Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 16:16:22 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kris Gibbons <bookwyrm6@yahoo.com>
Subject: SongSpell-15

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

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

I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com

This chapter has, so far, the most endnotes. The odd element here is that
only two endnotes clarify non-English words. If I used the terms
incorrectly, someone let me know. Like the story? Hate it? Let me know.

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


                   15 The Soul Of Nero

                   Hamlet: O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
                   The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom.
                   Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
                   I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
                                             Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2, Line 401

     Evendal felt his nerves quiet, the ringing in his ears dropped
dramatically. Just to be held, safely, felt like being secured into his own
body, made solid and valid. He knew the honesty of his friends, tried and
tested, and heard, with his body, all Ierwbae, Bruddbana and Aldul tried to
say so often. He was no stranger to them. They shared his obsession for
justice, for healing. They understood his love of Osedys. And they were not
the kind to be swayed by his words. From the day after Abduram's death, he
had sensed their watchfulness, their careful scrutiny. At some unannounced
moment each one of his Guard had, no doubt, reached his own conclusion,
guided by his very personal criteria: They trusted him, cared about him and
his well-being. Being king and willful brought him under their
scrutiny. But it was not his being king, not his eccentric decisions, that
elicited their love. He acknowledged Aldul's trust for the most precious of
all, as he had stayed beside Evendal in infirmity, in his amnesia, at his
most terrified and terrifying.
     He heard Kri-estaul mutter unhappily, and trusted Aldul to belay his
son's discontent. After the initial hard slam, Ierwbae simply held him,
steady and undemanding, and he felt the turmoil in his gut, the roil of
conflicting emotions, ease. When Ierwbae started patting him on the back,
Evendal disengaged, kissing him on the cheek in passing.
     Evendal retrieved Kri and sat back down.
     "Feel better, Uncle 'Bae?"
     Ierwbae smiled. "Much better, Kri. Thank you."
     "Papa, I'm hungry." And Evendal realised that suppertime had long
past.
     "And you need your painkiller."
     Kri-estaul protested. "No. I hate that drink! I feel all silly after I
drink it."
     "You are in pain, Kri. I can tell. Please, you will take it with
dinner. I think I can eat without getting sick to my stomach, now. I
couldn't have eaten earlier. The person I most want to speak with is
Wytthenroeg." He paused, brow furrowed. "With my mother. Its hard to
comprehend..."
     "May be you can do that after morning audiences tomorrow." Ierwbae
suggested. "If you wish, I can have Shulro send some food up now. And if I
might have your leave, I would like to apprise Metthendoenn of
the... expansion of our family."
     "Wait, good Ierwbae. It is larger than you know." Evendal rushed the
words out, both excited and uncertain of his kinsman's
reaction. "Wytthenroeg, unbeknownst to her peers, married, and bore three
children to Rw-addrwann of Osedys. I... have half-brothers and
half-sisters."
     Ierwbae halted. Utterly. He moved not at all except to enquire. "And
how do we stand, with this unexpected enriching of your line?" The
darkening of the Guard's skin told Evendal the toll of Ierwbae's honesty,
that the Guard again fought his own placatory tendencies to ask a bald
question.
     "Where you want to be." Evendal could not help sounding aggrieved,
knowing more than he needed about Ierwbae's habits of thought and
action. He decided to make that much plain, at the same time he realised
the two kinsmen but needed reassurance.
     "Ierwbae, I know you better than you would wish." Evendal m'Alismogh
paused, deliberately, and then added. "You and your spouse 'stand' where
only three others abide. My mother, my son, and my first friend. Thunders,
Ierwbae! These half-siblings are not even names to me yet. You guard me,
advise me and companion me. Where do you think you stand? Silly man."
     "I needed to know, lord."
     Evendal sighed, the whole purpose to his announcement, the wonder of
the news, stillborn. "Yes, you were right to ask."
     The discomfort in the silence which followed told Ierwbae all Evendal
would not say. "I'm sorry, my lord. When you meant to share your
happiness..."
     Evendal shrugged. "Who knows. They may prove the most churlish of
kin. Mayhap Wytthenroeg sent them back to Alta for her own serenity rather
than their safety. But. To have a mother again, and the one of my
heart. She was all that Onkira was not... My fancy wants to see it all as
the most amazing of gifts. But they are all unknowns except for the
youngest; a man of simple mind and gentle manner called Edrionwytt."
     "I truly do hope, as you learn more, that they remain a cause for joy,
Evendal." Ierwbae insisted. "If I have your leave?"
     Evendal grinned, having finally heard the Guard use his name and not
his title. "You have Our leave, Ierwbae."
     "And ours." Kri-estaul whispered timidly. "Be well."


     The next morning began windy and chill, requiring Evendal's meetings
be held in the, under repair, Council Chamber. Aldul sat beside the King,
in attendance as Archate emissary, a station near equal to a
sovereign. Ierwbae had quietly performed many unrequested services since
Robiliam's death, the most questionable proved to be flushing the
Chancellor of the Exchequer out of hiding. Initially, Evendal rejoiced at
having the culprit responsible for paupering a kingdom readily
available. But as familiarity grew, the King came to see the man as, in
many ways, the duumvirate's oldest surviving victim.
     "Your Majesty, you cannot do that. Your coffers cannot support such
extravagance!"
     Evendal sighed. He had done a lot of sighing around Fillowyn aghd'
Efferdiy. "Master Fillowyn, your protest is irrelevant. We will not
countenance a Bewaring tax, nor a regulation against the exchange of
wares. Your argument that Our city is still fragile and beggared is exactly
why. It is also why We rescind the interregnum's 'bar fee'(27) the tithe
for ernes(28), the price they imposed on manourlords who merely turned
plots of their own land into essartum(29) or arable. And do not, I warn
you... Do not say one word against my revoking the murage(30)!"
     "Your Majesty is too kind. Too soft-hearted at a time when it would be
kinder to be cruel."
     "That you live, Master Fillowyn, is evidence of my soft heart."
     The naturally pale man, stiff-backed from long-standing physical pain,
bowed his head in acknowledgement, but did not recant his proposals. It was
for that courage, alone, that Evendal felt he had a valuable advisor.
     "Barter is not our enemy here, Master Fillowyn. Such exchanges,
unthreatened, are how this city survived nine years of leeches. Rejoice
that, because of your efforts and against my better judgment, I have not
revoked the ostensio(31), or the tronage(32) and pellage(33) duty. Though I
want to, even now."
     "I applaud Your Majesty's wisdom and good sense."
     The low-point of the morning crept in with the third bell, and the
petition of the Silk Distributors' representative. The emissary arrived
suitably decked in a pastel-green silk tunic and hunter green silk vest,
her coterie each in pale aqua silk. Evendal secretly thought it absurd and
ostentatious.
     "Your August Majesty,"
     "Merchant Goald-lek, rise. Have you come on a concern?"
     "Yes and no, Your Majesty. First, may I offer felicitations to your
most noble and righteous Magnificence, on behalf of our assemblage? Your
return has unfettered us all both in our hearts and in very deed."
     The King clenched his teeth at the florid address, until he could
respond with some measure of civility. "You are most gracious, good
Goald-lek. But desist, please. We are aware of Our worth. And Our faults."
    "Very well, Your Majesty. We were given to understand that you had,
through some mysterious agency, repaired Matron Drussilikh's dreadful
monstrosity of a home. Is our intelligence accurate?"
     "Indeed, quite accurate."
     "And we understood further, that your effort took but a moment, and
restored the stone which had been warped and cracked, even to the
foundation. Is this possible?"
     "We do not know if it is possible. But We know that it was so
accomplished. This service We would offer to all the guilds and assemblies
that had likewise suffered due to the duumvirate's avarice." Aware of the
faction he addressed, Evendal added. "As We offer it to all gentry likewise
afflicted."
     Goald-lek's eyes gleamed. "Your munificence is breathtaking, Your
Majesty. The joy of your largesse leaves me speechless." 'Not bloody
likely,' Evendal thought. "It is on that very generosity that I have made
so bold as to petition your indulgence." Goald-lek snapped her fingers, and
one of her cohort stepped forward, knelt and handed her a roll of
parchment. "Our own merchant-house is just so in need of your grace. The
place has been the despair of our number for some time now. If I may be so
bold..."
     "Continue, Merchant Goald-lek."
     Goald-lek daintily set one edge of the parchment on the floor,
weighted it with a stone, and unrolled it, weighing down the opposite end
as well. The roll was a building overview, with turrets in the shape of
gigantic human figures, windows of chaotic dimensions, and doors the height
of three people.
     Kri-estaul took one look at it and started giggling.
     "And this is?"
     "What we hope Your Majesty, in your foresightedness and by the
radiance of your generosity, will remake our poor beleaguered meeting-house
into."
     Evendal looked over the drawing a second and third time; it did not
get any better. "An ambitious vision, Merchant Goald-lek. Stunning. We
admire the imagination of the author."
     Goald-lek smiled, delighted.
     "Some of our number feared your displeasure, but I trusted in your
fair pardon and liberality."
     "Pray, tell me. What damage did the co-rulers inflict upon the present
edifice?"
     Goald-lek looked blank, befuddled. "Why, none, Your Majesty."
     "Perhaps We misheard, good Goald-lek. Did the Beast or the Wise
Counselor cause any mayhem to your merchant-house?"
     "No, my lord. When they demanded, we did our best to provide,
eschewing any mention of the cost. They had no cause to torch us,
thankfully."
     "So you visit us as one would visit the now-outlaw Stone-wrights, to
commission your sovereign to cease all other concerns. Ignore the people
huddling around moss fires for warmth in their devastated manors, nursing
weather-sick members, who struggle to swallow their pride and approach
us. Ignore the King's Cinqet, the victims of the under-grounds and the
stone-hauling. Ignore the farming gentry, that ancient estate that suffered
no less than any guild under the Interregnum's threats and demands. In
order to build you this physically unsupportable idiocy? People come to Us
in extremity, Goald-lek. This city is nowhere near healed or
self-supporting, and you come to Us, a woman in a comparatively comfortable
manor, with menials groveling around you, swathed in silks like a walking
advertisement or a like a blatant request to be robbed. And you want Us to
build you a four-year old's idea of a castle!"
     Goald-lek swallowed hard.

