Gavril, deep under the city where the Tharonites dwelt. The
ascetic cult had relocated to another section of the cave network after the
Broxbournian attack, licking their wounds and staying on the defensive.

"We cannot expect a fair verdict," Gavril said, "He'll be convicted and
sent to Fermanagh."

"Straight into the Queen's hands," added Cedrik, "And the King won't be
able to stop it, not without provoking a war we still cannot win."

"We've got to save him," said Alek, who knew more than anybody else what
horrors would await me at the hands of the Queen.

"He will be heavily guarded," Gavril said, shaking his head, "But an ambush
while he is being transported south is our best bet."

"You would risk so much to free him?" Jelena asked, peering at the leader
of the Tharonite curiously.

"Markis is very important," Gavril replied solemnly, "He does not know it,
but he is one of us."

Jelena tossed her hair. I can picture it now, her brassy hair dancing in
front of her face, her lips pursed. "You are mistaken. He does not practice
your teachings."

"Though he does not follow our rules, he lives their spirit," the older man
countered.

At this moment, Alek told me later, another veiled Tharonite entered the
chamber carrying a message. He whispered briefly into Gavril's ear and
handed him the paper. The older man unrolled it and read thoughtfully, his
eyes growing wide with surprise.

"What is it?" Alek asked him.

"An offer of help," Gavril looked up at them, "A proposal for an
alliance. The heavens know we could use any help we can get, but..." He
passed the letter to Jelena. Alek said he looked pale and his hand trembled
slightly. "Tharon taught us to love our enemies, as Alander had taught him
-- but I do not know that I am strong enough for this."

Jelena studied the letter and Alek, who was sitting next to her, peered at
it over her shoulder.

"Who are the Veruvians?" he asked, and those who knew did not know how to
answer him.
________________________________________________________________________________________________

I had several more visitors to my cell that night. A physician came, in
company of the two guards that Liana had bribed. He asked them many
questions, and they told him many lies. He studied my wound and produced
some herbs that he instructed me to chew. These medicines dulled the pain
slightly for a time, but they were not enough to soothe my agony. He put a
cleaner rag in my mouth and went away.

Sometime later, a line of regally robed men and women filed into the cell
to examine me. They had me open my mouth so they could inspect the full
extent of the damage. Several of them winced in disgust at the sight of the
mutilation. From the course of their conversation, I gathered that they
were members of the Council with special assignment to my trial.

"Terrible!" said one, "These Tharonite eccentrics are truly barbaric!"

"He should have been searched more thoroughly," said another, "The guards
should be reprimanded."

"This may complicate the proceedings tomorrow," one remarked.

"We will worry about that later," the first said, "for now we must prepare
our report of what we have seen."

I don't remember them leaving, for I was no longer awake. I did not sleep,
not in the true sense of the word. I faded in and out of consciousness as
my body, unable to cope with the torrent of pain in my mouth, simply shut
down. Gone were the depressive thoughts of death that had incapacitated me
before. There was no room in my mind for anything but the suffering.

I remember snapping into alertness and hearing the sound of sobbing. At
first I mistook it for my own, but then I could hear Pasha mumbling and
weeping. He was apologizing.

"I'm sorry, Markis," he babbled, "I'm sorry. I have no choice."

I did not know what he meant. I do now.

I fell again into oblivion.

When I awoke again, I was not alone. My final visitor of the evening had
come.  Damon stood above me, staring down at me with his cold, beautiful
eyes and smiling. The sight of him filled me with equal parts relief and
fear. I reached out to him with my bound, trembling hands, begging for him
to end my agony.

Many minutes passed and he did not speak, just stood and stared at me.

"You thought to threaten me," he said at last, "You thought to control me."

I had never heard him speak like this. Remembering our argument the night
before, I recoiled from him, still moaning and gagging on the rag in my
mouth. A feeling of dread rose up in me.

"You are my master and I your slave," he said, leaning down until his face
filled my sight, "but you belong to me, and you can never let me go. You
will never cease to feed me, and you will never tell our secret. Never,
Markis. Do you understand? Never. You know now how dangerous I can be."

