Date: Mon, 5 May 2003 16:03:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kris Gibbons <bookwyrm6@yahoo.com>
Subject: SongSpell-11

This story is a work of fiction. It contains references to violent behavior
between adults, and expressions of physical affection between consenting
adult males. If you find this type of story offensive, or if you are
underage and it is illegal for you to read it, please exit now. All
characters are fictional and in no way related to any persons living or
deceased. Any such similarity is purely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any
form without the specific written consent of the author. It is assigned to
the Nifty Archives under the provisions of their submission guidelines but
it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the consent of
the author.

My thanks go to Barry, who helped with this chapter. I appreciate your
patient responses to my obsessive concerns.

I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com

Copyright 2003 Kristopher R. Gibbons  All rights reserved by the author.


                      11	Twentieth Part The Tithe

                      Hamlet: A murderer and a villain,
                      A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
                      Of your precedent lord, a vice of kings,
                      A cutpurse of the empire and the rule...
                                          Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4, Line 97

     Ierwbae bowed to his lord. "Your Majesty, Chelnaur, pro tem Master of
the Stonewrights, begs audience."
     The King merely raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well, they rallied
quickly, and don't lack for audacity either. Do you know their argument?"
     Ierwbae grinned. "A petition, desperate in delivery, I expect."
     Evendal sat back with a contented expression. "We will grant them
brief audience."
     When Evendal saw the petitioner, his good humour vanished. A thin,
hollow-eyed girl of no more than fifteen years approached and knelt in a
gown with long sleeves. She kept her arms forward, palms open, in a gesture
that usually indicated harmlessness, but for the twitching of her limbs.
The word "Trap" might as well have been branded on her pasty forehead. When
the King felt he could keep his rage out of his voice, he said. "Rise. You
are called Chelnaur, young lady?"
     The woman shook her head. "No. Omerludi, Your Majesty."
     "Who is this Chelnaur?"
     "No one, Your Majesty. It is a name I was given to say, to later
confound any search." The girl's voice was velvet.
     "And who assigned you this task?"
     "Joale Stone-wright, Your Majesty."
     "Do you wish to remain with the Stone-wrights, Omerludi?"
     "They are gracious to me, beyond what I deserve."
     Throughout this interview, Omerludi kept her eyes on the dirt between
her feet. The girl-woman's responses threaded in a tired monotone and yet
beguiled. Well aware of the game being played, Evendal nonetheless grieved
over the child's condition. "Do they feed you well?"
     "Very well, Your Majesty."
     "Then for what are you so thin and wan?"
     "I have been ill, Your Majesty."
     "With what, young lady?"
     "With... uh, weak lungs. Your Majesty."
     "Child, do not lie to Us."

        Speak, you hapless game-piece,
        Let honesty prevail.
        How came you to this extremity?
        Your lord's intent unveil.

     "With starvation, Your Majesty. I do not get fed unless I have done
all the chores in the stables, and done them to the chatelaine's
satisfaction. If she is displeased, she canes me and has me stand as night
guard over the stableyard. I have yet to do them to her satisfaction in
over a moon. It has gotten to where I cannot lift the tack, I feel so
weak. The punishment for my failure today will be the whip and the pleasure
of the apprentices."
     "I was to tell you that I am the daughter of Horest Stone-smith. That
the Stone-wrights had no means to remove the wall built so far, or restore
the ground it occupies. No place to put the stones if they were
removed. Nor the manpower to do so. If you took pity on me, and touched me
even to simply take my hand, I was to slip my wrist-knife out and either
slit your throat or stab you to the heart."
     Evendal felt only a fitful indignation, and no surprise. The longer he
looked on this willowy malnourished waif, the stranger the moment
seemed. "Are you Horest's daughter?"
     Omerludi shook her head. "Horest gave his daughters to the Wise
Counselor and the Beast. To keep his charter and his neck."
     "Then... Why did they send you?"
     "No one else to send, they said. No one else they could do without. At
first I did not know what they wanted me for. I still cannot believe they
expect me to stab anyone!" The girl-woman actually smiled at the absurdity.
     "Neither can We. Who else worked with you on this imbecilic
deception?"
     "The chatelaine of the manor, Inereldo. The Master of Journeymen, now
the Master of Stone-wrights, Fankernas. And the Master's apprentice,
Kilent-ror."
     "Were We to revoke the guild's claim on you, find you gentler labour
here or with a kinder master, what would you do? Could We trust you not to
stab Us? Or poison Us?"
     The girl flicked a glance at Evendal, wriggled her shoulders, and let
two daggers drop to the ground. "Whatever I can or can't do, I would not
want to be remembered for harming anyone! I was not going to return to that
nest of slugs, Your Majesty. I was prepared to use the blades on myself,
just to escape. But I wanted to tell you what they intended, first. When I
came up to you, I... I didn't know how to begin."
     Evendal thought, kindly. 'You froze and forgot all you intended.'
"Your tormentors, are they near? Or do they await you at the manor?"
     "Some apprentice is hiding near the entrance or near the Causeway, to
report when I fail.  He plainly shadowed me, as if I would not mark his
presence."
     Evendal nodded to an attending Guard, who gestured to a second
Guard. The two walked briskly toward a section of the wall spotted with bay
trees. They promptly disappeared behind a wide-trunk bay. A short time
later, the same Guard came in through the main entrance, dragging a
thick-framed middle-aged man between them. "Kilent-ror." Omerludi
identified, her voice devoid of emotion.
     "Young lady, if you will be so kind as to retreat around the back of
the Palace, going right, and you'll see an open doorway. That is an
entrance to Our kitchens. Tell the woman you see there, that the father of
the Master of the Under-grounds asks the Empress of the Hearth to help
you. Have you got that?"
     "Yes, Your Majesty."
     "And Omerludi? Be at ease, what We have indirectly promised you, We
will provide you." Omerludi dimpled in a suddenly shy response, and Evendal
thought irrelevantly. 'When she heals up she is going to terrorize this
place.' He found he quite looked forward to the possibility and the
complications she could create.
     As the girl walked in the direction given, Evendal turned his
attention to the snarling apprentice. "Hielbrae, would you retrieve the
knives?" He asked one of his body-Guards, his hand outstretched.  When the
knives were given him Evendal simply sat, resting his head on
Kri-estaul's. As moments passed, the apprentice's fury bled into confused
belligerence.
     "Well? Your lackeys dragged me here. What have I done? Why do you just
sit there?"
     At Kilent-ror's outburst, Evendal opened his eyes and regarded the
man's pugnacious expression. "Oh, We need nothing from this villain. When
the time comes, he'll condemn himself. Store him where he will not spoil,
then organize a company and present them here."
     Evendal awakened Kri-estaul. "Kri, beloved. I have to go lead a
company of Guard. This is not a duty you can join me in. I may be in
danger, and you would certainly be in danger."
     Kri-estaul started to protest, but Evendal set a finger to his
lips. "No. This is not negotiable. I would be shielding you when I would be
safer with both arms free. And by now everyone knows your importance to
me. If someone captured you, I would give over my power, my kingdom and my
name with both hands to have you back. Please bear with my need to keep you
as safe as I can."
     "Do you have to go? Can't you send someone?"
     How to explain? He had been sitting too long. He never felt
restlessness, but this came close. Sitting and being waited on depressed
him, he felt he knew only what his visitants wanted him to know. For the
moment he felt he could trust the people most immediately about him, that
they would not layer him in a candied glaze, filtering who came to him or
deciding the worthiness of a petitioner. Thankfully, his immediate
companions understood his hopes and his intentions, and supported them. But
were it not for the odd moments of panic or fugue, when what came out of
his mouth was not what was babbling in his head, he suspected Aldul would
make a better King. He knew the Stone-wrights were shaping to be either an
impediment or a danger, and an odd one apparently, and he didn't want both
he and his son away from the safety of the Palace.
     "Kri-estaul," Evendal spoke lowly and solemnly. "Have I your leave to
do my duty?"
     "But, Papa! I want you safe, too, Papa." Something of Evendal's
turmoil must have penetrated. "I'm sorry, Papa." Evendal winced at that
phrase. "I'll stay here. But come back quick." The child trembled.
     "I'm here with you, my son. Until the instant I have to ride. And I
will be back as fast as I can be."
     Soon enough a formation of thirty assembled in front of the mock
throne, Mar-Depalai among them.
     "Mine own, We are going to be bearding a badger in its den, today. The
Guild of Stone-smiths has defied Us. It sent a starvling here as messenger
with instructions to kill Us at the best opportunity. That is an odd
challenge best not ignored. When we reach their manor-house, We Ourselves
will make the first assault. Should that not suffice, We may signal you to
invade and, where you cannot capture, spare only those who have not reached
majority."
     Mar-Depalai chuckled. "And what kind of attack will you yourself
provide, to have the Stoner's Guild ready to surrender their hoard?"
     "A hoard, you say? Interesting. Patience, sweet maiden." Evendal
advised in dulcet tones. "Ierwbae, if you would, We wish you to accept a
less perilous assignment. The safeguarding of Our son and Heir until We
return later today. Is this acceptable to you?"
     Ierwbae, looking beyond the glow to the impassive expression on his
liege, realised the request as an honest one, one he could refuse without
penalty or loss of esteem in his kinsman's affections. "Gladly, Your
Majesty. The honour is mine. Is this acceptable to you, my Prince?"
     Kri-estaul, startled from his doze, hesitated before answering. "I
guess so, yes." He did not sound pleased.
     A stray memory snagged Evendal's attention. "Ierwbae. What has been
done with the work-camp housing, outside the City?"
     "Nothing, my lord. I expect it was abandoned when you revoked the
Stoner's charter."
     "What do you want to wager it is still occupied and serving other
Stoner goals?"
     "By the Five Thunders! I'd lose. With your leave I can send two
companies to see. If its vacant, they will post a watch. Do you want it
cleared, if occupied? And by what means?"
     "First, check with Omerludi, she likely knows who the occupants might
be. Just because We legislated emancipation, does not mean all guilds and
businesses freed their indentured servants. Once you know what to expect,
your field leaders will know how and who to target. You stay here and
direct those you trust to think on their feet. If it holds mostly
guild-members, give the same directives I just did."
     "It shall be done, Your Majesty."
     "When you are through questioning Omerludi, would you be willing to
direct from here? Kri needs to enjoy the out-of-doors, after two years
deprivation."
     "It will be a hardship, but I live to obey."
     "Ha ha, I'll be sure to tell Metthendoen that."
     The Temple tolled the second bell after noon when the King of Osedys
donned the swan-helmet he had brought with him from the Kul, saddled a
horse, and guided his company through the city streets. The Temple's tinny
signal for the half-bell mark found Evendal facing his destination. A
building close to eight thousand feet long and two thousand feet wide, with
a facade of alabaster and rose quartz, intricately ornamented
teardrop-shaped turrets graced each corner. The building stood two-tiered
and quiet, no sign of traffic to and from its doors.
     "How nice." Evendal remarked, annoyed. "A fortress in Osedys, and its
not the Palace. I imagine the turrets serve as watch-towers and that a
number of different perils await the fool who manages to breach the doors."
The longer he looked at the tasteless agglomeration of porphyry and schist,
marble, agate and mica-chips, the more uneasy Evendal felt.
     The nearest Guard just smiled. "So? That just makes taking the place a
challenge." She suddenly recalled whom she addressed. "With all due
respect, Your Majesty."
     Evendal chuckled. "I too appreciate a challenge, but there are
limits. This building should not be here." And suddenly, Evendal knew what
to do. He wanted this symbol utterly eradicated. As he stared, almost
unmanned inside, the King realised his fury stemmed from more than this
moment alone. 'Was I imprisoned in such a place? Why can't I remember?'
     "Sire? I don't understand."
     "This is the type of structure the unlamented Wise Counselor must have
drooled over. A defendable citadel. And an over-indulgence that mocks a
city which has been bled dry." He smiled with a silver glint in his glowing
eyes. "How would this company like to take home a token from this place? A
keepsake?"
     Before his Guard could deter him, Evendal stepped from the corner of
the building they had paused at, and walked to the steps of the
guild-house. When his presence brought no visible response, m'Alismogh took
a deep breath and sang the verse he had fashioned on horseback.