        So rich you seem,
        Goodly merchant, so fair.
        So secure you've been,
        Building dreams out of air.
        Ir use Our rage,
        Let Us not overdo,
        Help this one learn balance,
        Her callousness rue.
        As like calls to like,
        Let her be but a deputy,
        For those of her own
        Who have failed in humility.
        For these weavers in air, Ir,
        Do what you must,
        Let your wheel turn true,
        Let them taste dust."

     Evendal growled out the last word. "Take your scribbling and your
nonsense and depart, quickly, to your despair of a merchant-house."
     Biting her lower lip, with eyes darting all around her, Goald-lek
hurried out of the Chamber.
     "Nothing happened!" Kri-estaul protested, drowsy.
     Evendal smiled. "My blood-drinker! All I did was bring our Protector's
attention to an inequity that I didn't trust myself to treat impartially."
     "Oh. Okay."
     The people sitting in wait, alarmed at the merchant's precipitous
departure, spoke amongst themselves. The sound, readily amplified by the
room's acoustics, grated on Evendal's nerves. Thwarted for his anticipated
excitement, Kri-estaul looked around the Court, singled out equally
bored-looking attendants and shared ugly-faces with them.
     "Let Us be clear regarding the use of Our gifts and influence." the
King called out. "We act as the Left Hand of the Unalterable, so our gifts
are for the sifting of truth from lie, for the enactment of Our judgments,
and for the comfort of the oppressed, the unwilling victim. That is all We
will exercise our powers for!" He paused to let his explanation register.
     "Our first Council, and Our audiences, has revealed those guilds and
civic manorhouses needing Our care. If any of today's mercantile
petitioners anticipate that We would evoke Our gifts for less vital
concerns, or if they look to have their curiosity satisfied... For the sake
of your continued health, We recommend you leave. Now!"
     After a long silence, twelve people remained of the original thirty
petitioners. Kri-estaul, looking around the Chamber, noticed a lean,
disheveled figure in a far corner, whose clothes blended eerily with the
wall. The tattered form, genderless in the dim light and distance, shifted
slowly, furtively, toward the newly restored doorway. With a tug on
Evendal's tunic and a nod of his head toward the back of the room, Kri
alerted the King.
     Evendal signaled one of the attendants flanking the door, and the
scruffy observer got an escort to the steps before the Throne.
     Up close, Kri saw the ragamuffin as a thin, hollow-faced boy. Fear
slumped the boy's shoulders and shaded his eyes. The clothes were an
uncoordinated jumble of different sizes and stages of deterioration. The
boy's hair might have been blond under the oil and grime, a rarity among
Hramal. Kri noted the boy's fingers twitch and clutch at odd moments.
     "I didn't do nothing. Please. I wasn't going to bother you. Let me go,
please." The panic in the boy's voice surprised Kri.
     "Rest easy, child. We do not mean you harm, either. But if you braved
Our Guard and these curmudgeons and spectacle-seekers, to stand in here,
you deserve to be listened to. Calm yourself."
     Looking all about him, and seeing no one pull a weapon, the boy
relaxed his thin shoulders. "Can I go? Please?'
     "No. Not yet. Now I will not harm you, nor sell you up the river." The
boy snorted. "Nor set you to some ridiculous labour. Those days are
gone. Relax, boy. May We ask? What are you called?"
     "Ierowen, Your Lordship. Ierowen of Donnath-luin."
     Evendal nodded. "Greetings and health, Ierowen. You have come a long
way."
     "No. Not really. My master bought me there, from my Dad. And took ship
on the river out to sea and up here. And... And, well, my master died a
year ago, without a copper or a crumb. And I've been hooking the
nether-home since, hiding from the Claws whenever they give a peep."
     Kri-estaul frowned, totally confused. A quick glance upward at
Evendal's look of amusement, and Kri tugged on his Papa's sleeve. "What's
he saying?"
     "He said that he disappeared when his owner died, rather than be
counted escheatable property. He's been evading the Guard, lest they
volunteer him for stone-hauling, trying to stay invisible, for over a
year."
     "Escheatable?"
     "Property that reverts to the King's Court, once the owner dies with
no heir. You must have a seal's skin, Ierowen."
     "I do well enough for a dolphin. I have to."
     At Kri's frown, Evendal reiterated. "I was just complimenting him on
his ability. To have done as well as he did in a strange place and with no
one to rely on. A 'dolphin' is someone new to their skills."
     "As much as you can, Ierowen, lets try to stay out of the Clan-tongue,
for my son's sake."
     "Sure. Sorry, Your Highness."
     "It sounds weird. Could you teach it to me?"
     "Good as done." Ierowen flicked a glance up at Evendal. "If your Dad
doesn't mind?"
     "No, I don't mind. He will have to learn it anyway, as Heir."
     Ierowen shuffled about, darting looks at Evendal throughout this
exchange. A wriggle of his shoulders, and the boy wiped the back of his
hand across his nose like it was a significant gesture. "Look, Your
Lordship, you're being silly to me. What's the cry? Sorry. I mean... You've
been real good to me, what with my showing up here without a word. What's
that all about?"
     "It is as I said. You would hardly come here for a lark; I did not
want my bad temper to scare you off if you came with some need. What's the
cry about you?"
     "You won't believe me. Now that I think about it."
     "Let me decide that. Please?"
     The furtive youth stopped glancing about and risked a moment's longer
look at the King. "Thunder! Your eyes!"
     "Never mind about them. Tell me."
     Whatever he saw, Ierowen took heart in. "I've been nabbing left and
right, since the master burned. Doing the odd hand just to chomp and
nod. Err... Stealing things just to be able to eat and breaking into places
to sleep. I didn't like it, but with Mean and Ugly in the... in power, I
figured it was survive as you can. I got wise in it, though. I learned who
was their friends and who wasn't, and I nabbed from the friends. I figured
they would get more to replace it. Ir knows their enemies couldn't afford
any loss. But see, in all this I learned sharp, I could snatch a steak
sitting beside a Guard and he would think a bird nabbed it. Got me?"
Ierowen, fascinated by the King's glowing, didn't even blink.
     "Yes. You lived how you had to, but you did your best to keep some
self-respect. And you learned how to be 'invisible' better than anyone."
     "Beauty! Now as there is no Mean and no Ugly anymore, I don't have the
same choices. So I figured it was time for a new skin... way of getting
by. But, a week ago, I stumbled on a job that turned my eyeballs red! And,
and I didn't knack what to do. So I thought, see if the new King's a
bleeder or a shadow. I mean if you were sincere or a hypocrite." Ierowen
finally blinked.