He had never called me by my name. My eyes widened in shock and revulsion
at the thing above me. His beauty was still flawless, but I saw only a
nightmare. I flinched in realization as I suddenly understood the horror at
which he was hinting.

"Yes, Markis, my master, I killed Ambassador Hollis," he whispered into my
ear, "It was easy, very easy. And I did warn you not to tell him of me, did
I not? I did try to warn you."

Smiling, stroking my hair gently, he continued to whisper while pulling
away the rag from my mouth with his other hand.

"Now you see how you need me," he said, inspecting my wound. "Now you see
how you can never betray me. I can destroy you and everything you love,
master. Don't forget that again."

His smile was wider now, and he held me in his arms protectively. I tensed
in his grasp, terrified, as he continued to speak to me in a gentle
tone. "Don't fight me. Don't resist. I will make you great, Markis. You
will have glory beyond all imaginings. You will surpass even him, my former
master. I can give you everything."

In disbelief I shook my head. He smiled and gripped me tightly.

"Whether you want it or not, it will all be yours," he breathed, "You
cannot stop it – you have no choice."

The rag was gone from my mouth, and my wound oozed blood. I tried to speak,
but it was nothing, no words, no sense. Damon pushed a finger to my lips,
and his eyes flared with desire. Again I saw the inhumanity behind those
human-seeming eyes. Again I trembled before the mystery, the
incomprehensibility of his otherness. He was not an angel, as I had named
him, nor a monster, but something beyond our world and without a name. What
a fool I had been to believe I could control such a being! My mouth moved
silently in pain and shock.

He kissed me then, sucking in my blood, feeding on my life as he had done
since the day I, in my loneliness and confusion, had released him into the
world. I tried to scream, but I found I could not.

He was my servant, but I was his prisoner. His skin glowed with power, and
my mouth was bathed in fire.
______________________________________________________________________________________________

When the Veruvian delegation arrived, Alek said that he was immediately
struck by how beautiful they were. The women were curvy and voluptuous,
something inviting and soothing in their every movement. The man who
accompanied them and spoke for them was fresh-faced, muscular, and as
confident as his companions. Jelena had explained about the Veruvians'
practices, and now seeing them face to face Alek felt himself blushing
though he had sworn he would not allow himself to do so. If they noticed,
however, they gave no sign of it. Their attention was on their negotiations
with Gavril.

"Though we have our differences, we share the same goal," the Veruvian man
said, "We both want Markis free."

"That may be true," Gavril said, his arms crossed and his face tense with
suspicion and contempt, "but what do you want with him?"

The man laughed, and his female counterparts echoed him. "You don't trust
us?"

Gavril was not amused. "Not even a little bit. You have your own agenda in
this."

"And you do not?" the man replied quickly, "We both know the importance of
Alander's heir."

Gavril jumped in alarm. "You know?"

"We know may things," the Veruvian said, and the women with him giggled."We
want to help Markis because it is our destiny. He is one of us."

Now Gavril laughed, but it was a short, mirthless bark. "You speak
nonsense. He belongs to us. We cannot both claim him."

The Veruvian man smiled, his eyes twinkling. Alek told me he thought he saw
a surprising wisdom behind that smile. "Markis is the bridge between us,
brother. As Tharon and Veru once served the same master, so can we their
disciples work in unison once again."

Slowly, he extended his hand towards Gavril. The old Tharonite stared at
him thoughtfully. Jelena, who had already argued in favor of this
partnership, shot him a dirty look. He sighed to himself softly.

"Merciful Heavens," he said, looking to the ceiling, "Must it really come
to this?"
______________________________________________________________________________________________

The less said about my trial the better. It was a sham, of course – a
mockery of justice. The Council is both the legislative and judiciary body
for Carmathen, and they made no attempt to even appear impartial. Several
less scrupulous Councilmen actually booed and hissed at me as I was led
into the Assembly, my head bowed and a clean white rag bound around my
mouth.