        Time wrests youth from man,
	  Pain from life, and pain from death.
	  Change, sovereign of this world,
	  Acts slow as age or quick as breath.
	  This tower false, made unsanctioned,
	  Raised through blood and main,
	  Bring to its end, age it swift,
	  Its finials and foundations, O Ir, reclaim.

     Just as once before, Evendal found himself elsewhere and when. A dozen
archers stood on a balcony before him with bows trained on his person. An
equal number of people he knew to be gentry smiled or scowled at him,
underestimating his anger or the affront they did him by threatening his
friends...
     With the last syllable, a disoriented Evendal turned and walked back
toward his company. Halfway to them the ground trembled, then shuddered
more fiercely. A strange combination of sounds made the King turn; glass
shattering, rock, stone and mortar dropping from the front of the
Guild-house. Cracking and splintering noises from within, that would
normally not escape the solid walls, added to the medley. A scream competed
with the rumble and crackling. Then, to Evendal's fascination, what he
could see of the rear of the building sagged, followed by the rest of the
construct. The roar of the in-folding overwhelmed the King's ears. The
front did not collapse immediately as more and more of the alabaster veneer
cracked, the mortar eroded, and the quartz flaked away into powder. Evendal
heard and felt the sudden deaths; their succession of shocks brought him to
his knees where the quaking had not. When perhaps one third of the
ornamentation had dropped, with the turrets reduced to chalk and pebbles,
the front wall toppled backward like an uprooted tree.
     Evendal felt a last shock burst its cacophony through his body. After
a moment and a solid breath, the King stood and returned to his
company. His eye sought and found the stunned face of Mar-Depalai, who
blinked several times when she noticed her liege's regard. "Your turn
now. Move quickly!"
     Mar-Depalai scowled, trembling. "Hurry to what? Death duty?"
     "Three, maybe four people died. The rest are likely to smother in the
stone and mortar dust, unless all of you move quickly! Go!"
     The Guard obeyed. As the Temple marked the third bell after noon, near
unto fifty people had been pulled from the wrack, disarmed, hobbled, and
then clustered together. As Evendal had expected, they uncovered four
bodies, casualties of the few Kul-stone columns' collapse. The failure of
such a large edifice drew a massive crowd, alternating between curious and
boisterous at different moments. Loud confidences let Evendal know he had
been recognized, and cheers and applause broke out during the binding of
the Stone-wright Master. One unknown threw a fresh egg that hit no one.
     Fankernas, the recent Master of the Stone-smithy, knelt and bowed his
head even before Evendal neared. The Guild-master's clothing sported
sapphires, rubies and topazes, along with rips and stone dust. His fingers
could barely move for the rings shielding them. Joale Stone-wright,
recently appointed Master of Apprentices had emerged similarly attired.
     "Rebel-master Fankernas," the King began. The Guild-master moved to
stand. "We did not give you leave! You are as We have named you:
Rebel-master. For without Our charter, you have no rights to assemble as a
guild in this province. You have no rights to appoint or be appointed. You
have no estates or property as a guild. No lands. No indentured
servants. We know you were aware of your status. You condemn yourself by
your presence in this garb and in this place. Strip."
     "Your... Your Majesty?"
     "Disrobe! Now!" Still in shock and wracked by the dust, the two
stone-smiths struggled out of their tattered dalmatics and over-tunics.
     "Interesting bulges, Rebel-masters. Remove the straps and unveil what
you hoard so dearly on your persons."
     Fankernas quickly untied the cords on three tubes of cloth flush
against his prominent belly, and unrolled the material to reveal strings of
gold coins and jeweled rings. Joale's waist held a similar bounty.
     "This, greedy Rebel-masters, does not even begin to provide
blood-price for the people you have enslaved, tortured and killed. Not even
a fraction. Give Us reason to let you live. Give Us one reason."
     "Puissant Lord, we were but safeguarding it on our persons while we
thought up a way to distribute it safely..."
     "Along with Our corpse? Your sophomoric, half-hearted venture to kill
Us failed miserably. Though as a symbol it succeeded: Sending some armed
waif to elicit Our sympathy. Stab us? She could not have gnawed through
chicken-fat because of how you starved her! But she accepted the offer of
Our hand in compassion. The work-camp your guild oversaw has been
reclaimed. No, you and your guild, all members found here today, may be put
to death. Today."