     "What did you see?"
     "Tents. Like at a fair. And pokers in black leather. And pokers I know
aren't your Claw, but dressed up in Claw kit."
     "Pokers?"
     "Fighters, Kri. Traditional mercenaries, and mercenaries in Guard
livery."
     "This was more than I rolled for. And I knew better than squawk to a
Claw, he might be one of them. And I thought, even if I made it here, got
to see you and you were a bleeder, there'd be no way that you'd believe I
bled over this. That I wasn't fogging you... Umm. Lying to you. Making it
all up." Ierowen sweated, tears filling his eyes but not falling.
     "You are from another province, so you would not know our ways
here. One of my titles is 'Left Hand of the Unalterable'. The Right Hand is
the Archate Temple. We know Donnath-luin has a very fine one. But the Left
Hand is Ourself, and only Ourself. And we can discern any mendacity
perpetrated on Us. You have spoken only truth, so far."
     The dozen petitioners, initially restive and annoyed, shouted at each
other in dismay at this. Evendal gestured them to quiet, never changing his
focus. There was more here, he was sure. "Continue, Ierowen. What you've
told me angers me, but doesn't surprise me."
     "Oh, Ir. I was so afraid what you might do if you thought... Well, I
was all set to ramble elsewhere, when one of the nest-cocks shouts at his
hens. 'Ain't no way you girlies are going to be ready for the Palace in two
weeks!'"
     "And how long have you been hiding since then?"
     Ierowen swallowed before muttering. "A week, Your Lordship."
     Evendal closed his eyes and nodded. Suddenly there was a restraint
around his legs, and Evendal almost kicked in reflex before he realised it
was Ierowen, weeping, hugging his ankles in supplication. "Please, Your
Lordship. I'm sorry, Your Lordship. I... I was afraid. I didn't know what
to do. One of them nearly nabbed me."
     Moved, Evendal rested his hand on Ierowen's slimy head. "Rest easy, I
say. You did very well. You have given Us a chance to survive. Gave us
warning where We had absolutely none." He turned to Aldul standing beside
him. "I do not want any of these Guard absent. Would you find and retrieve
Bruddbana and Ierwbae?"
     Aldul nodded and left.
     Evendal kept his hand on Ierowen's head. "Stay a while, young
man. Right here is now both the deadliest and the safest place to
be. Guard! None of these petitioners is to leave this room." He turned to
the people below him. "Our apologies, but until this danger is resolved, We
cannot trust in your promise of silence about this intelligence. One of you
would be enough to let this... militia know it lost the element of
surprise."
     A few cried out their innocence. "Yes. Yes. You may see this as
impugning your loyalty, maligning your good character. That is your
choice. Regardless, We cannot afford to be slipshod or stupid. Look on it
this way. You will have a bird's-eye view of your King in command."
     "While we wait for Bruddbana, there is another matter to address,
Ierowen."
     The child looked up. "My lord?"
     "When was your last meal?"
     "I guess a week past. I didn't dare tip anyone to my cubby."
     "On the run since then? Gods, child! Wait but a little while longer,
and I would remedy that as well."
     Through the royal entry, Bruddbana strode, to kneel before the
King. "By the Five Thunders! Stand, my friend! You know I hate that from
you."
     Bruddbana smirked. "I know."
     "Bruddbana, I present to you a courageous young man called Ierowen of
Donnath-luin. Ierowen, I present my Captain of the King's Guard,
Bruddbana."
     "Greetings and health to you." Bruddbana hailed.
     "The same," Ierowen replied economically, looking the Guard
over. Kri-estaul appreciated the sentiment.
     Ierwbae entered and waited behind the Throne. Out of the corner of his
eye, Kri-estaul detected quick movement. A woman, with a thick head of long
hair, heavily garbed and bundled, stared up at the dais from the corner
Ierowen had abandoned. Even with the distance, Kri-estaul could tell that
Ierwbae's arrival had elicited her abrupt attention. Out of charity,
Kri-estaul reminded himself that some people liked Guards.
     "Ierowen was doing a bit of quiet finger-work around some Manourlord's
grounds, when he came across a mass of mercenaries, some of whom were
wearing Guard livery."
     The Captain scowled. "Not good."
     "Further, their intended target is the Palace, within a week's time."
     "Do you know where you were?" Bruddbana asked. Ierowen nodded,
intimidated by a Guard being so close to him. Bruddbana smiled. "This ought
to be interesting."
     "We directed the Guard to retain these good people since they
witnessed Ierowen's confession. We could sing to mute them, but as Left
Hand of the Unalterable... they haven't done any ill, doing so would bring
no solace, and there is no lie to unearth here. It would be an abuse of
authority."
     "I think I can confine them in suitable comfort, for the interim. What
of Ierowen?"
     "Ierowen. If I tried to keep you here, you'd make your own way
out. So, instead I ask. Will you abide here for a few days? My guest, under
what protection I can provide?"
     The youth stared at Evendal's shoulder, avoiding the King's eyes, so
he could think clearly. Evendal's manner unnerved him, kind, familiar, but
commanding. If he stayed, it might be that his chances of survival were
less certain, dependent on this man's ability. If he departed, he would be
left to his own devices, which were purely stealth, dexterity and
camouflage - not much help against a sword or morningstar. "If you like. I
promised your lad I would teach him the Tongue."
     Kri-estaul grinned as Evendal nodded. "If you would accompany
Bruddbana, please. We saw your anxiety, but you are safe with him." Ierowen
nodded. "Give him what he asks for, Ierowen. Bruddbana, find him some
gear. Have him protected as he bathes. Present him to Shulro, again with
protection, and let him know where his bed is. Delegate to someone
unflappable."
     Ierowen's eyes bulged out. "If you aren't the cat who bought the cow!"
     Bruddbana and Kri-estaul stared at Ierowen, making Evendal chuckle; he
knew that apologue. "So I could have all the cream I want!"
     As Bruddbana turned to go, Ierowen in tow, Evendal stopped him. "I
just had an idea. Send for Liaison Heamon, if you would."
     "Certainly, my lord." Bruddbana promised as he left.
     "Aldul?"
     The Kwo-edan stepped forward from the royal entry and inclined his
head in inquiry.
     "This is not the safest place to be right now. If We gave you leave to
secure yourself at the Temple...?"
     "I would thank Your Majesty, and then punch m'Alismogh's face." Aldul
replied, in all sincerity. "Am I not your friend? Or was that bombast, a
moment's humour?"
     "Very well, I won't say I'm sorry you're staying."
     Aldul grinned. "It would be a lie, if you did."
     "Are you armed?"
     "As much as I am going to be, yes." He replied sternly. "I have
learned a few lessons since that time I got 'nabbed'."
     "Then we wait." Evendal concluded.

