Date: Thu, 2 Jul 2009 19:26:01 -0400
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: The Exile, Chapter 9 - [revision]

***NOTE: The long delayed chapter appears at last. Please enjoy.***

THE EXILE
A Gay Fantasy Experiment


Chapter Nine


The work of recreating Carmathen's government continues, and predictably
has taken longer than I would have liked. I have refused to associate my
rule with the pomp and regality that was connected with the traditions of
the Council, and have therefore chosen not to base the center of my
government in the majestic Assembly building. That grand structure was
built to intimidate the common man, to make him feel his own insignificance
before the political might of the oligarchy. Kings and Queens can be
dangerous idiots, as my experiences in Fermanagh certainly taught me -- but
worse than a dangerous idiot with political power who inflicts his or her
will on others are two hundred dangerous idiots with political power who
can't agree on anything. The people of Carmathen are better off without
them. By avoiding the Assembly (except for occasional ceremonial
celebration) I hope to send a message that times have changed, for good.

Instead, I have chosen to base my own center of operations, at least
temporarily, in the building that was once the Consulate of Fermanagh, and
have placed my own offices in those rooms that once belonged to Ambassador
Hollis himself. It was my hope that some of his wisdom and compassion might
have seeped into the walls and would in turn inspire me. I have thought of
him much lately, for I cannot look at this desk at which I now write, or
gaze upon these walls, without being transported in my mind to the first
time I entered these chambers and found him, a short, gray bearded man with
tired eyes and a tight smile, furiously writing a letter. At his side stood
a young page, perhaps a few summers younger than I, with a handsome face
and who appeared to always be blushing. The poor boy was staring at me (at
my hairless features, as I then imagined) and trying very hard to pretend
that he was not. I in turn pretended not to notice. I remember being weary,
but still on edge. Our entrance into Carmathen had not been peaceful or
easy - I suppose I knew it could not have been, given Golmeir's
appearance. In many ways it would have been better to leave him once we
reached the populated areas, but we could find no one who would help us
carry Cedrik, and both of us together could not have transported him to the
Consulate as fast as the giant.

And here at last I stood before Valen's representative to Carmathen for the
first time. I was not alone at that first meeting, of course. Alek shuffled
nervously at my side but said nothing, as usual. It was rare that he ever
spoke his mind. His hair seemed to have grown somewhat since we had left
Fermanagh, providing a glimmer of hope that one day there would be no trace
of the short cut that had marked him as a slave to the Queen. I suppose I
ran my hand over own smooth head and reflected that no such new hope or
growth was likely to happen for me. If Alek saw me do this, he would have
shot me a tight smile or patted my shoulder comfortingly. I do not remember
if this happened at this point exactly, but unspoken exchanges of that sort
were common between us. It was our silent communication and understanding
that I grew to miss the most, later.

The Ambassador paused in his scribbling. "Forgive me," he said, "But I must
finish this before we can speak further." He began writing again. "You made
quite a stir on your entrance into the city, and the Council will need to
be placated. They'll want to know that you pose no threat to the peace."

"Thank you," I mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

He looked up at me, smiling grimly, "Don't thank me just yet, lad. It's
very possible that my letter will be ignored or get caught up in some
ghastly bureaucratic nightmare. Let's not celebrate the victory until the
fight is done, eh?"

With a few quick strokes, he signed his name and finished the letter.

"There," he said, folding the parchment and handing it to his page, "Make
sure this gets to the Assembly quickly." The page nodded and hurried out
the door.

"Now," he said, facing us, "Let us begin at the beginning. What are your
names?"

"I am Markis," I said, "and this is Alek, Cedrik's brother."

"Cedrik is the wounded man?" he asked, "And this is the same Cedrik who was
the clerk to King Valen?"

We both nodded. "He was on a special mission to you from Valen himself," I
said, "but we were attacked on the road by amazarii."

Hollis grew serious then, and motioned for us to be silent. He rose from
his desk (now my desk) and crossed to the door of the room. He opened it
and peered out, looking up and down the hallway for signs of any
eavesdroppers. At last he appeared satisfied and closed the door, turning
to us.

"So, it has happened at last," he said, "The Queen has declared open
warfare upon us?"

"Not yet," I said, "but I know personally that it is her intention to do
so, and with the aid of Broxbourne."

He grew pale. "Tell me everything."

And so I did, relating to him nearly everything I have already written in
this account, omitting only Damon. In this I was greatly aided by Alek, who
added details and further confirmation of facts from his own experiences as
the Queen's consort.

"So," I said, by way of summing up, "Valessa seeks dominion over the men,
but behind her is the Archbishop whose motives are still anybody's
guess. He has been seeking ancient Anatherian relics, particularly this
sword that I now carry."

"That is not so surprising," the Ambassador said, rubbing his chin
thoughtfully, "Of all the great cities of our lands, Broxbourne has
remained the most attached to the past. Their commitment to the memory of
the ancient empire is unmatched. Perhaps his interest in these relics is
merely for the preservation of history."