        Speak, you baseborn traitor,
	  Let no silence remain
	  What you've hoarded unveil,
	  Who you worked with make plain.

     Horest may have been nominal Head, but it became clear he had not been
the mind of the Stone-wright Guild. Fankernas babbled his history,
detailing those of his house who had been willing participants, as well as
those coerced. Horest had been oblivious of anything except the challenge
of building a massive defense wall. Matters of assets, of payables and
receivables, of the source and fate of the labour-force, Horest pointedly
and consistently left to Fankernas and the other Master
Stone-smiths. Horest's sole concern had been the quality of the work done,
and keeping his timetable for the wall's completion. In imitation of
Horest's retentive nature, Fankernas wrote his Guild-master explicit
mortality reports, so that should he face a reckoning, Fankernas could say
he was following orders.
     "You thought to rid the kingdom of its King?"
     "Our job was hard enough before you showed up. But we at least had
work and the respect of our fellow guilds." This stood in direct
contradiction to the Quill-master's report and that of the Criers.
     Evendal tried again. "You decided to rid Osedys of its native
authority?"
     "I guess so."
     "What made you think sending some half-starved girl with a knife she
could barely lift would succeed?"
     Fankernas shrugged in an honest lack of interest. "No one else was
willing to go," he complained. "And she didn't seem to care so long as she
got a chance to avoid work. She was not uncomely. We thought the unexpected
might help our success."
     The attitude the man spouted befuddled Evendal, the degree of
indifference to the effects of his own plots. Evendal had thirty-seven
guild-members, those Fankernas implicated, separated from the others and
taken to the rubble mound that had been the guild-house. The King had the
remaining twelve removed to the antechamber behind the Council Chamber
until his return, with assurances of their safety in exchange for their
parole. Mar-Depalai beside him, Evendal contemplated Fankernas' cohort.
     "What do you say, Mar-Depalai? What shall we do with these?"
     "They are guilty of kidnapping, of murder, and willfully supporting
the continued decimation of the forced labourers. Of..." The Guard was
hard-pressed not to chuckle. "Of a failed regicide. Would you free them?
Incarcerate them at Throne expense through a long life? Exile what is, in
size, a company that can prey on others? I say give them over to the
surviving stone-haulers. That serves for Horest."
     "But isn't that cowardice on Our part? Making another do what We would
not?"
     Mar-Depalai nodded. "Then I have no answer, my lord. This is not my
discipline."
     "All the gifts at my disposal, and I don't have an answer either. One
element of Justice means providing restitution in equal measure to what was
taken. And thirty-seven quick deaths does not begin to provide that."
     "Too bad you can't send them around to the surviving families for
personal punishment."
     Evendal's eyes widened. "Why not?"
     Mar-Depalai looked doubtfully at her lord. "Are you well, Your
Majesty?"
     "Indeed. And in possession of all my faculties, too. Bear with me a
moment. The survivors of the camps need know that what was done to them
shall not be forgotten. What better punishment than for these scum to
recite their crimes and negligence to all they meet with."
     "You are thinking of something more than that, aren't you, my lord?"
     "Yes." Evendal replied, almost grinning. "The survivors have formed
their own community, Mar-Depalai. We hesitated to acknowledge that, lest it
continue their isolation. But here it may serve well. We instruct them that
these prisoners be passed among them to whatever hardship they choose short
of death, dismemberment, or tattoo. Each family allowed a single day in
possession of whichever prisoner they wish. After which, sufficient
survivors must agree to escort the prisoners on a tour."
     "Mar-Depalai stared in confusion. "A tour? Of what?"
     "The rulers and councils of the surviving and dead emigre. Wherein the
prisoners must recite their crimes and offer themselves up to the same
arrangement."
     "That seems awfully elaborate. An added expense on the Throne. And
further effort on the survivors' part." The Guard protested.
     "Watch and see, sweet lady." Evendal mused. "They will accept and add
their own flourishes to the plan. We only hope it will heal more than
harm." He shrugged, at a loss. "It is the best We could do at
present. Let's get them moving and head back to the Palace. Consign these
vermin to a room in the under-grounds. With no talking permitted amongst
them."