     A half a bell passed before Bruddbana returned, Heamon behind
him. This time eschewing any teasing, the Guard stood as he related what he
had gleaned. "If the boy is not exaggerating from surprise or fear, we
might be outnumbered. The greatest number were the ones in standard black,
of course. At the most, five hundred. At the least, three hundred."
     Evendal simply nodded, the muscles in his face taut and outlined his
arms remained relaxed around his dozing son. "And where are they
harboured?"
     Bruddbana's confident attitude disappeared. He hesitated. "My
lord. This may not mean anything. It may be that they knew the land was
poorly attended-to with the owner's absence...I've seen such happen what
with the loss of labourers from the press-ganging..."
     "Enough, commander! Who's is it?" Kri-estaul started awake, blinked at
Bruddbana, and rearranged his torso more comfortably.
     "The Dowager's, my lord. Her retreat." Bruddbana answered, clearly
unhappy at being the messenger.
     Aldul, expressionless, nodded.
     Evendal knew he had not mis-heard, but nonetheless gaped in
shock. 'This makes no sense,' was his first coherent thought, 'she doesn't
want me dead!' Then he reconsidered. Onkira would probably not have allowed
herself to consider a 'militia action' in that manner. All she would have
focused on would be the fulfillment of her desires, her
expectations. Whatever those were. Any other results would be regretted or
enjoyed later.  'When I was a loss to be mourned, she had an audience,
respectful and adoring. But any play she might have made for primacy would
have looked pathetic against the duumvirate; it would have doomed her. That
is not true now, they're gone.'
     "Heamon, We have a problem. The Dowager has managed what the Wise
Counselor hadn't. She has a few hundred mercenaries training at her
Thronelands retreat, preparing to besiege the Palace within a week."
     Bruddbana protested. "But, Your Majesty, it could be as I said."
     "No, my friend. Consider. I return, against all expectation, publicly
defy her, and fail to submit to her 'seduction.' Had there been no
conspiracy, and Menam simply died in battle, Onkira would have deigned to
take the Throne. But Polgern had planned, where she had simply
expected. And faster than a snake-strike, the Beast and the Counselor had
the Council in a stranglehold. Abduram and Polgern, so obsessed with each
other, overlooked moth...Onkira as someone with her own ambitions. As I
surely overlooked her. Someone who, as widow of Menam and one of Arkedda's
royal cousins, had the venues to - quietly - acquire the army they could
not."
     "But here I throw her out. She is forced back to a city she hasn't
seen since she had thirteen years. And the only way she will ever return is
if I am no longer sovereign. She certainly knows that."
      "That sounds like the Dowager I knew, Lord Evendal." Heamon
interjected.
     "How can you say that?" Bruddbana asked.
     "Bruddbana, you did not get Palace duty as much as I. As I sought it
out in my fancy of knifing the Counselor. But the Dowager Onkira developed
two reputations. One camp had her as the Palace version of the Cinqet-oaf:
Sweet, harmless, easily led around, and profoundly grateful and gracious to
any Council-member who paid Court to her. The other gossip-web made her
delusional, arrogant, scheming, whorish, and never one to do forthrightly
what could be done through indirection. It presented her as a woman who
demanded and expected the rewards of her husband's station, who thirsted
for authority. Needed it like air." Heamon elaborated with the cool
indifference of one wholly removed from the topic.
     "That sounds like the woman I know and dread, too." Evendal
quipped. "Both views."
     "Lord, why summon me for a military matter? I am no longer a Guard,
but liaison for the Cinqet."
     "Because, I hope for the Cinqet to assist me in sabotaging the camps
of these churls."
     Heamon stood aghast. "You are jesting, no?"
     Evendal looked the man in the eye. "No."
     "You know I won't countenance putting my people in such danger. They
have been through more than enough."
     "It is not your decision to make, Heamon. You are liaison, not King of
Misrule."
     The ex-Guard's jaw dropped further. "How... How do you even know about
him?"
     "Part of my, no doubt, seedy and dissolute childhood. I honestly could
not say how I know him. But my point is you can only inform and advise, not
judge for them. Also, what do you think will happen should the Dowager
succeed? Not only will she have between three to five hundred blood-drunk
mercenaries to pacify, but a panicky populus. And where do you think both
will flow to?"
     Heamon understood, and the realization brought him no joy. "The
people, dispossessed by the army, will flee to us. We held against the
duumvirate, so they will think us impregnable. A sanctuary. And with that
egress, the mercenaries will follow."
     "Now," Evendal recalled grimly. "What was your protest?"
     "Ill-considered is what it was." Heamon turned rueful. "You would
think I'd know by now. You have never called on me unless the matter was
vital to the King's Quarter."
     Evendal hesitated. "Do not ever doubt, Heamon, that We regard you
highly. You are a man to rely on at need. At need."
     "Exactly, Lord Evendal. We understand each other."
     "We learned of this threat from a young boy. A former slave who has
been on his own, outside the domain of the King's Quarter, for over a
year. As a silk-snatcher and vagrant."
     Heamon lifted an eyebrow. "Resourceful." A young girl stepped up on
the other side of the royal entry and gestured to Ierwbae. The Guard
stepped out and listened, then returned, frowning.
     "Very, but he reminded Us of a pool of such talent at Our very
doorstep."
     "I am sure I would not know to what you are referring, Lord
Evendal. My Clan is, beyond all expectation, gifted with individuals of
many talents. But all are people above reproach." Heamon grinned slightly.
     "We have a week, good Heamon. We do not intend to wait that long. Let
me outline my hopes regarding your 'family'."
     A cough sounded from the bottom of the dais. Balding head bowed, a
woman knelt, awaiting the King's courtesy. He gave it.
     "Greetings and health, Your Majesty."
     "And health and prosperity to you. How are you called?"
     "I am called Driswan, Your Majesty. My family excelled in our
leatherwork, patronised by your own august line up until Mausna."
     "Be at your ease, good Driswan. What is your matter?"
     "My lord, I am well. Firstly, I came to express my gratitude, my
family's and mine. The Stone-wright had recently abducted both my husband
and my daughter. You gave me my life back!"
     "And they are well?"
     "My husband is still recuperating. Malnourished. Underfed by that
insect! My daughter got better treatment, as she was chosen to pleasure one
of the Counselor's supporters. You may not have meant it, but your timely
arrival and coup saved my daughter from abuse and death. I thank you from
the depths of my heart."
     "You are most welcome, Driswan. We are delighted to hear of good
fortune."
     "But that is not, now, why I dared to approach, Your Majesty. I could
not help but hear some of your conference. When your new confederate spoke
of what he had seen..."
     "Yes?"
     "Well, as a leatherworker, I have a surplus of boiled leather jerkins
and bracers and greaves, in your common black. If that should be of any
use, it is your's. Also..."
     Evendal saw the sweat on Driswan's forehead and on the cloth under her
arms. "Do not fear, Driswan. Having said that much, We can guess what else
you have to say. But We rely on you to speak it, anyway."
     "The reason I have this surplus, Your Majesty. You august mother had
commissioned the armor, several months ago, through an intermediary. We
were the suppliers of those mercenaries. Much to my sincerest shame."
     "Good Driswan, be at ease. Nothing but commerce was involved,
then. You doing what you know, in good faith, for a member of the royal
family. However. We might, should Heamon be eloquent enough, have uses for
the armor you still have."
     "Then again I thank you for your timely success and for you
clemency. I will not further incommode you. If I may be so bold..."
     "Certainly, say on."
     "It might be better for your planning and our peace of mind if you
would have someone...escort us petitioners to a more informal setting." The
merchant walked back to where she had been sitting while Bruddbana arranged
just that.
     "I liked her." Kri-estaul decided.
     "Why?"
     "I could understand what she was talking about."
     Evendal smiled. "I am afraid most of the day is going to be like that,
Kri. People talking about battle plans, subterfuge. Do you want to go back
to our place or the kitchens?"
     "What about outside?"
     "No, not until this is taken care of. Not without a squad of Guard."
     "Then I want to stay."
     "My other self, eh?"
     Kri-estaul found his lap fascinating. "Is that okay?"
     "Very okay." Evendal kissed Kri on the head.
     "I may have to use the jakes..."
     "So? I may have to also, just let me know. Interrupt us, on my order
as King."
     Evendal outlined a plan, sketchy and basic. Ierwbae kept his own
counsel. Heamon kept trying to minimize the rôle his Clan played.
Bruddbana, not happy with having 'undisciplined' citizens involved,
cooperated in Heamon's effort. Finally, Evendal glared at Heamon and