I shook my head doubtfully, "I fear it may be more than that. There is the
matter of Golmeir and his people."

"The giant?" Hollis replied, "The one who nearly terrified half of
Carmathen into a riot and is now sleeping in my stables?" He shook his
head, bemused and bewildered. "What part does he play in all of this?"

"He is a piece of the puzzle," I said, "According to him, he and many of
his people have been captured and enslaved by the Broxbourneans by some
magical means. For what reason, I do not know -- but it can`t be good."

"This is worrisome," Ambassador Hollis rubbed his eyes, sighing, "but I'm
afraid I cannot spare any thoughts on what the Broxbourneans may be
planning at this time, beyond their aid to Valessa. My priority must be in
helping Valen prevent a full out attack. You understand."

"That's why we're here," Alek said, "Valen wants to ask Carmathen to stand
with him."

Hollis laughed ruefully. "A fool's errand, I'm afraid. The Council can
barely help its own people, as you probably have noticed."

"We must try," I said, with naïve conviction.

He regarded me thoughtfully. "Very well," he said at last, "I will make
arrangements, if I can, for a special session with the Council. The First
Minister may very well owe me a favor. But we must act quickly."

I agreed. "Valessa might not wait long."

"There are other reasons for haste," Hollis replied. "Currently I am the
only Ambassador from Fermanagh in the city. The Queen's representative,
Liana, left for home a few days ago, and may return at any time. It would
be better if she were not present when our accusation is presented to the
Council. She would certainly make things... difficult." He spoke in dry
understatement, and I found myself imagining with dread the kind of woman
Valessa would send to represent her interests.

"How long will it take you to arrange an audience?" I asked.

He shrugged and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Two days at least, if I
can work miracles. Probably more. Things move very slowly here,
politically, if they move at all. In the meantime, you can tend to your
brother." He spoke this last to Alek.

"We need a physician," my companion said, his voice tense with worry.

"I've seen to that already," Hollis replied, "Most of the medicians of the
city are either the exclusive property of some noble household or up to
their necks dealing with the city poor. Disease and malnutrition have been
worse than ever lately. Fortunately, I've been in Carmathen for a long time
and I have my connections. I've arranged for one of the finest in the city
to see to your brother."

Alek looked relieved, but I asked, "How is it you enticed this person away
from their regular practice?"

Hollis coughed and, if my imagination did not fail me, grew a few shades
redder. "Well, actually, her medical license has technically been revoked
by the Council, at the moment."

"Oh, great," Alek said, "That's reassuring." There was a pause, and then he
did a double-take. "Wait, it's a woman?" he asked with displeasure.

"Yes," Hollis replied, "Is that a problem?"

Alek furrowed his brow and refused to speak, so I said, "We've not had good
experiences with women lately, Ambassador. But we won't refuse the aid, if
you say she is trustworthy."

The older man nodded emphatically, "The women of Carmathen are not our
enemies as the women of Fermanagh are. Jelena is one of the best
practitioners of medicine in the city, I assure you. The nonsense with her
license is purely political. It does not reflect her actual talents."

Alek still held his tongue. I placed my hand on his shoulder reassuringly
and thanked the Ambassador. We excused ourselves from his presence and were
shown to a room which had been provided for us, where Cedrik had already
been taken. The room is still there, and it looks much the same as it did
then. Several of my higher ranking officers are staying in it now. They do
not realize, I suppose, that their King once slept in the very room, in the
very bed, where they do -- just as my people never fully knew the extent of
the history that existed in their village, beneath their very feet. If
walls could speak, how much they could tell us!

The room I speak of is long and rectangular, with three beds. When first I
entered it, Cedrik was lying in one of the beds where several of Hollis'
local housemaids were tending to him as best they could, applying fresh
bandages and trying to get him to drink. This task was proving to be
difficult, since Cedrik had not drifted back into consciousness beyond an
occasional dream-like fluttering of the eyes and flailing of his
arms. There was no sign of any doctor. To my eyes, Valen's clerk looked
weak and half-dead already, but still I tried to comfort Alek. He shrugged
me off, preferring to stand alone. I sat down in a chair and yawned, but
did not even think of trying to sleep. Instead, I watched Alek, and Alek
watched his brother. In this way we waited for some time.

"Markis," Alek said suddenly, breaking his solitude and approaching me, "I
have to ask you. Do you really believe Valen allowed us to escape?"

"I've been thinking about that," I replied carefully, "And I'm still not
sure. Something tells me it was not exactly his intention that we got away,
but that he's not particularly unhappy that we did."

"So you have forgiven him?" Alek said. He sat down on a bed near me,
looking at me with pure curiosity.

"I didn't say that," I said, "It still feels very much like a betrayal,
whatever the motives or outcome."