     Through the grim entrance to the Palace grounds, Evendal saw the
diminutive form of Kri-estaul sitting beside a man in Guard livery,
Ierwbae, and in front of a third figure stretched out on the ground,
Metthendoen. The King halted in the middle of the Causeway to watch the
oblivious trio.
     "Do you want one of us to precede..." Mar-Depalai began, but Evendal
motioned for quiet.
     "Do nothing. He needs other people, but won't really talk to anyone
else when he has me right there. Besides, he needs to become comfortable
with his uncles."
     Mar Depalai frowned. "Oh yes, you said they were your kin when we
first met. Now I recall."
     Evendal smiled, utterly unaware of it. "Yes. That's my brother
Ierwbae, and my brother Metthendoen."
     "You adopted them?" Mar-Depalai smirked. "How... philanthropic of my
lord."
     Evendal shook his head, more to quiet his annoyance. "No, sweet
lady. They adopted me."
     "How selfless of them." She chuckled.
     Evendal rounded on the woman, eyes blazing, casting suddenly fearful
features in a golden light. "Mar-Depalai," he commanded, his whispering
voice deep with anger. "You will, henceforth, keep your scorn locked far
behind your tongue, until We command otherwise."
     The Guard opened her mouth, but words came slowly. "Yes, Your
Majesty."
     Evendal felt only a brief twinge of conscience. 'Sarcasm served no one
well,' he told himself.
     "We can wait here a few moments. The prisoners are not going to
scamper away, and the day is a cool one. Have someone retrieve the emissary
for the stone-haulers, and quickly." Mar-Depalai nodded and moved to
comply, to be replaced by an older male Guard.
     Feeling shadowed by his temper, Evendal m'Alismogh found himself
imagining a tether, laced-about by his own fault, extending from his arm to
Mar-Depalai's mouth like a horse-bit. 'I gave her no time or opportunity to
address her own behaviour', he realised, 'I simply halted her. I treated
her like a horse, not one of my Guard.' After a moment's queasiness, and
ruminating without result, Evendal decided reparation must wait on
Mar-Depalai's return.
     Standing quiet, Evendal could hear large portions of the conversation.
     "... We first met him. We saw someone who felt as we felt, loved what
we loved. Who hurt over the infamies that grieved us. He needed to know he
wasn't alone... need to feel lonely." Ierwbae explained.
     Metthendoen spoke up. "He didn't adopt you out of pity, Kri. If he had
pitied you, he would have left you with your sister and merely visited you
until you were well again. He adopted you because he loved you. He wants to
be there for you every day, not just when the work of being King allows
it."
    Ierwbae interrupted. "Of course you couldn't see what he was like when
that lad stabbed you, Kri. But he went insane, and not just a little
unbalanced. Your being dead ripped his heart out. He was prepared to let
everyone die with him, bringing the roof do..."
     "But why?" Kri-estaul asked, frustration adding volume to his query.
After several breaths taken in silence, the child responded to something
whispered. "I am just a... brat who can't walk, with a face like a... like
a moon!"
     "No," Ierwbae protested, unyielding. "Not a brat!"
     After a moment's silence, Metthendoen offered. "Kri-estaul, most of
the important things that people do, they don't do for only one
reason. Usually there are many reasons, some they don't realise are moving
them. Make sense?"
     "Yes."
     "So. You are crippled, Kri, and scarred. So what? Perhaps he sees you
as Osedys made small. With one important difference. You can comfort each
other. A hug, a smile, a word. This city is seldom that kind. Or maybe it
is because you are a child, and he was never allowed to be one. But another
reason is you, Kri. He loves you just because he does.  It may not make
sense, but its genuine."
     "Ask me why I love Uncle 'Bae, and I can tell you how we met, what
first annoyed me about him, what he likes and doesn't. How we seem to fit
together in our own eyes, but baffle our friends. I can tell you everything
but why I love him. It just is so."
     Ierwbae added. "And that can be true no matter what kind of love you
are talking about: Father or mother and child. Brother and sister. Mentor
and student. The friend you might keep from crib to death-bed. Some such
bonds are better off not lasting even a bell. Some can, for no obvious
reason, sustain themselves to a person's last breath." m'Alismogh's
sensitivity caught more from Ierwbae's words than Ierwbae intended, and
more than Evendal wanted to know. He began walking again.
     The convalescent Guard spoke fervently. "As you grow up you'll hear a
lot of songs about the need to be loved. Just as important is the need to
love. Finding someone who needs or wants the ways you naturally express
your affection."
     "He's not waiting until I am well to plow me?"
     Evendal stopped, struck stone-still with dismay. Ierwbae could not
speak except to let out a strangled. "No."
     Metthendoen, seeing Kri's anxiety, calmly elaborated. "No, Kri. I
understand how that must be a lot on your mind, but no. And do not ask that
of everyone around the King, they would not know where your question comes
from. He wants you, Kri, not your ass. And he wants you to be a happy
child, as much as you can."
     "If you have questions, ask your father. Ask us." Ierwbae
insisted. "You trusted him before. Trust him still."
     For a long interval no one spoke. Evendal could see that the two
Guards waited on Kri-estaul to speak; their attitudes made it clear the
child wrestled with what to say. "He is so good to me. I... I don't want
him to not like me. He'll think I'm too much trouble... See that I'm bad."
The Guards said nothing, waiting. "I don't want to bother him... To worry
him."
     "If you want to lighten his heart and burdens, talk to him. Don't
think to spare him." Metthendoen confirmed, his voice blaring sincerity. "I
thought that way once, and it's a big mistake."
     "Nobody else talks like you do." Kri complained.
     "The King has never been around young boys, ever. So he doesn't know
how to talk to you, you can teach him. Be patient."
     "Yes," Evendal interrupted. "Please be patient with me, Kri. I am
learning, I really am."
     Kri-estaul bared his back. When nothing happened he raised his head
and looked up, fear and guilt in his puffy face. "You're not mad at me?"
     Evendal wanted to hug the boy, embrace the worry away, but held
off. The child had a right to a man's dignity at this moment, he suddenly
realised. "No. Why would I be angry? You could not have confided in better
people than your uncles."
     "Un... Uncles?"
     Metthendoen and Ierwbae smiled at the boy's surprise. Evendal sat on
the ground by Metthendoen's feet.
     "Yes, these two understood me and adopted me in the same way I adopted
you. When they refer to themselves as Uncle 'Bae and Uncle 'Doen, they are
not just being sentimental. You have a... Well, I guess it would be a
great-aunt, as well. Anlota, the Mother of Midwives."
     "But, I ask again. Please be patient with me. If I insult you by
talking to you as to a baby, slap me on the hand and tell me. If I make you
uncomfortable, say something... anything you can. It doesn't have to be
polite; it doesn't have to be exactly what you mean. You are my son,
now. And that will not change unless you want to change it."
     Kri-estaul's lip trembled. Evendal knew the child didn't believe
it. Yet. "I still... I still want to be held by you. Is that alright?"
     "Very alright, my son. Anything else?"
     "No." The lie glared like an eclipse.
     "Kri-estaul. Tell me. Please? Let me help."
     "I... I don't want. I don't want to sleep alone. I'm sorry. I know I
am not a baby, but I can't sleep alone. I just can't! I feel sick, and
scared, and all alone again. I can't stand it!"
     "Yes. Having your own bed in our room has not helped, has it?"
     Kri-estaul shook his head, suddenly vehement. "No, I hate it. I can't
feel you're there. Or see someone's with me. I wake up and I'm back in that
evil place. I am sorry. And I am sorry I'm crying like a baby. Really. I'm
sorry."
     "Oh, Kri. If you'll notice, babies don't cry. They wail at the top of
their lungs! So, you're definitely not a baby." Kri-estaul hiccoughed a
laugh. "If that is best for you, then you sleep beside me. We shall simply