declared in a flat voice.
     "Continue to oppose their participation and you guarantee that those
you are trying to shield will die in the homes you want them safe in."
     Heamon conceded the truth of that, and quickly left to alert his Clan
to their impending danger.
     Ierwbae stepped forward, his face chalk-pale. "My lord, if I may beg a
moment of your time..."
     "Of course. What's toward?"
     "My lord, Metthendoen... Well, he insists he is fully recuperated. He
felt useless. So, he has left his bed to show he is fit for
duty. Please..."
     "He is an idiot! Go, you and Bruddbana, and cart him to me!"
     The two fled, and returned with a snow-white, sweat and bloodstained
boy-man breathing like he had run a race. With a smoothness born of
practice, they set him in a chair. The blood was negligible, but still
curled Ierwbae's hands into fists.
     Again the woman now standing on her tiptoes in the far corner of the
Chamber diverted Kri-estaul's attention. Her entire body strained forward
as if she were rooted to the ground and pressed by a harsh wind. Her hands
were pressed to her mouth and clenched into fists, like Ierwbae's. Her
face, what little Kri-estaul could discern, seemed in an agony of
anticipation. Her attention was no longer for Ierwbae, Kri noted, but all
for Metthendoenn. Kri-estaul felt uneasy.
     "So, you think you are fit to return to duty? The duty of bleeding to
death, to no purpose, at a post?"
     To everyone's surprise but Ierwbae's, Metthendoenn shouted his
anger. "You are threatened, and I am expected to lie down and do nothing?"
Kri-estaul shied back against his father. Quickly enough the Prince
realised that his uncle had exhausted himself, and only sounded angry, like
his Mama used to when she was worried. Kri-estaul went back to watching the
woman with the over-abundance of hair.
     "No," Evendal replied, more gently. "You are healing. You are giving
Ierwbae a reason to live." He glanced sharply at Ierwbae as he said
this. "You are our friend, advisor, and brother. If it comes to a fight,
you must be here, helping to insure that calm heads prevail. Calm heads!
But right now, Metthen, be my brother more than my Guard."
     The woman straining in the corner jerked her head briefly to the King
as if she had been slapped, but quickly returned to staring at Metthendoen.
     "Bruddbana, the first thing that comes to my mind is confirming their
existence and their placement. Their numbers and their layout."
     "Without being found out? Don't want much, do you?"
     The King smiled. "I have so much, what is a little more?"
     "I already sent some veteran fighters to scout. We should know a lot
more by sunset."
     "Thankfully, Onkira's homestead is comparatively small." Evendal
observed.
     Just then a young lad, wraith-thin, slid into the Chamber through the
royal entry. His most remarkable feature, his hair, shone strawberry blond;
it stood out against all the other black and brown-headed occupants, even
with a cap covering the greater portion. He dressed in a green tunic-shirt
and gray pants and over-tunic, his feet unshod. Kri-estaul beckoned him
over.
     "Ierowen, you look great! Almost human." He giggled.
     "Thank you, I guess." Awkward, Ierowen bumbled through a standard
genuflection, only to hit the floor hard with both knees. "Your Majesty, I
want to thank you for your care and generosity..."
     Evendal glared at Bruddbana, who pointedly failed to notice the
look. "Ierowen, stop. Please. That isn't necessary, and it isn't you. A
certain Guard worries too much over such formalities. If you feel grateful,
in truth, show me in your own way. If you're not comfortable with the idea
of getting something for nothing," Ierowen looked up sharply, alarmed at
being so transparent. Evendal just smiled. "Then remember that you did Us a
great service, in payment if you wish."
     Ierwbae, Bruddbana, Ierowen and Aldul pulled up chairs from below the
dais and sat.
     "Now, anything else you can tell us about these soldiers?"
     "Well, they're not soldiers, Your Lordship."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Well, that's why that bird-keeper was shouting. Some barely knew a
pickaxe from a pike. Those that I saw looked like they hadn't known a sober
moment in years."
     "Hmmm. Mo...Onkira may regret having hoarded all those wine bottles in
her cellars."
     "We can't rely on that sort of thing, though." Bruddbana pointed out.
     "No, not without confirmation. And what do you mean about their not
knowing a pike?"
     "The ones I saw, some weren't in bad shape. A little too much
adulterated beer, you ken? But some of them, they limped, or had an eye
missing, fingers. And some, you could see, were just warm bodies - there
for the pay or the pillage, without an idea that some bird hadn't put
there. Wouldn't be able to shiver up a high-road to the first storey."
     "What?" Ierwbae asked.
     "Sorry. Wouldn't be able to climb up a wall to the first storey of a
building."
     "The best of them's the team leaders and their helpers. I saw a lot,
but didn't ken what I was bagging until your Claw here," He nodded to
Bruddbana. "Till he talked it through with me. All I thought at the time
was 'Thunders! It's an army! And huge!' So I frog out of there, messing up
some lag-about who tries to put the... tries to nab me. Persistent bugger,
too. But I danced a fair shadow and coshed him. I mean, I finally got
around him, stole up on him and knocked him out."
     "So, did they each carry weapons at all times? Or did they leave and
retrieve blades from a central tent?"
     Ierowen thought a moment. "They had maybe three tents they used for
weapons. I came across them at owl's light, err...midnight, and stuck
around to see what the cry was on these pokers. So I had a good gander at
them. I thought maybe I could nab a chomp, I mean find some food. I saw
some go up to the tents with daggers and shivs, but no heavy stingers till
they left the tents."
     "Sounds like the captains don't trust their own fighters," Ierwbae
tendered. "If you would rely on his perception."
     "Rely? In matters of war? Never. Weaponry? A qualified yes. To discern
if a man had the body and instincts for close fighting, yes. He has had to
learn similar skills." Evendal replied. To which Ierowen nodded.
     "I can ken a right joker from a mean poker." He asserted.
     "Did you remark anyone particularly? See any one, commanding,
personage?" Evendal asked, to which Ierowen shook his head. "Well,
then. Since Ierowen did not single out any individuals, it serves us best
to keep a roster at every Guard assembly. Also, we do not implement any
unusual exercises on the Palace grounds, nor any public gathering of the
Guard. And no discussion of this crisis away from Our presence. The only
exemption to that is Aldul, who must apprise the High Priestess."
     Not long after, a Guard in brown and gray came through the main
Chamber entrance. Betwigged and slightly out of breath, Falrija knelt just
below the raised area. The King bade her rise and report.
     "It all is indeed as Ierowen detailed. A large assembly, at my guess
numbering between three hundred and fifty and maybe four hundred, in
indifferent order and damn little discipline. It looked more a congregation
of ruffians with the same livery than a real troop. At first, I could see
no headquarter, no central leadership. But eventually a man stood maybe six
lengths(34) from me and just stared around him. After a half a bell, all
the fighters had assembled before him. Some of them stood at attention,
some acted like the man was not there and chatted, some sat in the dirt. It
was a baffling sight for me. Anyway, once the ragtag is together, except
for the perimeter guards, this man starts talking to them. He said that
they had heard right, they were scheduled to attack within eight days. So,
with the deadline so close, he was implementing more training sessions and
practices. Those who wanted to survive the assault would be wise to show up
and participate. The others, he said, were not his concern. Nobody
responded."
     Falrija stopped. Evendal mistook her halting for exhaustion or thirst
and offered a mug of the cloved cider he had beside the Throne. Falrija
accepted, but prefaced her next detail deferentially. "I am sorry, my
lord. He then said... Their patroness was not going to provide any more
gifts until their maneuver was completed, and the Palace returned to its
rightful sovereign: The Dowager Onkira nier Menam."
     "I am hearing that name a lot." Kri-estaul complained. "Who is she?"
     "The woman who tried to raise me, the woman I thought my mother. I
sent her away because she was acting bad, and didn't want to stop acting
bad."
     Kri frowned, thinking through what he had heard. "So, she is mad and
wants our home? And she sent a lot of people to take it for her?"
     "Yes." Evendal loved Kri-estaul's saying 'our home'.
     "That's stupid. Nothing says they would give it to her once they get
it."
     "That's right. But she doesn't think of those things, belovéd."
     "My lord," Falrija interrupted.
     "Continue, Falrija."
     "I was going to say that Your Highness is right on target. Because the
man was projecting his voice for all he was worth. And his tone over the
words 'patroness', 'sovereign', and 'the Dowager' was... well,
contemptuous."
     "He then told them that, because the oilcloth was needed elsewhere, he
decided to consolidate the weapons under one tent. There were some groans