Much was said about my character at the trial, and none of it was
pleasant. I was painted as a troublemaker, an outsider with an anarchist
agenda, spreading malicious rumors regarding Carmathen's allies and seeking
to cause unrest amongst the city populace.  A great deal was made of my
tenuous connection to the Tharonites, which I think was the beginning of
the popular misconception linking me to them. It was more degrading than I
can describe, sitting there as insult and half-truths and outright lies
were heaped upon me and feeling the hostility and pretentious indignation
in the room grow.

A parade of witnesses was brought against me, each of them clearly coached
in what they were to say. Most were no doubt bribed or threatened into
speaking. Several men and women appeared to speak of my arrival in
Carmathen, when Golmeir's appearance nearly caused a riot of panic. A few
Tharonites also appeared, men I vaguely recognized from my time amongst
them, speaking of my relationship to Gavril, their leader. Our connection
was greatly over inflated – I had spent only a handful of ours with the
man in my entire life. I cannot say what the motivation of these
Tharonites, or former Tharonites, were. I suspect they may have grown tired
of an austere life of depravation, and agreed to speak against me in return
for amnesty for their own connection to the cult. Housekeepers and servants
from the Ambassador's household also appeared, speaking of arguments they
overheard between me and Hollis. They spoke of hearing me threaten his life
if he did not succeed in arranging an audience with the Council. These
reports were completely false, of course, but they were delivered
convincingly and were extremely damning to my case.

Not that I had any defense. The Councilman assigned to speak in my behalf
went through the motions, but was clearly afraid to try too hard to save
me. I was not even allowed to speak in my defense, of course – the
Councilmen who had visited me the night before testified of my
"self-mutilation," and after a brief debate, all agreed that a written
defense would not be admissible since I had "willfully destroyed my own
capacity for speech in clear contempt for the procedures of the court." It
did not matter. My own version of events would certainly have been ignored
anyway.

Any remaining hope that I might be acquitted was completely crushed with
the appearance of the final witness. Even as he approached the stand and
cleared his throat nervously, I could not believe my own eyes.

With the whole room focused upon him, Pasha shifted uncomfortably, looking
like he might be sick. At last he began to speak in a tense voice, his
words clearly rehearsed. He told them that he had often heard me speaking
against the Council and against Hollis. He spoke of me forcing him to
assist me in Hollis' assassination, that I threatened to kill him if he
refused. He kept his eyes downcast, and spoke with no emotion or
conviction, but the Council heard what they wanted to hear. My heart was
broken. I felt betrayed, though I knew now why he had been weeping the
night before. They had threatened him. What else could he do? I had lost
the case from the beginning anyway. Powerful forces had made sure of
that. By testifying against me, he had changed nothing that would not have
happened anyway, and he was able to save himself.

But still I felt betrayed. It was like when Valen turned on me and
threatened to turn me over to Broxbourne. I understood why it was done, but
it still hurt. And yet, Pasha himself looked so miserable and guilty
throughout his whole testimony, that I felt as sorry for him as I did for
myself. There was only pain and sadness, and beneath it all a smoldering
anger at the injustice of it all. I sat silently, motionless, breathing
heavily against the strip of cloth about my mouth. When Pasha had finished
and was dismissed, he turned to look at me. His eyes were wide, hopeful,
pleading. Please understand, he said with his eyes. Please forgive me. I
nodded my head slowly. Our exchange of looks was noticed, and he was
shuffled quickly out of the room.

I was sent into a nearby room under heavy guard to wait while the Council
"deliberated" on my verdict. As I sat, feeling hopeless and exhausted, I
saw Damon. He kept appearing whenever my guards were not paying attention,
grinning at me, or touching me protectively. I tried to ignore him, and to
ignore the nauseous feeling that the sight of his smirking face provoked in
me. I could not even bear to think of him at that moment. I pushed him from
my mind with all the strength I had left in me.

I was not kept waiting long. The Council took all of half an hour to decide
my fate.