rig some kind of pillowed bolster to safeguard your legs from my hitting
them or pressing on them..."
     "You're all so... You've been so good to me. And I know I am a
bother... I'm sorry."
     "Kri-estaul. I love you. You are my son, and I love you. It is easy to
be good to you. You are a loveable boy. And I will be more than happy to
tell you this for as long as you need to hear it. You are worth every plot
of land and every title I claim. I love you. The only thing I want from you
is to see you happy or content."
     Kri-estaul looked up at Evendal. The King had never seen the child
look so troubled, his face scrunched up and the onion-like texture to his
skin emphasized. "When you hold me, or carry me around, I feel happy,
safe. When I am with a Guard," His gaze slid quickly to Ierwbae, and just
as quickly away. He whispered. "I get... I feel like the Beast is going to
walk around a corner and take me back."
     Herein stood Kri-estaul's first big secret. Evendal belatedly recalled
how Abduram had been in Guard colours when he ran into Kri-estaul. He
wondered briefly at Kri's unburdening himself with Ierwbae and Metthendoen,
but realised that Ierwbae had been a near constant shadow - a familiar
face. And Metthendoen, still a convalescent, held no threat to the boy.
     "That will change, Kri. It already has."
     Kri-estaul showed the question in his face.
     "You felt safe enough with Ierwbae, and he in Guard livery. It will
change, just slowly. Is it right for me to hold you now?"
     Kri-estaul nodded, maneuvered himself on his hands and knees, and
crawled slowly to the King. His body dragging against the hard-packed dirt
had to hurt, but Evendal realised the boy was testing again: Testing other
people's reactions, testing his body's ability, trying a different means of
moving, and testing his freedom to do things for himself. Evendal held
still, until Kri reached his lap and flipped over to sit. He simply put his
hands on his son's shoulders. Huffing and asweat from that small exertion,
Kri-estaul looked up at Evendal and grinned uncertainly.
     "You are full of nice surprises."
     The young boy smiled wider, but exhaustion, painkiller, and
uncertainty still shook the inflamed muscles of his face. Evendal held his
son in silence.
     The King sighed. "I have to go inside in a moment. And talk to the
stonecutters. What's left of them."
     "We saw two groups of very... dusty people go around the Causeway
after you sat down. I wondered what had happened." Ierwbae offered. "The
work camp was indeed occupied. One hundred green ruffians playing soldier
with dull, rusted or fouled weaponry. Near unto eighty dead, no Guard
casualties."
     "Well, fortunately no one had to draw their sword at the
Guild-house. I... I sang their fortress down around them." Evendal laughed,
halfheartedly. "It makes perfect sense when I do things like that. And yet
sounds so frightening when I think about it later. The smaller group is
those innocent of the Stone-wrights' crimes."
     "Why didn't you execute the others?"
     "It felt... excessive. I thought to give them over to their victims,
for punishment but not to die. And then make a show of them to the rulers
of the provinces that their other victims came from. Whatever family the
dead might have left behind in the other cities, it might help them feel
that justice was not done by someone indifferent. Maybe they won't feel so
helpless." Evendal paused a moment. "Although, I have found justice to be
cold comfort, myself."
     "Their assassination attempt was genuine, just peripheral. An annoying
irrelevancy to them. I swear to you the entire guild has existed only to
respond to two questions: What do I do want from this stone? And where can
I hide my money? No other concerns exist for them."
     "How is that different from so many others?" Ierwbae asked, surprising
Evendal.
     "The prisoners are not likely to survive such a circuit." Metthendoen
tendered, to which Evendal shrugged.
     "I really cannot care. My concern now is that damnable city
wall. Somehow I doubt that twelve myopic stone-wrights are going to be much
help in dismantling that eyesore."
     "Cannot you do to it what you did to my chains?" Kri-estaul asked.
     Evendal thought for a moment. "Good idea. I probably could, but that
wall cost in lives and revenue. Simply turning it into dust doesn't seem
enough."
     Kri-estaul mulled over that, feeling dumb from his tonic, and finally
nodded. "Well, Drussie told Uncle Kielen she wished she had the stones
Polgern had used for her home. Can't we give her some?"
     The smile on the King's face made Kri-estaul's face ease in
return. "Yes! There are so many places needing that stone. It won't remove
the whole wall, but it will remove a good portion of it. Thank you, my
son."
     "I guess I had best go in. Kri-estaul, I have some more singing to do,
with the contingent I ordered to the under-grounds. Would you stay here
with your uncles, until I return?"
     Kri-estaul frowned but nodded. "I want to go with you. But not down
there! I'm sorry, I can't."
     Evendal smiled. "That's fine with me. It will give me a reason to
hurry." Groaning, Evendal stood with Kri-estaul in his arms, then handed
him to Ierwbae. Ierwbae set Kri down beside Metthendoen. The child weighed
too little for an eight-year-old, Evendal thought, though he had no means
of comparing.
     Inside, the King first met with the twelve confused, frightened
stone-workers. He sat in the Council Chamber, and had the anxious dozen
escorted in. After examining the soot-stained and stone-cracked room, the
stone-wrights realised the Throne was occupied and quickly knelt.
     "Do you understand what has befallen you? Stand as you address Us."
     One woman, solid and gray-haired, stood and answered. "Our Guild-house
is no more. We have been separated from the majority of our brethren. And I
guess us to be guilty of some crime, else we would not now be here under
Guard." After an awkward pause, the woman added. "Your Majesty."
     "We are the means by which your fortress was leveled. You have been
separated from your fellow guild-members, because you are not guilty of any
crime. Fankernas has detailed those responsible for graft and mass-murder
amongst your people. He also instigated an assassination attempt on Our
person. By doing so, We do not regret to say your guild has been more than
simply decimated. We see no reason to restore your charter to function in
this kingdom, and ample reason to banish your guild and deal with rogues."
     The woman blinked, looked around the room for a moment, and then
announced. "Fankernas always was a sneak and a plagiarist. What can we do
to assuage your anger...? Your Majesty?  There must be something, else we
would be with our fellows."
     "We wondered how it could be that two thirds of a guild had been such
willing servants in Horest's cold-blooded plans. Then We realised the
better question would be: How could it be that one third of the guild
remained uninvolved toward the inhumanity and avarice originating from
their own?"
     The woman swallowed hard, then asked the obvious. "And your
conclusion, lord?"
     "Willful ignorance." Evendal answered, his grim face harder than
Kul-stone. "You knew but did not want to know. You buried..." Evendal
winced at his own choice of words. "You buried your awareness of the
monstrosity your proud guild had become in minutiae. In frivolities. Over
six thousand people dead and you went around training apprentices,
terrorizing novices, and plotting how large an oriel window should be. Or
where the next few hundred pressganged would bleed their lives away. We've
no doubt it looked very clean and awe-inspiring on parchment, which was as
close as you chose to get to the infamy. You haggled and flirted and
bickered, not wanting to know your own 'brethren' were slaughtering
citizens and visitors. By making certain it did not touch on your daily
assignments, you did not have to think about it ever."
     Silence greeted his tirade. "Tell Us We are wrong." He challenged.
     The challenge remained unmet.
     "Hear Our tentative judgment. With the dissolution of your
guild-house, you all are now wards of the Throne. For remaining housed in
and part of an unchartered guild, your liberties could be removed,
utterly. We would declare you t'bo, and you would be so branded. You would