with this, some complaining about moving all the...stuff. Since some of
them would be unfamiliar with the layout of the city, they had just
received a set of maps giving the general regions, and a route through the
forest to the Palace."
     Aldul and Evendal looked at Falrija in disbelief.
     "What?" Aldul sputtered. "Through Kh'anderif?" Falrija nodded,
confused. Likewise, Evendal glanced at the Kwo-edan.
     "This is shaping up into an epic of misadventure." Evendal
mused. Ierwbae, Metthendoenn, Ierowen, Bruddbana and Kri all waited for the
King to elaborate. He chose not to.
     Bruddbana broke the silence. "Well, that makes sense. For some reason
no one thinks of Kh'anderif, yet it's the most direct approach to the
Palace for any cohort wanting the freedom for offensive formations."
     "The joy for us though, is that we have Guard who are weapons-trained,
in archery as well as sword. And not afraid of heights or fighting around
obstacles." Falrija observed.
     "We are not going to deploy any Thronelander beyond our border of
Kh'anderif." Evendal commanded. "No one, no matter the reason or argument,
is to take a single step inside Kh'anderif. Unless it be in Our company.  I
need your complete obedience in this, my friends."
     "My lord?" Ierwbae responded, the desire for explanation in his
voice. "Why prohibit us from the best place for defensive strafing?"
     "Before We brought Polgern to Council, Kri and Ourself visited him in
Hrioskunra Tower. We spent our time confronting Ugly, as Ierowen aptly
labeled him. Kri spent that time trying to get a better look over my
shoulder and was showing his monster faces to someone." Evendal stopped.
     "So?"
     "My Guard stood flanking Polgern. There was no one We could see behind
Us. When we left, Kri asked why I spent all my time with that mean man and
ignored the funny man standing beside me."
     "Oh. But Henhyroc and other Guard held their post at the Tower
unscathed."
     "We expect that whatever inhabits the Forest is not mindless, nor
utterly indifferent to our purposes when we encroach. But none of us should
presume upon its goodwill."
     "Courtesy to a forest?" Bruddbana asked.
     Ierowen chimed in. "You gabbing about the twigs just north of here?"
     "Yes."
     "Oh. I thought you were, and about that weird forester that patrols
it?"
     Bruddbana and Evendal asked in chorus. "What forester?"
     Uneasy, Ierowen's befreckled face flushed. "Don't you have a fellow
patrolling in it? Eyebrows and jaw like Your Lordship's?"
     "No. Did you see someone?"
     Afraid he had transgressed, Ierowen muttered. "Just... I didn't,
quite. I saw him leaving it. Once."
     Evendal smiled. "Ierowen, you may be an old man at the odd hand, but
your face couldn't convince a king of his crown. Do you want to roll us the
true cry?"
    Still red-faced, the youth capitulated. "It was when I was dodging that
faux-Claw. He wouldn't leave me my road. I figured to wink into this band
of twigs just west of me, maybe dodder him away from my nesting. So, I to
and fro once I'm through the first few standers, mess the guy up on finding
the right trail. Then I high-road it up this fat stander, as high as I dare
and think like a twig."
     "Pause, a moment, Ierowen. You have lost the others. Translate,
please."
     Ierowen's face turned brighter. "Umm... I was running from the poker
that saw me, so I figured I'd run into this lot of trees to my west, lay a
few false trails, so the guy had to waste time. Then I climbed up this big
tree, as high I could. You ken? Well, sure enough, the fellow dances right
past my perch and keeps moving. He walks right past this other guy, in
green and gray, who is looking up at me. I almost went for the moon! I
mean, one moment I was eyeing this hound-dog, the next moment he walks past
this fellow, practically brushing sleeves, without a pause or a turn of the
head!"
     "Once the poker got a few lengths from me, I crept down the
tree. Green-and-gray hadn't moved the entire time. I get down and he asks
me what I was doing. I told him how I was running from that pisser trying
to feed me steel. He asks why. I asked him what business it was of his, and
he said that he guarded these twigs. I got a bit fire-headed and told him
he wasn't doing very well. He just looked at me kind of strangely and said
how I had best make my way to the Palace if I were half as smart as I was
smart-mouthed.  Of course I didn't at first. I had to think things
out. Never came up with a better scroll, so..."
     "Why did it take so long?"
     "Who could I trust not to put the faux-Claw onto me? How could I be
sure, once I got to your nest, I would be able to fly out? I couldn't go to
my usual treasure-chests, err... friends and hideouts. And if I were pegged
even before I shone, I could be ash without a song." He caught Kri-estaul's
glassy-eyed look. "I mean, if I were recognized before I got to the right
person, I would be dead before I could say anything of what I saw."
     "Have you been fed adequately?"
     Ierowen grinned. "Your Empress is one royal treasure! Scary. She made
sure I didn't hurt anything, eating. Said after a week of nothing, not to
try too much at once. I sure wanted to, though."
     "I named her aptly."
     "But she's not scary!" Kri protested.
     "Not that kind of scary... Like impressive. Overwhelming. She is a
'caution,' as she says. Though I'm not sure what a 'caution' is."
     Evendal nodded to Aldul. "How do you know of Kh'anderif?"
     "All Temple officers know of that place, Lord."
     "All? Do you mean not just the Temple priests in Osedys?"
     "Yes, Your Majesty. All. It is one of a small number of mysteries we
are expected to remain alert to. What you and Ierowen experienced is a
familiar tale."
     "Do you know its cause?"
     "If we did, it would no longer be a mystery, Lord."
     "So, you are familiar with our antecedent, Surn-meddil?"
     Aldul's expression changed from calmly content, to alert and
wary. "No, my lord. I have seen the name in your family lineage, but that
is all."
     "A man who died in Kh'anderif. He fell from Hrioskunra."
     Aldul looked confused. "From what?"
     "What do you know of Kh'anderif?"
     "I know its general size, its springs and their locations. I know that
no one, aside from someone of the royal house, has ever walked through the
forest sane. I know that often its trees will act out of season. So that
one would see summer blossoms in winter, or winter barrenness that lasts a
year and a half. Supposedly, the sun sets and rises at different directions
as well."
     Evendal said no more about Kh'anderif or Surn-meddil, feeling that, as
it was not - strictly speaking - his secret, it was not for him to
enlighten his friend. "There is very little else I can think of to do,
right now. I've changed my mind about the Guard gathering. Bruddbana,
assemble all that you can. Tonight. Give out, eventually, that it is for a
surprise march on Kernost, or some such."
     Bruddbana nodded. Ierwbae asked. "And what of Heamon? Why enlist the
Cinqet's help, and then decide that the Guard attack?"
     "Both may serve a need." Evendal would not elaborate. "Later. I
anticipate a visit from Heamon within the next few bells."
     Heamon met with Evendal and Kri-estaul at the third bell of
night. Heamon's arrival did not disturb the Prince's slumber. The liaison's
normally pale colouring had faded to ashen with exhaustion and
distress. "The Old Man is... eager to join the fray. He pledges that what
pouch-pickers you need are yours at a word. You never even hinted that you
knew him!"
     "I did not know." Evendal whispered. Kri-estaul slept in his father's
lap.
     Heamon cast a jaundiced eye at his monarch, thinking him glib and
simply wanting the final word. "So. What now?"
     "Now?" Evendal repeated. "Now We go and pay a visit on an older
friend, whom We actually do remember. And unless you have other work to
accomplish, you would do well to go with Us."
     "I fear I do have other work. As I suspect you will want to move
soonest, I must gather the unfortunates who will be helping you."
     "Should they be proficient, they will return unscathed. Very well, you
have Our leave. And you have four, maybe five bells."
     "What?" Heamon glared at Evendal. "Tonight? I thought you wanted them
for later."
     "No. Assemble those who will answer to you in four bells, five at the
most, at the southernmost point that the Tagowlog beri(35) touches the
Kh'anderif. Along with as many shovels as you can 'find'. The greater the
number of 'talented' web-fingered you enlist, the sooner they can go home."
     "As the King has said." Heamon replied, ambiguous as to which king he
referred to.
     "Emissary Heamon, believe it or not, a King rules and survives by
trust. Until later, good Heamon." He dismissed the temperamental envoy,
then turned to one of his ubiquitous shadows. "Falrija, thank you for your
report. Do you know anyone who could manage some footwear for Ierowen? We
are going with him on a walk outside. Also, some protection inside the
Palace for Metthendoenn, as he will be my proxy." The Guard
nodded. "Henhyroc? Fancy a return to that ænigma tonight?"
     "Nothing would give me less pleasure. Whom shall we leave the child
with?"
     "No one. He comes with us."
     That answer pleased Kri-estaul and disturbed the Guard. "Is that wise,
my lord? Not wanting to impugn your good sense, but that place is dread and
uncanny."
     "Uncanny, yes. Dread? It depends. Besides, he is likely to be safer
there than either of us."