"And yet you are helping him and his people as if they were your own," he
said, "You could just as easily walk away from this responsibility."

"I could not do that," I replied.

"But why not?" He grinned sheepishly. "I fear I would, in your place."

I took a moment to consider my answer. "His people are your people," I said
at last, "And I swore to your brother that I would help."

He seemed touched by my reply. He rubbed my smooth head affectionately,
then with sudden impulsiveness leaned in and kissed me quickly on the lips,
drawing looks of shock from one of the maids tending Cedrik who happened to
notice. She tried rather unsuccessfully to cover her reaction and to go
about her business, clearly confused. Alek and I exchanged guilty looks,
like two children who had been caught in a mischievous game, and then,
despite our best efforts and our concern for Cedrik, began to laugh.

"Is something funny?" came a brusque voice behind me, and Alek's eyes
focused beyond my head and widened in response to what he saw there. I
turned to look, and saw Jelena for the first time.

I have sat here in long silence trying to determine what I should write
about her. I should be as objective as possible, I suppose, and simply
attempt to describe her accurately and without judgment. And yet, even now
after so much time as passed, I feel it impossible to do so. She is the
type of woman who makes neutrality of opinion impossible, you either love
her or hate her. At various times, I have done both.

Very well then, here is my best attempt at a description. Her hair was at
times a dull brown, but in the right light there were flashes of red, while
her eyes were deep green. She had the roundish almost chubby face common to
the people of Carmathen, a striking difference from the women of Fermanagh,
who are angular and hawkish. Her clothes were simple, unassuming,
well-worn, and practical. She had a small, innocuous looking bag hung from
her shoulder. There was no reason that the sight of her should have caused
me anxiety, but still it did. Her beauty made me nervous. She was not as
elegant as Valessa, perhaps, nor as striking and as bold as Shara. Indeed,
on first glance Jelena seemed almost plain. But there was to her features
the suggestion of great beauty hiding underneath, leading a man to believe,
I suppose, that here was a rare treasure that he alone had discovered, a
diamond hidden in the earth that only he could make shine. I knew at once
that she was the sort of woman that many men could fall in love with
easily. Perhaps this is the real reason that I distrusted her from the
beginning. Perhaps it was because no man would even look at me with more
than passing regard as long as she were in the room, and the attention I
craved would be impossible to find.

I looked at Alek and saw him staring at her as though he had forgotten I
was there.

"Is this my patient?" Jelena said, moving to Cedrik's side swiftly without
bothering to wait for a reply.

"Oh. Yes," Alek replied belatedly, standing and moving towards his brother,

"No, no, no," she said, batting away the maids impatiently, "What do you
think you're doing? You can't bandage the wound like that."

"We were just trying to help," sniffed one of the housemaids.

"How very nice of you," Jelena said sweetly, and then added, "Now get the
hell out of here before you kill the man." She shooed the women out the
door before they had time to protest and returned to Cedrik.

"How does he look?" Alek asked, while she was inspecting the wound.

"Not good," she said, her voice full of practicality, "He is not healing
well." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out several vials. "We need
to wake him up."

Alek shook his head. "He's been out cold for a day now. We haven't been
able to rouse him."

Jelena looked at him levelly. "Did you try?"

I looked at Alek, and he looked at me. "Well, no."

She rolled her eyes, then leaved over and smacked Cedrick across the face
quite hard. "Wake up!" she shouted into his ear, "You got to wake up,
unless you want to die today."

Alek looked at me in disbelief and muttered something I couldn't really
make out.

To my surprise, however, Cedrik stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He
looked about in confusion and then winced in pain.

"Yes," she said, "it hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? You're lucky you can
still feel anything. Here--chew on this. It tastes like cow feces. You`ll
love it." She had removed a few black leaves from one of her vials and now
began shoving them into his mouth. He looked about to gag and spit it back
out, but she pinched his nose together and held his mouth shut until he had
no choice but swallow.

"What is that for?" Alek asked.

"To dull the shock," Jelena responded, digging through her bag again.

"The shock from what?" I asked, curious.

"From this," she replied shortly, pulling out a sharp looking knife. Alek
yelped. She held the blade over a candle for a few minutes, then plunged it
into Cedrik's wound as casually as though she were cutting a piece of
fruit. Even I, who had already fought and killed several men (and would go
on to fight and kill many more) looked away, unsettled. When I at last
summoned the courage to look again, Jelena was usings some kind of metal
device to remove something from inside Cedrik's wound. Blood stained her
fingers and her clothing, but she did not seem to notice anything but her
task. She commanded Alek to hold out a cloth that the maids had left, and
with a smooth motion deposited some blood-covered lump onto it. I leaned in
over Alek's shoulder to get a look at it, and realized at last that it was
a sharp piece of metal that was almost certainly part of the amazarii's
spearhead.

"You," she said, referring to me but keeping her attention on her patient,
"If all you are going to do is crowd me and gawk, I'll put you to use. Go
fetch a basin of clean water and more cloths. Hurry!"