"Markis," said the First Minister solemnly. I can see him now, his thin
moustache twitching with the contempt he always showed me. Even later,
after he had gone to his knees and sworn allegiance to me, he never lost
that edge of suspicion and contempt.  No matter how many thousands called
me liege and master, he never thought of me as anything more than the
rabble-rouser and madman I was made out to be in that mockery of a
trial. He was one of the first to flee when I disbanded the Council and
placed them under arrest. I don't care where he has gone. To be honest, it
is a relief to finally have him out of my life.

"Markis," he said, "It is the agreement of the Council of the People of
Carmathen that you are guilty of sedition and murder. Though your crime was
committed in our city, the execution of justice belongs to other lands –
to Fermanagh, whose representative you have slaughtered. We therefore
commit you to the care of the King and Queen of Fermanagh to face your
sentence, effective immediately."

There was a cry of approval, and a smattering of applause.

"According to our most ancient traiditions, having been convicted in our
court you are allowed one final chance to speak. For as the Council is the
voice of the People, the Council must always hear the People's voice."

"This is a mockery," came a sharp voice, and I turned to see Liana standing
from her place in the back of the room, "The man has mutilated himself and
lost the capacity for speech. Why proceed with this tradition?"

The room filled with murmurs. The First Minster turned to another
Councilman nearby, and leaned to him in whispered conversation. At last he
faced Liana again. "We acknowledge Fermanagh's interest in this matter, and
also the validity of your objection. But this is our oldest tradition,
dating back to the Revolution and the creation of the present State. Let
the man speak – we won't understand, but the tradition will have been
held."

He turned back to me. "Markis, though you have not the power, it is your
right to speak. Do so now – it is your final chance."

The room grew silent and all stared at me, waiting, filled with morbid
curiosity. What would a man with no tongue sound like when he spoke? They
leaned forward, eager to see my deformity, my inability, my
incompleteness. Eager to shake their heads in disgust, to turn to each
other with smug, patronizing looks.

Eager to see me broken and ashamed. It made me furious.

I tore the cloth from about my mouth and threw it to the ground.

"Men and women of the Council, hear me!" I shouted, articulating each word
perfectly, my voice resounding to the back wall of the Assembly. There was
a collective gasp, people grabbed onto each other, stood up in alarm.

"Impossible!" came a shout that I recognized as Liana.

"You call yourselves the Voice of the People," I continued, my voice
feeling stronger and clearer than ever before, my new tongue capable and
sure. There was sudden chaos in the room, but my words rang above it
all. "And yet you sit here in your robes of silk while the people starve
right outside these walls. You call yourself their defenders and
protectors, while all about you are the signs of doom and yet you do
nothing."

"Explain yourself!" the First Minister shouted, fighting for order with his
tone of voice.

"The armies of Broxbourne mobilize and move through your lands in great
numbers, and yet you ask no questions. King Valen of Fermanagh sends you
representatives begging for aid, and you refuse to hear them. We are on the
verge of a great conflict, and you are fools to think Carmathen will not be
part of it. Through Queen Valessa, the Archbishop of Broxbourne will
control Fermanagh. Do you think he will not find a way to possess your
lands as well? Wake up and act! Send help immediately and it may not be too
late!"

The ancient and sacred tradition had a limit, apparently. I had said too
much, and the Council roared back at me in faked outrage. They booed and
shouted at me, and I could see Liana literally hopping up and down, her
face purple with rage. But I thought I could see one or two worried,
thoughtful faces. There were those with doubts in the Council of Carmathen,
but I did not hold out hope that they would have the courage to say it.

"The Archbishop and Queen Valessa are our allies," the First Minister said,
and the Council shouted their approval. "We will accept their word over
that of a troublemaking madman who plays at magician's tricks. Take him
away!"

The guard swooped in immediately. They were afraid to touch me, at first,
casting nervous glances towards my mouth. But a shouted command from the
First Minister broke their hesitation, and I was led from the room. Shouts
and hisses followed me.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

"You are a stubborn old fool," Jelena said impatiently, jabbing a finger at
Gavril.