     Night holds it own strengths, a character or modus operandi that is
not merely the contrary of day. Night grants not just the cloak of mystery
it puts on those objects that day renders common or harmless, but gilds an
import or solidity by torchlight that cannot be imitated, imbuing
significance on whatever gets illumined. This can also accentuate the
anxieties of those uninitiated to its' wonders. Ierowen's head swung about
like a weathercock, his apprehension etched sharper than the veins on
leaves.
     The King crunched calmly beside the youth through occasional old
tree-litter, a diminutive Kri-estaul snuggled on his back in a
sling. Kri-estaul fought the effects of his potion and the lateness of the
hour, wriggling wide-eyed at all that he could see when people weren't
blinding him with torches. Utter darkness and he had a closer acquaintance
than anyone else in their train could claim, but night outside held
wonder. The winter cold passed through him with the random breezes, but the
hints of an almost unnatural landscape kept him from hiding completely
inside his Papa's cloak. The play of shadow and the accentuated texture to
tree-trunks and branches, teased his eyes. Sounds he had never heard in the
under-grounds, of creatures he could only guess at, worried him in a
delicious way, from the emotional distance provided by Evendal's
nearness. But most amazing of all, the awesome and fearsome expanse above
him.
     Evendal loved this forest. More than any place in the Thronelands,
with the possible exception of the cliffs far to the north, the Forest
Kh'anderif energized him, called to him even as a child. He dimly recalled
being the despair of Wytthenroeg and fury of Menam; they would turn the
Palace upside down looking for him, hoping he had not gone where they well
knew he had gone. For whenever he got the notion to invade the Forest, it
was as if he had utterly disappeared; neither His Majesty, nor the few
Guard he could bully into searching, could ever find him.
     "Ierowen. Henhyroc." Evendal called. The Guard and the silk-snatcher
stopped abruptly. "Relax. What you fear, you may summon. Desist. This is,
perhaps, the safest spot in the Thronelands, right now. And I would not
bring you here were it otherwise."
     "Are we going to see your ancestor?" Kri asked.
     "Our ancestor," Evendal corrected. "And, yes, I suspect so."
     "Is that why we are headed for the tower?"
     Evendal wondered how the child knew where they were going in the
darkness. "For want of a better idea, yes."
     "Papa, can we stop over there?" Kri-estaul indicated a place where a
large root undulated above ground in three man-sized humps before
submerging.
     "Why? Are you needing to piss?"
     "No!" Kri responded indignantly. "I thought it might save time."
     "Save time, how?"
     "Well, since he's been escorting us since we left the Palace yard, and
he's the reason we are here, I figured we didn't need to go any further."
     Evendal stopped, twisted his head to peer at his son, who pointed to
their left. The King looked where indicated, sensing nothing but a
prickling along his neck. He bowed. "Father of my fathers, Uaestrho(36)
Surn-meddil. How can I see you?"
     Kri-estaul tugged on his father's ear. "Well?"
     "What? Did he say something?"
     "Oh. I can see him better than I can hear him. But he said to follow
him. Without the Guard, for some privacy." Kri pointed again.
     Evendal suspected 'without the Guard' to be Kri-estaul's addition, but
he nodded, not surprised. "Gentlefolk, if you will pardon me for a
moment..."
     "Lord, it may be a trap." Henhyroc protested.
     "See you aught?"
     "No, my lord. Naught but this unseasonal green." The company had
walked into the Forest in its summer foliage.
     "Then any malice intended could have been accomplished without my
isolation. Bear with Our humours awhile." The King handed his torch to
Ierowen.
     Evendal and Kri-estaul stalked off to the left at a deliberate
pace. Totally oblivious to anything else, Kri-estaul stared upward at the
spillage of brilliance that was that night's sky. Once out of view, Evendal
halted, to adjust further to sight under starshine. He took another step
and felt a stomach-tightening moment of dizziness. The world went black for
the space of three breaths, and then reappeared.
     Directly in their path stood a willow, river-less, three arm-lengths
wide, with a deep concavity growing naturally in its trunk. Nestled in the
tree's hollow, short and lean of frame, a black-haired man looking to have
forty years smiled upon their slow approach. The fellow's clothes mimicked
the same colour, shade and texture as the bark of the tree cradling him.
     "Greetings, children of my children. What brings you to deliberately
accost me?"
     "You are Surn-meddil." Evendal intended a question; it did not come
out that way.
     "I had that designation once." The man sounded unhappy at the name,
shy. He looked at Kri-estaul, then glanced away as if burned. "I could tell
you who you were, also, if you wish." This was clearly directed at the
child, who looked back in bafflement. Surn-meddil sighed. "I suspected that
such was not why you troubled me."
     "It is not. We have come to both warn and petition you."
     "Oh, you mean to advise me of the rabble east of here? That pathetic
crowd of future compost?"
     "They mean to dance through Kh'anderif, on their way to the Palace."
Evendal warned.
     Surn-meddil's nostrils flared. "That I was not aware of. Not
wise. What kind of fools are these?"
     "Near as I have gathered, detritus from Arkedda, and leavings from
nine years past."
     "Your foster-mother?"
     Evendal felt a flush to his face. "Did everyone know but me? Yes."
     "She was heedless enough to ride through here when she first came to
Osedys. Had your luckless sire not escorted her, I would have given her a
memorable last league to her journey. Her nature budded out of her even
then." Surn-meddil paused, then asked. "One of those from out of their camp
is among your company. Why do you countenance it?" Surnmeddil stepped from
the tree.
     Evendal shook his head. "No. He is simply a former slave from
Donnath-luin, who tried to lift an item or two from their camp, saw what
was toward, and escaped to inform me."
     Surn-meddil smiled. Teeth of polished quartz-stone twinkled, even in
the absence of moonlight. "Oh, one of my dear ones, eh?"
     "He certainly seems a quick one. Yes."
     "I will ask again... What brings you to me? I know many things. What I
can do. What needs to be done. But, you clearly know these things as well."
     "To warn you, as I have done. And to see what you might intend. If you
wanted to deal with them, or should I."
     The dead man looked at Evendal with amusement clear on his face. "And
how would you help? With equal numbers of my citizenry? Sacrifice the
people you would be protecting?"
     "No. I would use the Clan to confound, only."
     "Then how?"
     Evendal smiled. "With song and sabotage."
     Surn-meddil said nothing for a cricket-silent moment. "Ah, I almost
understand, since we are indeed kin."
     Evendal did not think the specter referred to his lineage. "How so?"
     "I am a will. A force like unto Nature. A reason and a purpose. The
abiding... drive of my life matched an 'niche,' an emerging need not yet
personalized at the time." The revenant shrugged. "But I am reactive,
incapable of initiative. I respond when confronted or challenged by
whatever I deem a violation. You are the opposite. You are active, not
merely reactive."
     The man nodded, then shrugged again. "Any individuals you wish for
your own satisfaction?"
     "None that will be there."
     "I understand. You know she will persist."
     "Yes. She is foolish enough."
     Surn-meddil eyed Evendal warily. "Do not ask me to intervene with
her. Arkedda is too far beyond my demesne."
     "No," Evendal replied. "She is my responsibility. As Left Hand of the
Unalterable."
     "Rocks and Thunder! I haven't heard that honorific since I fell. Do
you even know what you invoke, boy?"
     Grimfaced, Evendal took a deep breath.