Her voice assumed such natural authority that I found myself leaving the
room before I knew what was happening. I exchanged glances with Alek once
again, and saw my shock and surprise mirrored on his face. Both of us had
become so naturally obedient to her commands, that it was as if we were
slaves again back under the power of the Queen. From the look of him, Alek
was thinking the same thing. I gave him my best reassuring smile and then
hurried to find a housemaid.
_______________________________________________________________________________

After completing that one errand for Jelena, I decided to stay clear of her
while she continued to work, thinking that my presence served neither to
aid Cedrik nor to comfort Alek, who was so distraught with worry for his
brother that he barely noticed when I spoke to him. I would have liked to
speak further with Ambassador Hollis, I believe, but he had left already to
visit sympathetic members of the Council and to play the political games
necessary to get our case heard in the Assembly. Instead, I visited Golmeir
in the stables, where the few horses left were still shifting nervously at
the presence of the giant.

"I wish you did not have to stay here," I said, "but getting you out of the
city will cause too much trouble and distract the Council from our pleas
for help."

He nodded stoically and spoke in his rumbling voice. "I am well here. I
will wait."

"It would be far better if I could just free you," I said, fingering the
amulet, "Is there nothing you can remember about this that might help us
know how to destroy it?"

He shook his head. "As I have said, I know nothing of the amulets save that
they are very old, from the time of the King of the Mountain."

"Who was he?" I asked, curious. Though Alek was often tight-lipped and
silent, Golmeir made him seem to be a blabbermouth. It was an exciting
opportunity to learn more of the giant and his people on those few
occasions when he did deign to speak.

"He ruled my people in times long past," he said, "We served and protected
him, but in the end we failed him. That is all that I know. My memory
is..." He scratched his head sadly.

"Because of the spell?" I asked.

He nodded in reply and closed his eyes, and I felt sure he would answer no
more questions at that time. I made sure he would be provided with food and
clean water, then bid him farewell.

I began to walk back towards our room to check on Cedrik's progress, but
found I could not bring myself to face Jelena again. I asked one of the
housemaids to provide me with a cloak that had a hood and, my bare head
safely concealed in that, went out onto the streets of Carmathen to walk,
explore, and clear my mind. There was nothing now to do but wait -- wait
for Hollis to return, wait for Cedrik to heal, wait for Alek to relax
enough to notice me again. I had to keep myself moving or the nothingness
of the waiting would drive me mad. The open sky outside unnerved me and for
a moment I wanted to change my mind and hide myself inside the building. I
had still never confessed this fear to a soul save Damon, but in this case
my restlessness far outweighed my anxiety. The first few steps were the
worst, but as I continued I found I grew more and more used to the feeling,
and to the presence of the empty nothingness above me.

I wandered the festering city for several hours, letting my feet guide me
wherever they would. The Consulate was located in one of the relatively
prosperous quarters of the city, so I erroneously thought I would not see
any signs of the wretchedness and poverty that had so disturbed me upon our
entrance. I could not have been more wrong. I was swarmed with haggard
beggars, pleading to me in desperate tones for coin or even just a little
bit of food. At first I tried to explain to these poor people that I had
nothing to give them, which was entirely true, but they did not believe me
and only pressed me further. Eventually I was forced to ignore their pleas
altogether, and merely walk past those who were hungry and suffering as
though I could not see or hear them, as I could see so many others
doing. It pained me greatly to feign such indifference, to squash the human
impulse inside of me to aid those in need. But there was nothing I could
do, and I cursed the wretched city for making me feel guilty for that which
was not my fault and which I had no power to fix. I knew it was folly to
take their suffering so personally -- but in my heart of hearts, I could
not forgive myself for abandoning them to their misery.

Perhaps the changes I have brought to the city will expunge that guilt at
last, in time.

Eventually I entered an upscale market district, where crowds of people
were gathered despite the fact that the sun was slowly sinking and the
shops were surely getting ready to close up for the day. I passed merchants
with exotic and fragrant wares, saw strange and unusual people in fancy
clothing and listened briefly to small snippets of their bizarre
conversations. I was a quiet observer, drinking in everything and slipping
through the crowds unseen and unnoticed. I marveled once again at how large
the city was; there must have been a dozen market areas such as this, each
visited by hundreds upon hundreds of residents per hour. Everywhere I
turned I was pressed in by a crowd, and found it impossible to stand or
walk anywhere with the personal space that I was accustomed to. The sheer
size of the area and the amount of people in it made what happened next all
the more improbable. But perhaps it is not so surprising - ever since I had
left my village and begun my exile, I had found myself often stumbling into
trouble and into destiny. Nothing save my mere whim had led me marching
north from my village to the place I first encountered the strange man
named Errold, and just so my aimless wanderings had brought me before him
once again. My fate was tied to his, perhaps, or his to mine. All I know is
that none of what has happened could have occurred if we had not met, once
in the southern forest outside the tomb and then again in the streets of
Carmathen. It is more than possible that some higher power knew this and
orchestrated it all, or perhaps some power within me called out to him, for
he held the key to the next stage of my journey. I do not know, and will
say no more on this matter - such speculations are not for men such as me,
who know how foolish and ignorant we really are.