The leader of the Tharonites stiffened and turned a slightly darker shade
of red. "I am cautious. We cannot trust such people!"

"As a favor to me," Jelena said, her eyes smoldering with rage, "You owe
me, Gavril. You owe me for what happened to Viktor."

Alek said her voice choked slightly with emotion when she spoke of her
brother, and that Gavril went pale and did not know what to say. A few
minutes passed in awkward silence.

"What good is their help?" Gavril said at last, glancing over at the
bemused Veruvians. "They'll be no good in a fight, I can tell you that
much."

"We may surprise you," the man said, "And we have other skills to offer."

"Such as?" Gavril challenged.

"Knowledge," the man replied.

The Tharonites snorted.

"You may laugh, but there is much we know," he continued, "We have members
who are highly placed in the Broxbournean embassy here. We know a great
deal that might interest you about their plans for Markis."

"Tell us, please," said Alek, and Gavril looked at him sharply but said
nothing.

"Your plans for rescue are ill-founded. He will not be taken to Fermanagh
at all," the Veruvian said.

"Of course he will," Cedrik said, "The Queen will want her revenge on him
as soon as possible. He'll be sent to Fermanagh immediately."

"It's already been announced," Jelena added.

The handsome man smiled and shook his head. "Do not trust what has been
told to the public – and the Queen is not the one in control of this
situation, whatever she might believe."

"Then where is Markis going?" Alek asked.

"North, of course," the Veruvian said, "North into Broxbournean lands. Not
to the city itself, but to some other, unknown location."

"Unknown?" Gavril said, "I thought you were offering knowledge."

"We have told you much more than you knew before," the man countered, "Our
contact in the embassy says almost nobody knows the exact spot."

"But why?" Jelena said, "Why would they take him to Broxbourne at all?"

The Veruvian looked at her. "I would have thought that was obvious. They
are taking him to meet the Archbishop, of course. The two of them were
bound to meet, sooner or later. His Excellency has, apparently, expressed a
great desire to see Markis face to face."

There was another pause as this sunk in.

"I will go north to Broxbourne and save Markis," Alek said at last. "I will
search every inch of the country and I'll go alone if I have to."

"You won't," Jelena said, standing proudly next to him, "I'll be with you,
even if these fools are too busy fighting each other to help."

"The men and women of Veru will come to the aid of Alander's heir, no
matter the cost," the Veruvian man said, moving to stand with Alek and
Jelena.

They all looked at Gavril. The old Tharonite pursed his lips and tapped his
foot.

"The Disciples of Purity will aid you as well," he said, "Heaven help us
all."
_________________________________________________________________________________

Here I must pause again. My candle is almost spent, and I have passed
nearly the entire night in writing. I must try to sleep before we press on
again at dawn. It is not easy. My thoughts are so split between where I am
going and where I have been that I cannot rest where I am. The city I leave
behind is fragile, if thankfully less volatile than it was when I arrived,
and its troubles keep me awake with worry. I have left the day-to-day
administration of the government in the hands of men I believe I can trust,
but corruption runs deep in the fabric and tradition of that city. I have
learned much of its history, and it does not give me hope for its future.

My followers think me strong and wise. They whisper of my hidden magic. I
have felt their sure, unnerving confidence in my abilities and in my
decisions. This is bolstered by legends and myth-making that continue to
surround me. Today I overheard some of my soldiers speak reverently of me
as "He of the Holy Tongue." Who knows what they would think or do if they
knew the truth. The empire I am re-building is held together by the tiniest
of threads. The slightest pressure at the wrong point and at the wrong
time, and the entire thing will come falling apart into chaos. It nearly
happened here, in Carmathen.

I must not let my work collapse. Not yet. Not until it is time.

Mysterious reader, you have come so far along this journey with me. I beg
your patience just a while longer. There is much left to tell, but we shall
reach my story's end by and by.


***Sorry for the long delay again. Feedback helps me go faster!
thephallocrat@gmail.com***