take up residence in the work-camp. You would be fed such fare as the
stone-haulers enjoyed, in the same quantity and frequency. And you would
devise a means, without the use of blasting powder or masses of labourers,
for dismantling the wall."
     "Impossible!" Someone protested.
     "We do not care." Evendal responded with chill clarity.
     "But what of our families?" The woman asked.
     The thought of these people having families chilled Evendal. "You
would have none. You would be t'bo. Your life, liberty and property would
be Ours. You could be abused or killed without redress or penalty. You may
enjoy the same cold comfort that your guild inflicted. An audience of only
each other at all times."
     "But we've done nothing wrong! It was a valid commission of the
Throne." Another cried. A balding man with one missing forearm entered
through the charred doorway, pushed his way past the clustered stonemasons
and waited.
     Evendal felt his voice and his composure cracking. "Cannot one of you
think about something other than stone or money. Just once! It would be
more accurate to say that you had done nothing at all. And while under the
laws of other lands such would not be punishable, We are Osedys. We are
sovereign in this, Our kingdom. And the voice of six thousand common
citizens cries out for more than simple regret... Or some nostalgic
monument erected by your outwardly penitent guild."
     One or two of those attending cursed softly on hearing that last
statement. "Surely we have a right to appeal to the Council."
      These guild-members did not even know what it meant that they had
violated the public order. It did not affect their work. He repeated. "We
are all the clemency you can expect. We did not restore your charter, yet
you remained an assembled guild. In violation of law and custom. You have
no right to Council."
     "What about our fellow guild..."
     "They are no longer your concern."  The King intoned. "Trust that you
do not want to share their fate. Guard! Line them up before me."
     Evendal acknowledged the bald man at the back. "Jaserle? Come here, if
you please." The newly-arrived man started at the shout and then moved to
obey. When Evendal saw the polio-like withering along one side of the
citizen, he hurried to forestall what could become an intolerable attempt
at genuflection, grasping Jaserle by the shoulders and ritually embracing
the man as the emissary he was. Jaserle stiffened initially, so that
Evendal wondered if the man expected an attack. Upon asking the question,
the King realised this brave man had indeed expected just that.
     "Do not incommode yourself, I beg you. Grant me, as my Guard do, the
illusion of dealing with near-peers."
     "Your eyes!" The man blurted, then registered both Evendal's words and
his own presumption. "You would treat everyone as gentry?" The thought
clearly shocked Jaserle.
     "Season your admiration for a moment, while I finish my so-far vain
attempts to deal fairly with an unfair mess. Please to sit as and where you
need."
     When Evendal had not moved, Jaserle realised he was seriously being
waited on. "Please, good Your Majesty!" he protested helplessly, not
knowing what else to say.
     Evendal understood and turned to the now ordered dozen. He singled out
the woman who had first spoken up. "You. How are you called?"
     "Peswiet, Your Majesty."
     "And you have family?"
     "Yes, Your Majesty."
     "Of a spouse? Or do you mean simply parents and siblings?"
     "I had a husband. He died at Mausna. I have a daughter. And a man I
had petitioned my guild for permission to marry."
     "Peswiet, rebel-guild members, do you know how it is that your
guild-house is no more than stone-splinters and mica-dust?" 'Thunders,'
Evendal thought to himself, 'this is going to sound pompous!'
     "Not I, Your Majesty." Peswiet replied. The others wisely chose to
simply shake their heads.
     "It is a dread, sometimes indifferent gift We grew into. We sang to
the skies that We wanted the common stages of stone's aging to pass more
quickly through your fortress. Mutability rules even granite. What commands
We sing, are accomplished. We find that much involving sound and speech
cleaves itself to Our will. This includes, as Left Hand of the Unalterable,
the sifting of Truths."
     Evendal m'Alismogh stepped up to his Throne, and sat.
     "Peswiet, once of the Stone-wrights, do you love your daughter?"
     "Yes, Your Majesty."
     "This man you had hoped to marry. Do you love him?"
     "He... Yes, Your Majesty."
     "Do they help you in your work?"
     "I do not think he knows feldspar from slate. And my daughter hates
the guild."
     "They both show a greater instinct for survival than you have. We find
that you have not forfeited your liberties. But for one. You may not
fashion stone, henceforth."
     Peswiet closed her eyes tight and shuddered through some troublesome
breaths. "Gardening sounds attractive."
     Evendal smiled but gave no reply. He signaled the wide-eyed man beside
Peswiet. "And you are called?"
     "Rem-gilentas, Your Majesty."
     "How many years have you?"
     "I own thirty-three years, Your Majesty."
     "Rem-gilentas, have you a spouse, or simply parents, siblings."
     "I remain a solitary, Your Majesty."
     "No family of any generation?"
     "I am accounted young by guild reckoning, Your Majesty. My mother died
in childbirth. My father, in a fight between two ship-clans."
     "Close friends?"
     "Two of my guild-mates, Your Majesty."
     Evendal nodded. "And have you ever been in love, Rem-gilentas?"
     To the man's credit, he gave no hesitation. "Yes, Your Majesty."
     The King frowned. "Rem-gilentas. You have just lied to Us."
     Of the twelve that Evendal m'Alismogh interviewed, he fully released
only one other.
     "How are you called?"
     "I am simply accounted 'Wirtle'." said the oldest man in the dozen.
     "Wirtle, how many years do you hold?"
     "I claim sixty-eight years, Your Majesty."
     "Have you family, Wirtle?"
     "Long dead, Your Majesty."
     "You do not bear the ensigns of your guild. Why is that?"
     "Because I am not an adept, Your Majesty. I could not summon up
the... fire to succeed that so enkindled my fellows. Your Majesty, if you
would be so gracious as to indulge me in a question I have."
     Depressed by what he had so far heard, Evendal scowled. "Very well,"
he relented.
     "What became of Omerludi?"
     That woke Evendal. "You know what your 'fellows' intended for her?"
     "No. But earlier today I saw the Masters clustered about her, whom
they never noticed before. Forgive my sounding critical, but Master
Fankernas' notice is best avoided. She is a good woman, but without
prospects or kin. It chilled me when I saw her walking down the main
causeway toward the Palace, so listless."
     And Evendal narrowed his eyes as he thought. "What do you provide for
the guild, Wirtle?"
     "Oh, well. I help where it's needed. Errand runner, chirurgeon,
cook. Most of my time is spent helping. Listening while they run ideas by,
or worries, or hurts and homesickness. Whatever's needed." The man seemed
ready to list his activities until asked to stop. Wirtle's ingenuous
ramblings delighted, soothed m'Alismogh. Thus Evendal stumbled upon the
nearest thing the guild had to a heart.
     "To answer your question, good Goodman Wirtle, Omerludi is well. And
probably being fed decently for the first time in months. Would you care to
join her?"
     "Oh, well, as to that. I don't know... I didn't want to interrupt what
you were about here. To finish for you... I loved my mother. My wife and I
were gentle with each other. I tried mightily to love my brother, but never
really understood how to make him happy. Wanted to. Just embarrassed him
more often than not. Poor man, always too busy."
     "Who is your brother? He yet lives?"
     "Well, as to that, I don't know. I used to tease him "Hoary Horest,"
but he never saw the humour. Don't know if he lives now or not. Poor man."
     "Goodman Wirtle, as your guild is no longer. Would you accept work and
lodging here? Under the direction of Our Kitchener?"
     "Not trying to marry me off now? At my age?" The man looked utterly
serious.
     "No. No danger of that." The King signaled a Guard. "Please escort
this good man to the domain of Shulro. Then to a room of his own as well as
one for Omerludi."