I heard a disturbance in the market, men yelling and causing a commotion,
and turned to see a merchant roughly pushing a strange-looking young man
away from his stall. I was busy trying to follow the accusations of
stealing and disgrace in the shouting, and so I did not at first recognize
the young man as Errold. When the recognition came, it came in a flash,
shooting with anxious energy down to the tips of my toes. I pulled the hood
of the cloak further forward lest he should recognize me in return, but I
was swallowed in the gawking crowd and his attention was on his accuser.

Errold seemed to have no desire to defend himself. His eyes rolled about at
the gathering crowd of onlookers, and he licked his lips nervously. I could
see his lips moving as he mumbled to himself continuously, and realized
that the madness of the curse had not lifted. How he had escaped from the
Broxbourneans and what he was doing in Carmathen was beyond my ability to
guess. I barely had time to ponder these questions before Errold turned and
fled, bolting off into the crowd and attempting to put distance between
himself and the man he had apparently tried to rob. In a second, I was
after him, knowing somehow intuitively that this chance meeting posed an
opportunity that I could not afford to miss.

Pursuing him was not easy, for the market was crowded and I was forced to
dodge and weave to cover ground and keep a clear view of my target. I was
aided by my height, which while not gigantic (I have met many men who look
down at me) is nonetheless somewhat greater than average, especially in
Carmathen. Several times I thought I had lost him, only to see him for a
brief second as he turned a corner and headed down another street.

At last I saw him enter a building, a small, rather unkempt dwelling whose
door had been left partially open. This particular building, as I remember,
was adjacent to a small alleyway, just large enough for one man, which ran
towards the rear. Along the wall that faced this pathway were several
small, dirty windows. It was to these that I crept carefully, not wishing
to alert Errold to my presence, and peered in. It was dark inside, but I
could make out that Errold was moving about frantically, turning over
furniture and opening drawers, clearly searching for something. Through the
glass of the window I could hear him mumbling deranged curses. After a few
minutes I was satisfied that he was alone. I went back to the front of the
building, pushed open the door. I pulled out my silver sword and pointed it
at him. When Errold turned to see me, he let out a yelp of terror and fell
to the ground, cowering.

"He has the sword, Bert!" he shouted to nobody, "Help me! Save me from the
little girl whose eyes are so blue, so blue, and then we get the sword and
then we get paid and then we go home. Eh, Bert? Easy money, you says. Tell
the man not to hurt us and to give us the sword and then we get paid and
then we go home. Tell him!"

"Stop your babbling," I said, sheathing my sword. The man was clearly no
threat to me. "What is it you are looking for? What are you up to?"

"Tell the man, Bert, that we don't know. Tell him we only do what we are
told. Bert, tell the little girl to stop staring! So blue! So blue!"

I sighed in frustration, then shook the amulet that hung about my neck at
him. "What about this, Errold? Golmeir's amulet? Where did you get it?"

He looked at the stone curiously. "He wants it back. Bert, we will be
punished if we don't bring it back. He loaned it to us. Tell the man to
give it to us, Bert! Give us back the giant man!"

He tried to attack me then, but I rebuffed him easily. He was so distracted
within himself by the curse's madness, that it was a wonder he could walk
or talk at all. He went sprawling to the floor, howling and weeping, and I
paced the room nervously wondering what I was going to do with
him. Clearly, I would have to bring him back to the Consulate for further
questioning. Perhaps Hollis or one of his men might get something useful
out of him. I tried to pick him up and lead him out, but he resisted me and
flailed his hands at my face, making it awkward to keep control of him. I
was standing and tapping my foot in frustration, and Errold was on the
floor weeping like a child, when the room suddenly filled with men in the
blink of an eye.

The first thing I noticed about them was that their faces were obscured by
veils that wrapped about their heads and covered all but their eyes. The
second thing was that they each wielded long daggers that appeared as
quickly and mysteriously into their hands as they themselves had appeared
into the room. There were at least half a dozen of them, and each of them
pointed his weapon at us. Errold went still and covered his head, and I
looked about quickly to keep my eye on them all and to prevent being
attacked from behind. But no attack came.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want?"

"We would ask the same of you," spoke one of them, his voice only slightly
muffled by the veil about his mouth, "It is you who has invaded our
territory. This one we have seen before," he flicked his blade towards
Errold, "But he was always alone before. Why do you disturb this place? You
will find no sign of the man you seek here."

"I seek no man but this one," I said, standing near Errold, "If you let me
leave with him, neither of us will ever return to trouble you."