        As the wheel of Fortune does turn,
        And as mine eyes do burn,
        Let the plan to murder my mentor old,
        Rebound on the planner eleven-fold.

     "You do know," Surn-meddil concluded with a heavy tone, as to someone
struggling with a dreadful burden. "Down to the appropriate number to
invoke for consequences here."
     The past and present of Osedys stared quietly at each other, not
assessing, not defiant, merely comprehending a perverse moment of peace in
each other's presence. Here were two entities well familiar with true
authority and its demands, its necessities: Watchfulness, discernment,
purpose and compassion.
     "I use to imagine I was you." Evendal confessed. "When I was a child,
I wanted to be as strong-minded as you were. Are. And loved as you had
been."
     "The people did not always love me. You cannot want that, you are not
so dumb."
     The King shook his head. "I don't mean loved by your people." For some
reason Evendal suddenly felt awkward, wishing he had not revealed his
fantasy.
     "Oh," Surn-meddil faded briefly. "Yes, Ganil. I avenged that."
     "Avenged?" Evendal looked startled. "What do you mean? All our
writings... What my teacher found stated that you... threw yourself off the
tower when you learned how he had been killed by Forest-dwellers."
     Surn-meddil actually laughed. It started out as a huff, like Aldul
had, then graduated into a high lighthearted cackle.
     "What romantic nonsense! Oh, my! No, good cousin, I fell. I simply
fell, tear-blinded. Purely unintentional. And my friends would never have
harmed a hair on Ganil's head. When I received word that Forest-dweller
weapons had felled him, I knew that in truth the Forest-dwellers were
guiltless. The faction in Osedys that did not want peace with the
Forest-dwellers, that wanted more land for their second and third-born, had
ambushed my belovèd and killed him deliberately."
     Something in the timbre of the voice, or perhaps in the words
themselves, sent a chill down Evendal's back. He felt the truth in
Surn-meddil's recounting, and his throat swelled shut in pain and loss. He
could almost see a body, arrow-riddled and blood-flecked, crumpled beneath
him in his mind. An upsurge of denial that a familiar and comforting touch
would never be felt again.
     "I knew my belovéd's killers, sought them out after I fell."
Surn-meddil's voice turned corpse-cold. "I gave them no more mercy than
they showed my general, my heart. Their head-weasel died very publicly and
very disgracefully. A great mystery in its time. Well forgotten now."
     Evendal said nothing for a long time, feeling dizzy and
muddle-headed. Surn-meddil's fury, centuries old, remained unalloyed, fed
by his grief and solitude. If he did not suspect the gesture would seem an
impertinence, Evendal felt ready to hold the dead man, to offer what
comfort he could. He chose to divert with an irrelevancy.
     "My old teacher would love to be here. She would be sitting under your
tree, listening and bombarding you with questions for days."
     "You mean Wytthenroeg?"
     Evendal froze, nonplussed. The willow had disappeared, in a blink of
his eyes.
     "Oh, I know of her. She went hunting for you in my tower twice,
remember? Because of that, I've been able to mark her and keep a watch on
her. You surely don't think you arrived at her doorstep at that so
opportune moment without help? I had a damnably difficult time coming up
with ways to botch that twisted tart's efforts at an effusion. Causing
different mishaps and delays until you got off your bum and finally
arrived!"
     Surn-meddil made a great show of looking around Evendal's shoulder,
and waved his arm in a broad inclusive motion. "Come ahead. Don't
loiter. As you can see I haven't eaten your King. Yet."
     Henhyroc, Ierowen, and the King's two body-Guard stepped out from the
encircling shadows. "Henhyroc, Bruálta, Ierwbae, Ierowen. I present you
to Surn-meddil, my many father's past ancestor, former ruler of what became
the Thronelands."
     "Greetings, wholeness be yours'." The dead man turned back to
Evendal. "I will leave the disposition of the rabble to you. Should any
escape, they are mine to plant. And that is not a poetic phrase."
     "Would Wytthenroeg be welcome here?"
     "Most warmly, as would you and Ierowen." And your mean little brat of
a son!" Surn-meddil stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. Kri-estaul
tried to do the same.
     "Ierwbae," Surn-meddil called. The Guard looked up to see a grim,
frowning expression on the dead man. "I... I envy you, a little. I also
wish you and your belovèd well. But I cannot welcome you to return here;
it unearths too many regrets and longings. Forgive me, for I otherwise
would."
     "It has been...how many years?" Evendal asked.
     Surn-meddil shrugged. "Close to a thousand, perhaps. I do not count
them anymore."
     Before Evendal thought through the question, it came out of his
mouth. "And there has been no one... else?"
     The dead man scowled. "How could there be? When I said that Ganil was
my heart, I was not spouting mush! I stated fact. After the deaths of my
enemies, I... slept for several centuries. Doing nothing more than securing
my home." His arms swept around to indicate the forest. "This I did
ruthlessly and thoroughly. I could have given lessons to your two
predecessors. What did I care for people, for traitorous, guileful sheep?
It was only when I found that Ganil had not gone utterly, but had returned
somehow, that I willed to be more than some ruthless fury."
     Ierwbae interjected. "Lord Surn-meddil, forgive His Majesty, he means
no insult. Am I correct?"
     "Certainly I did not. Father of my fathers. I... Your words make me
feel odd. Unsettled."
     The dead ruler frowned at Evendal. "Say more."
     "Emotions surge. Pain. Mourning the loss of comfort. His
touch. Missing a familiar gesture. Like... the person who always tugs on a
lock of your hair to pull you into a kiss. Like an ache in the throat. But
overwhelming. Not... hypothetical. These are not reactions I sought to pull
out or evoke!" Evendal felt presumptuous, encroaching on a love, and a
loss, that had attained an almost hallowed status in his own mind.
     "No," Surn-meddil responded, expressionless. "Not hypothetical at
all. And I may have been mistaken."
     "About what?"
     "That is of no immediate concern, youngling. So what do you intend
this night? For its obvious you are not out at this bell of the night just
to consult with the trees."
     "That is where you are wrong. You are Kh'anderif, essentially,
correct?"
     "No, and yes. I guard and limit the forest. When I am able, I likewise
guard the City against external threats or dangers. But the circumstances
which allow me to oversee the City are rare."
     "So, were I to gather some from the King's Quarter in the forest, in
order to acquire some weaponry...?"
     "From my forest?"
     "From the camp." Evendal explained.
     The dead man grinned.

-------------------------------------------

(27) A fee taken by the bailiffs or judges, for every prisoner who is
acquitted.
(28) The loose scattered ears of corn that are left on the ground after the
binding. Commonly free for the taking.
(29) Woodlands turned into tillage by uprooting the trees and removing the
underwood.
(30) A toll formerly levied for repairing or building public walls.
(31) A tax anciently paid by merchants, etc., for leave to show or expose
their goods for sale in markets.
(32) A customary duty or toll for weighing wool; so called because it was
weighed by a common trona, or beam.
(33) The custom or duty paid for skins of leather.
(34) Roughly 30 feet away.
(35) beri - wadi, seasonal riverbed.
(36) Uæstrho - (waist-row) Elder, patriarch of his gens.