     After a moment resting his head in his hands, Evendal stood from his
Throne and approached the emissary for the Stone-haulers. The man looked
ripe for a heart-failure. "You may speak, as you wish."
     "I can only take you at your word, Your Majesty, as to how I am to
treat with you." Jaserle tendered.
     "Good. Do so." Evendal knew he sounded angry, petulant. But the waste
he witnessed infuriated him.
     "Did you just decide to spare two Stone-wrights on the basis of their
having loved?"
     "Good Jaserle. We permitted two former Stone-wrights to retain three
of their four most essential liberties because they recognised people
beyond their guild obsessions as being more valuable to them. The ten who
failed to care for anything beyond their guild or their ambitions within
it... We can do very little to, excepting to scare them and mark them."
     "Mark them? Of course you brand t'bo."
     Evendal shook his head. "No. You did not note my precise words with
them. Those twelve have done nothing to warrant the loss of all
rights. But, We did decide that they must bear a mark, a heart tattooed on
either the back of their hands or the meat of their forearms. With notice
that anyone bearing such is restrained from working with stone in any
fashion, even the shipping of it. And to serve as a reminder to them of
what they do not have - heart."
     "Our original judgment was to have them serve in the same work-camp,
living under the same conditions as the Stone-haulers had. But We quickly
realised how onerous that would be for those of you even willing to enforce
those conditions. Nevermind how that could lend itself to you, the abused,
finding yourselves abusers. And the emotional devastation that could
create."
     "Yes. But it is a fancy that many of us still entertain."
     "Even so, if you wish, and can guarantee that they would be treated as
Our wards, not as the Stone-haulers' property, you are free to make use of
them."
     Jaserle shook his head. "Too many of our number would slay them simply
because they are Stone-wrights, Your Majesty. Grant me time to think over
the matter."
     "It is your's."
     When the ten had been escorted out, Evendal, his Guard, and Jaserle,
took the entrance behind the Throne. One flight down and through the door,
then taking the first door on his left, Evendal entered a large,
low-ceilinged room. Those who had been sitting on the straw covered floor
moved to kneel. Those standing made no move but to watch the King as he
advanced to Mar-Depalai.
     The Guard smiled. "I had to knick one or two, but they quieted down
after that."
     Evendal could not smile, feeling very much the abusive overlord toward
this Guard. "Very good. Mar-Depalai, may I present Jaserle, emissary to the
surviving stone-haulers and camp-workers."
     The Guard said nothing. After a tense pause, Jaserle explained,
flatly. "We've met."  Another long gap of silence. "I still cannot quite
absolve you. But for giving me this moment, I thank you."
     "I know. I would still do as I did." The Guard said, and then
winced. "I think."
     Jaserle sighed. "That work-camp made every virtue a vice. I should
never curse someone for kindness."
     The comments came out too pointed, and Jaserle looked too troubled,
for the King to simply let the interchange stand as a forgettable violation
of royal protocol. A protocol he himself had asked to have discarded. "May
We know what you speak of?"
     "After my wife died from fever and flux, I got my arm crushed under a
stone-cart. The wheels had partially rolled over my stomach, as well. Young
Mar-Depalai running an errand at the camp on that day witnessed my
mishap. A common accident there, and mortal. I would have died, but for
your Guard summoning a healer."
     "What can you not forgive?"
     "At the time? Your Guard summoning a healer." The man replied in an
unconsciously depressed tone.  And Evendal quietly acknowledged that over
some wounds he had no power to ease, and no right.
     Seeing his sorrow reflected in the King's face, Jaserle
elaborated. "The time when death and I flirted is past, Your Majesty. I
look back on that day, and think I was more offended than anything
else. Because in the one moment where I had some illusion of control over
my life... That one moment was stolen from me, as everything else had
been."
     "I do not understand, Jaserle."
     "I was dying. Nothing the Stone-wrights did to me would change
that. They themselves never summoned a healer for any of us. So they would
only be able to rush my death or not. They could not stop me from
dying. They had no authority over me in that moment. Only in that moment."
     Silence stretched out uncomfortably. After a brief reconsideration,
Jaserle realised that Evendal would not speak first; that to do so would
dishonour Jaserle's pain. "But that is a victory that we no longer seek, it
has lost its sweetness, for we are no longer chattel."
     Evendal nodded, sobered. "Is the grange We provided sufficient?"
     "An elegant sufficiency, my lord. The comfort, the fires and the
provisions may save a few we feared too weak to survive this season."
     "And how fares Melisto?" the King asked, thinking on the young girl
who visited previously.
     "She is well. And we thank you for the gift. We are still enjoying
him. How may we serve?"
     "We would, under your advisement, gift you further. You see before
you..."
     "Members of the Stoners. I recognize many a jailer. Pardon, I meant
'many a guild-member'."
     "We wondered if you would be willing to accept these... t'bo with
certain provisions?" Evendal outlined his idea. As the King came to an end,
Jaserle beamed at him, showing more gaps than teeth, but the pleasure and
relief shone clear.
     "Your Majesty..." The man halted, struggling for composure. "There are
many who... who feel Osedys is poison to them. Too many. They see places
and people they knew, and all they feel is bitterness. Leaving the place
that destroyed them, for other sights and the making of new memories, may
be just what some have need of."
     "We were uncertain, Jaserle. Sometimes the opportunity to enact
vengeance heals, sometimes it fixes hate in the heart. Would the gift of
your tormentors serve toward healing? Or should Ours be the hand that
executes them?"
     The older man stared hard at Evendal, waiting for something that,
apparently, did not come. "There are some, of fragile mind, I can prevail
upon to forgo this opportunity. But seeing our persecutors under-brand may
hearten the majority. There is no way of knowing beforehand, Your
Majesty. But how will you get these slugs to confess on demand?"
     Evendal m'Alismogh smiled.