The tension grew thick. The men edged slightly nearer. "We cannot risk that
you will divulge this location to the authorities," their spokesman said.

"I do not want to fight," I replied, "But I will if I must." Here I threw
back my hood and pulled out my sword.

It's silver gleam flashed through the room, and there was an audible gasp
from the men who threatened me. In a moment their daggers went limply to
their sides, and their heads bowed in respect. Errold giggled nervously. I
looked about in confusion

"Our apologies. We have heard of you, the hairless warrior from the south
who bears the ancient sword," the man said in awe, "Our leader desires very
much to speak with you."

"Heard of me? How? I've only arrived here today."

"Word travels fast in Carmathen, especially to our ears. We have been
waiting for a sign such as you." The man who spoke pointed at my
sword. "The blade you carry is famous among us."

"You know of it?" I said, running my finger along its edge protectively.

The men nodded eagerly. "We know many things of the past. Our leader will
tell you more. Please, follow us."

I shook my head and sighed. I was not sure what would come of this, but I
felt it was a distraction from my task and a complication that I would
rather avoid. I wanted to argue, but the attitude of the men was so solemn
and reverent in my presence that I found I could not.

"Follow us, mighty one," the man said again, "Please."
_________________________________________________________________________________

I had just written the word "please" when there was a knock at my office
door. I hate to be interrupted while I write in my account, and had
instructed my ministers not to allow anyone to disturb me, so it was with
great annoyance that I put down my pen and set aside this manuscript
(already a sizeable stack of parchment) to tend to whatever matter had been
brought to me. I am writing about this here because, as it turns out, the
interruption directly relates to the part of my story that I was about to
write next.

The officer who entered came to report that another of the fugitive Council
members had been caught and brought into custody. After I declared them
enemies of the people, many of those we did not capture immediately fled
the city, but I suspected that some of them had remained in Carmathen in
hiding, hoping to sabotage my efforts at creating a new order. I set aside
a squadron of some of my best men, many of them veterans from the War, for
the special purpose of tracking down these hidden Council. I have been
reflecting on this part of the story in preparation of writing it, and so
the tunnels and caves that wind their way under a large portion of the city
were understandably on my mind. I suspected, rightly as it turns out, that
these caverns (where the veiled men took me to meet their leader) would
make a likely hiding spot. After all, most of them are empty now that the
Tharonites no longer exist as the secret cult they once were. The
Veruvians, too, have abandoned discretion and have moved their insatiable
activities above ground openly.

This particular rogue Councilman was hiding with several dozen followers in
one of the remote caves of the network. My men tell me there was only a
brief conflict with few casualities, and the former political leader will
now be brought to trial by the people of Carmathen. I wonder if the cave in
which he had chosen to hide could have been one of those that I myself
traveled through when Errold and I were led by the veiled men towards their
headquarters. It seems unlikely. The cave system is surprisingly vast --
how the massive city manages to rest on top of it without collapsing into
the earth I cannot fathom. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that there has been
a clear symmetry in my time here in Carmathen, and that my past seems to be
repeating in upon itself. I sit now in the office where Hollis once
interviewed me, I sleep within a few rooms from where I once slept, I walk
the same streets, I have visited the same market, and now a political enemy
has been caught in the very undercity into which I was taken by the veiled
men and where I met Gavril, Stepan, and many others. Perhaps the
Councilman's cave would be familiar to me, after all. It would be the least
of strange coincidences that I have encountered in my life.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

That distraction dealt with, I can return now to my account. There was a
innocent looking stairway in the back of the house that led down into a
sort of cellar, dug into the earth. Here the men revealed a hidden pathway
that led to a tunnel. One minute there had only been a solid dirt wall, and
the next it was clearly a vacant opening heading gradually
downward. Whether this was accomplished by magic or by some visual illusion
(as seems more likely) I do not know, but the effect was impressive either
way. The tunnel led into a surprisingly large underground network of
man-made caves which, as I was to learn later, came to the surface in a
number of secret locations throughout the city.

I myself was taken back at how many people seemed to live here in this
secret undercity, less of course than in any given block of the city above,
but nevertheless enough that it seemed to be a community of its own. Some
of these inhabitants wore veils about their heads, like the men who
escorted us, but some, especially the younger ones, did not. Many of the
men and women we passed looked at us with confusion and suspicion, but a
few seemed fascinated by me particularly and stood with their mouths
hanging open without shame. I was uncomfortable with these stares, but did
my best not to show it.

Eventually we reached a larger cavern lit by many torches where we found a
group of men dressed and veiled exactly like those who had guided me to the
place. Errold was incomprehensible with fright, and screamed for Bert
whenever anyone came near him -- fortunately for him, no one was the least
bit interested in harassing him. All eyes were upon me. One of the men
approached me, and I knew at once it was their leader. There was no outward
sign of it. His clothing and veil matched the others exactly. But from the
way the men treated him, and the way he himself walked toward me with
certainty and authority, I knew.

"I had been hoping we would meet, stranger from the south," the man said,
"We have much to talk about."

"So your men have told me," I replied, "Though you have an advantage: you
seem to know much about me, but I nothing of you."

"An inequity I plan to fix," he assured me, "Come, follow. We will speak in
private."

He started to lead me into a smaller passageway in the back of the cavern,
but Errold grew so distraught at seeing me leave that the men were hard
pressed to keep him under control. Whether it was because he recognized me,
feared the veiled men, or, more likely, desperately wanted to get his hands
on Golmeir's amulet once again, he would not consent to being kept from my
presence. In the end I advised the leader to allow him to accompany us, and
explained that he was afflicted by a curse and would not understand much of
what was said anyway. It was the truth, as I understood it at the time.

After we had made ourselves relatively comfortable in the small cave that
served as his private chambers, the man introduced himself. "I am Gavril."

"My name is Markis," I said cautiously, "Though I suppose you knew that
already."

Gavril chuckled and began to remove his veil slowly. "No, I did not. I know
less of you than you think, only rumor and speculation."

"Who would waste time speculating about me?" I asked, quite sincerely.

"Those with an interest in the unusual, and in history," he replied, and
added, "Like me."

By this time he had finished unwrapping his veil and stood before me
uncovered. He was older than me, certainly, perhaps about the age of Valen
or slightly older. His hair was a ruddy brown, and his face sported a
short, clean kept beard. He smiled at me warmly, and I could not but feel
that his warmth was genuine. Having seen his face, I found myself trusting
him more and feeling more relaxed. Such is the way of us human
creatures. The face is the keystone for our communication, I believe, and
this is why a mask is so often unsettling and so effective.

"I'm sorry if my men startled you above. They had orders to protect that
building from any further interference. Your friend has been seen snooping
around there before." He pointed at Errold, who babbled away to himself in
the corner.

"He is certainly not my friend," I told him, "He held me prisoner once,
before a curse drove him mad. Do you know what he was looking for?"

"Of course," he replied, "The house belongs to a rather important member of
our order. It would seem your former captor wanted to find him. Though what
a madman would want with Stepan, I have no idea "

"What is this order?" I asked, confused. "Who are you?"

Gavril sat down opposite of me and crossed his arms across his chest. "We
are called by many names. After all, names are easily given -- but the
thing named is always itself, no matter what you call it. None of our names
matter, for none of them are the reality of who we actually are. Do you
see? We call ourselves the Disciples of Purity, but we are known more
commonly in the city as the Tharonites. They have other names for us, I
believe, that are far less flattering - and yet, from a certain point of
view, they are just as arbitrary and inaccurate as anything we might call
ourselves." He paused, thoughtfully. "We fallow the teachings of a great
leader named Tharon. Surely you, who wields the sword of the princes of the
ancient empire, are well versed in history?"

"Less than I thought, it would seem," I replied, "But I'm learning
quickly."

"You know, then, of Alander the Unifier?

"I know of a great man named Alander in the legends of my people, and I
have learned he was once prince of Anatheria -- but I have never heard him
given that title," I said.

"He was Crown Prince, as you say, and eventually King of Anatheria," Gavril
explained, sitting back in his chair, "We call him the Unifier because
under his rule all the lands were united -- from the forests of the south
where the Anatherians originate, all the way to Broxbourne and the
mountains in the north and the sea to the west. It was a feat of diplomatic
and military genius, which he accomplished with the aid of five trusted
Generals. United, our lands prospered in war and peace, and survived trials
that would otherwise have destroyed our ancestors -- invasions from across
the sea. "

I leaned forward, my interest peaked. I realized somewhat guiltily that
Damon must have already known all of this, especially since he claimed to
have formerly served a man named Alander as he now served me. No doubt he
would have told me many details from that time had I asked, but I had tried
to dissuade him from speaking of his former master as much as possible,
uncomfortable with his assertion that I was to be heir to Alander's
glory. As I think over that time, I now believe that I was much too
reluctant to learn more about the past because each new fact I learned
seemed so wildly different from the traditional history of my people that I
did not know how to reconcile the two and only grew confused. In my heart,
you must understand, I still thought myself as one of them, despite the
fact that I was certain I would never walk amongst them again. My fragile
mind could not yet consider without discomfort the possibility that our
traditions had wandered so far from the truth. It was only here, in my
discussion with Gavril, that I felt the first stirrings of curiosity.

"Tell me more about these invasions," I said, but Gavril shook his head.

"There is not much to tell - the details have been lost over time, and I am
no expert," he said, "Stepan could explain it much better than I."

"Who is this Stepan?" I said, turning to check on Errold, who was picking
his nose and talking to the wall. He showed no sign of interest, even now
that we were speaking of the person he had apparently been looking for.

"One of the oldest members of our order," he said, "and a scholar of
ancient things. But we have strayed from the point.  We were speaking of
our history."