        Each carver of stone here poised,
        Remove their power of choice,
        To speak aught but the truth,
        And treat themselves without ruth,
        Let the tale of each crime and omission,
        Leap from their lips without inhibition.

     Evendal stepped up to one woman in a slate gray smock. "Why are you in
this company?"
     "I led over forty press-ganging forays. Thirty into the outskirts of
the Cinqet..."
     "Enough!" the King barked. "We hope that will serve, Jaserle."
     Unwelcome though the support might have been, Jaserle involuntarily
leaned against a ready Mar-Depalai, his complexion chalky. "You. You
frighten me, my lord."
     If Evendal heard the comment, he gave no sign. "Do you accept Our
gift, with Our continued regret for the infamy done to Our citizens and
visitants? We wish you all well, with what peace you can achieve."
     Again Jaserle waited several breaths before responding. "Many of us
have begun to speak... hopefully of you, Majesty. And yes, I accept your
gift, along with whatever strictures you require."
     "And you still wish to dwell where you are now? So far from the city
proper?"
     The balding man sighed wearily. "Your Majesty... Unless you are
willing to cast that... glamour throughout the entirety of the city, and
abide by the blood-bath that would ensue as we Stone-haulers enacted our
own justice on those neighbors and family who scorned us or sold
us... Unless you want that, you will allow us to remain a
separate... enclave of citizenry."
     Evendal hated the helpless feeling that was fast becoming too
familiar. "You know Our answer. But all your anger and grief does not
change who you are. You are exactly the same people as those you burn
toward in your anger. Your enclave may last only until the Temple confirms
that as complete a healing as is possible has been accomplished among your
members."
     Evendal moved to leave the room, then halted in mid-stride. "Jaserle,"
     "My lord?"
     "Speak with Drussilikh of the Scriveners, and Lady Sygkorrin of the
Archate."
     "To what purpose, my lord?"
     "You may not have been told, but the regicides held over one hundred
and fifty people in isolation and torture down here in the under-grounds."
     Jaserle grated out. "I am hardly shocked!"
     "We just realised, some might be people you thought dead and discarded
from the work-camp."
     The balding man just gaped at the King, then his eyes lit with a
speculative glint. He bowed. "You might have given a few of us the greatest
gift of all."
     Again, Jaserle hesitated. And Evendal, attention divided, simply
asked. "How can We help?"
     "Your Majesty..."
     "You have wanted something of Us since you approached. Speak plainly."
     And Jaserle felt no reticence, once permitted. "I want to know why,
Your Majesty! It is the one question no one of us can answer, and the one
question that gets asked."
     Evendal knew what Jaserle wanted, and could not get. "Why...?" Jaserle
had to be clearer.
     The balding man tore into his reply. "You are right. We are indeed the
same people as those we hold - with just bitterness - in our hearts. None
of us! None of us sprouted tails or wings or fur overnight, yet suddenly we
are treated as less than cattle. By everyone. We are... forgotten! Not
merely ignored, though that as well. Avoided. Not mentioned. Not
touched. Our 'punishment' might spread to the person touching
us. That... unmanned walking abacus, Horest, points at us and suddenly we
are... leprous property! Good for only one thing!"
     "And everything, everything, that happens to us after that becomes as
forgotten and unremarked and valueless as we now are!"
     Jaserle looked up from his tirade, and the hate in his eyes physically
moved Evendal back a couple of steps. "We did the only thing wronged
citizens..." He hissed that word to convey his contempt. "...could do. Your
Majesty. It was not easy; it was not wholly deliberate either. We created
our own enclave, became our own communion. We told ourselves it was only
temporary. But as time and pain accumulated, every single one of us
realised that we were on our own. Or died in disappointment. 'Our' history,
'our' plight, 'our' pains. Our little triumphs, our losses and hopes. These
are now as separate from Osedys as we ourselves have been for eight
years. But. No. Longer. Unremarked. Amongst ourselves we find comfort,
worth and meaning. As much as anyone can. We would continue to trouble no
one but ourselves."
     This was beyond any inspiration, plan, intuition or dwoemer Evendal
had ever heard of. And Time only healed so much. The King could sense that
Jaserle did not overstate the situation. Memory, no doubt well ritualized
among the Stone-haulers after eight years, would turn this uglier
still. Osedys had created an enemy of civil discord through human fear and
the avoidance-of-pain that everyone reacts with. Fear for this is what had
set him weeping in Ierwbae and Metthendoen's room his second day home.
     "Jaserle. You are a wise man, wise in the ways of the overburdened
hearts under your care. You know the only answers that you will ever get
from these... frightened sheep." Evendal indicated the Stone-guild. "Those
answers will never serve. Because though a man may scream out "Why?" with
every nerve in his body, it is not truly a question he is asking. Rather,
it is an unendurable burden he is expressing."
     Jaserle nodded. "After Ederyth died, I kept looking for
answers. Mumbled and grumbled that question even in my sleep. One day I
realised I didn't want an answer, I wanted to know... What do I do with
this pain I have? This life I now have? What I was doing, what I was
feeling didn't resemble anything anyone ever described to me. None of
us... None of us know what we are doing, Your Majesty. But we are."
     "Jaserle." The fear in Evendal's gut twisted like a snake. "Do you
have... a name to distinguish yourselves?" He felt like he was walking
across mud and trying to leave no footprints, to not even inspire the idea
of autonomy. He needed to reclaim these people, somehow, even if only by
some gesture. The gesture kept a hope alive.
     "The Rosette." Jaserle smiled, pleasantly.
     Evendal returned the smile, irrationally pleased by their
choice. "That is a name of hope as well as beauty. Let Us reconsider what
We declared earlier regarding the disposition of the Rosette. Pending
further intelligence or difficulties."
     The balding man straightened as much as he could upon hearing this,
briefly alarmed. Mar-Depalai nodded to her King, silent agreement that she
would recall, and later set down, what the King pronounced. "You know that
the Rosette is... of Osedys." Jaserle's smile lapsed, but Evendal pressed
on. "We must ask that you accept Our decision in this. Not blindly. This
need not change the Rosette."
     "How can it not?" Jaserle demanded, then flinched.
     "Because you serve a greater purpose than just providing bread and
roofs for some of our citizens. You are like the Cinqet in this. And like
the Cinqet, can continue. But you are not the King's Fifth, nor do we want
you to become it. When Osedys recovers, its people will be very proud of
their recovery, deluded that they accomplished it without any loss of what
really matters. The Rosette cannot help but become a cankerous reminder of
Our peoples' biggest flaws."
     The survivor raised his chin, signaling how he had already foreseen
that result, and deemed it an accolade.
     "Yes, Jaserle. Rightfully so. If you wish living people to become a
monument to pain, that is a twisted route you must choose for yourselves."
The balding man jerked his head as if slapped. "If, however, your concern
is the healing and wholeness of the people who sent you to Us, then let the
future of the Stone-haulers tend itself. Under Our governing."
     Evendal signaled Mar-Depalai and her escort to stay, and unwisely
motioned Jaserle toward a more open area of the room. "I, myself, have a
question or two for you of a personal nature. Are you willing to bear
them?" Evendal felt a curiosity toward the one man who had appeared on both
Drussilikh's list and Sygkorrin's list of potential representatives for the
Stone-haulers.
     The man scowled, his breath sounding heavy in the pause. "You have
been absent and a mystery for nine years. You return and that mystery
remains. You ask me to trust you, Your Majesty, but gift us with
uncomfortable gifts." He shook his head in admonishment. "Question for
question, Your Majesty."
     Were he not so worried the King would have smiled. "Nay. I grant you
two for each of mine. The only time I can be less than forthcoming, is if
the matter touches another innocent's life or privacy. But let your
questions reflect the same nature as mine."
     "Done."
     "Are you yet a citizen of Osedys, Jaserle?"
     And the man saw the trap he had walked into. "Your Majesty..."
     Evendal raised his hand, himself alarmed when he saw Mar-Depalai tense
in response. "Calm yourself, Jaserle. The answers you give will only have
one consequence: Helping me to work with you. But I need truth."
     "Then in truth, I do not know. In my heart... all my attention is for
the precious vulnerable of the Rosette. I cannot see returning them to the
people who did not care, or did not dare to try. I have not thought of
myself as anything like a Thronelander."
     "Do you feel lessened if I call you 'citizen'?"
     "In truth, no."
     "Let us start there. Let us both presume you a citizen of Osedys,
until you notify me otherwise. Is that acceptable? Understand, the nature
of that citizenship is entirely up to you. On that issue, all control
remains yours."  He did not clarify that this had always been so, with
everyone of Osedys, until Polgern interfered with the institution.
     The stone-hauler opened his mouth, then reconsidered. "Where have you
been, these past nine years?"
     "I cannot say for certain, patient man. I will answer what I know
now. And still owe you two questions." The King looked into a corner,
annoyed at the mental weakness; the persistent vacuum. "Two moments of odd
vertigo suggest that during more than one occasion I was in mortal danger,
in a court or fete setting. That I had compatriots, and enemies. Some
sixty-five days ago a priest traveling here from Kwo-eda found me slung
over a crate of my possessions. After Mausna and before that day, I have
naught but phantasms. Truth, as it stands now."
     "How fare you? You yourself, Jaserle? You were named the liaison
between the Rosette and the Throne. Do you want to be? You are an angry
man. You have needed to be and will need to be again. But you must be more
than that. Is this a work that can serve, or will the loss you have known
call too strongly to you? Once the physical dangers are resolved, will you
find you wish to rest? You lost your wife to all this..."
     Gimlet-eyed, Jaserle all but snarled. "I am likely to outlive you,
with all the tact you show! You ask questions that no one can answer
readily. What you describe happened to my better. A woman who saw us
through, up to your emancipation... and your restoration of our
liberties. Her children did not survive, and so - most of us feel - she did
not want to. But Living and I are old rivals: both adversaries and
friends. My wife may have been my better nature, but she was not all of my
joy."
     "So, I see the Court face of the Rosette, when I look on you?" Evendal
repeated.
     "I would say yes."
     "Then permit me to congratulate you in your new estate, man of the
public realm."
     Jaserle actually relaxed visibly with that decision. His back
straightened and a hunching tension in his frame dissipated. He glared
appraisingly at Evendal. "What do you so fear from us? We of the Rosette?"
     "Too many things. You do not know your power to shape a future of this
kingdom, depending on the decisions you make. Everything I heard demands
that I keep you close. It may be suicidal to tell you but... I feared, and
still fear, the Rosette claiming utter autonomy. Revolution."
     Jaserle took longer than usual to respond. "Are you moonstruck?"  He
demanded. "We wouldn't survive the next month without your largesse. We
certainly would not survive... anarchy! And none of us know statecraft. Or
even claim property."
     "Your enclave is a wronged innocent, Jaserle. That is a Power beloved
of Ir. Were your rage at Osedys so total, and you insisted on utter
isolation and renaming as a new faction or community, with no areas of
friendship between us. Only bile. What would result? No. What could
result?"
     "Increasing misunderstandings between our community and the city
proper. Resentment and ire on both sides. Some tavern brawls." Jaserle saw
only more minor discord.
     Evendal shook his head, correcting the picture. "Osedys' guilt,
unconfessed, toward the Rosette would come out as fury to a people acting
"above themselves" or "above their true estate." I would be forced to
intervene, using the Guard. Or citizen vigilante clusters would appear,
strike, then disappear like mist. Regardless, an unjustly persecuted people
would either initiate continued civil unrest, or be utterly destroyed."
Evendal's voice rang suddenly. "Soon enough the origin of the Rosette would
become irrelevant, only its role in changing the open nature of the people
of Osedys might be remembered."
     "That is what I fear from the Rosette, Jaserle."
     The one-armed man stood still, again chalk-pale. "Your Majesty. You
congratulate me on a position, and then show me I have no right to it. I do
not think of the movements of people in such a manner. And I have not doubt
as to the inevitability of what you describe. I would not offer up the
uncomfortable confidences you squander on me. Obviously Court holds much of
ambition and chill fierce argument. I have never been ambitious for
anything but to survive and help a few others survive. And I make a poor
merchant, in that I do not haggle but instead state what I know and want. I
then either get it, or live without."
     "Jaserle, both the Quill-master and the Archate recommend you. What
you need, if you do not have, they will provide. If they cannot provide,
then We and all of us shall simply 'live without'."