"Please, continue," I said.

"After Alander's death, the lands that had been united and strong fell into
division and strife. It was much the same among his Generals, who separated
and settled down in various regions of our land. Two of them settled here,
in the city we now call Carmathen: a great man named Tharon and an
insidious woman called Veru. I'm unsure of the names of the other three --
perhaps Stepan would know."

"They are Lestra, Damon, and Iotor," I said, things falling rather
unexpectedly into place.

Gavril smiled and shook his head. "Why am I recounting this history to
someone who clearly knows more than I?"

"I promise you, I don't," I returned, "In the traditions of my people, we
revere five Angels who gave Alander wisdom. I had no idea they were real
men and women until now."

He rubbed his chin. "Interesting. No offense to your traditions, but angels
they most certainly were not. They were full of human frailty and
weakness. The difference between them was in how they dealt with these
imperfections. Tharon sought to master himself through discipline and will,
while Veru preferred to give in to and revel in her desires. You have
visited the city above. What do you think of it? Vile, lascivious, filthy,
miserable -- in a word, corrupt. Tharon grew weary of the corruption of the
world and believed that the way to bring about social change was through
the mastery of the individual self. We of our order honor Tharon and his
way, and seek to purge corruption both outside and in."

I considered this. "That sounds like a noble goal, but easier spoken than
accomplished. How do you expect to do it?"

"We do not speak of this often to outsiders, but you are no ordinary man. I
cannot hold anything back from you. You must know who we are." He stood,
then, and turned away from me. Gently, he lifted his shirt up to reveal his
back, which I was shocked to see was covered in scars and wounds, some
freshly made and barely begun to heal. It appeared as though he had been
beaten and whipped.

"The man who did this to you should be punished," I said without thinking.

Gavril faced me again and smiled grimly, "He has been, I assure you. You
see, I have done this myself."

My face must have shown my distaste. "But why?"

"We believe the mutilation of the flesh and the denial of desire allows the
purity of the soul to shine forth in full glory. We abstain from pleasure,
eat simply, work hard, and clean our bodies regularly."

"And you all inflict pain on yourselves?" I asked, astounded.

"Every day," he replied, "I know it may seem strange or even barbaric to
you. But I would invite you to stay and observe us, see how my people shine
in purity through adversity."

"Is this why your people must hide away down here?"

"The people above do not understand us, and what they do not understand,
they fear. It is natural, I suppose. We stand in opposition to the few
physical pleasures that many of the poor wretches will ever have. " Gavril
stood and paced while he spoke, "But it runs deeper than that. Because we
abhor the moral and physical corruption of the Council's rule, he have
spoken out against them publicly. That led to the Council branding us as
enemies of the city and traitors. We hide down here because their City
Guard would wipe us out without hesitation if they could. Anyone known to
be a member of our order, which they call a cult, may be executed, and our
families made to suffer. Even my distant relations have faced persecution
merely by being associated with me in some feeble way."

"The more I hear of this Council the less that I like them," I
commented. "Isn't there any city in our lands whose leaders are sane and
truly in the service of the people they rule?"

"Not in Carmathen," Gavril replied somberly, "At least, not since the time
of Alander. A leader like that would mean the ancient times of glory come
again. I do not hope for such things anymore. I do not think that I shall
live to see such a day, or such a man."

I said nothing, but I remember clearly insisting to myself that such men
did exist, and that once my many tasks were completed I would find one and
serve him for the rest of my days.

"Come," Gavril said, interrupting my thoughts, "I will introduce you to
Stepan. He will be eager to meet you, and especially eager to inspect that
sword you carry. He can explain anything that I have left unclear. Can you
persuade your rather eccentric companion to join us?"

Errold did not seem to notice my approach, but continued to babble
incoherently in the direction of the wall. I put my hand on his shoulder
and shook him gently, and slowly he turned to look at me. His face broke
into an enormous grin which was both so genuine and so sinister that I
remember it clearly to this day. It troubled me, especially since for the
first time since I had re-encountered him that day he grew quiet and did
not speak but merely smiled with satisfaction and surprising lucidity.

"Come with me, Errold," I said, "We're going to meet someone new." It was
my hope that by treating him like a friend I might be able to keep him
under control. It seemed to work, for he stood and followed me without
causing trouble.

As we left Gavril's cave, I could hear him begin to mumble behind me:

"Bert, Bert, we go to meet someone new, Bert. Easy money, you says. Then we
get the sword and then we get paid and then we go home. He is coming soon,
Bert. Soon. And then we go home. Follow the plan you says. Follow the plan
says the man. Follow the plan says the man. And then we get the sword and
then we get paid and then we go home. Easy money. He will come for us. Easy
money." And so forth.

His words were the ravings of a madman, foolishness and stupidity, and so I
did not listen.

It was a great mistake, mysterious reader. It was I who was foolish.


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