Date: Sat, 20 Sep 2003 10:12:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kris Gibbons <bookwyrm6@yahoo.com>
Subject: SongSpell-20

This story is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of violent
behavior between adults, references to violent behaviour between adults and
children, and expressions of physical affection between consenting
adults. 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 and uncanny.

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 do not know how well-received these chapters are. The only clues I get
are emails from readers. Like the story? Hate it? Have liked it since its
emergence? Feel it is getting too violent? Not enough Conanism to suit? Let
me know.  I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com

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


                  20 Prey On Garbage

                  But virtue, as it never will be moved,
                  Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
                  So lust, though to a radiant angel linked,
                  Will sate itself in a celestial bed
                  And prey on garbage.
                                Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5, line 54ff.


     The King had forgotten one quality of Kh'anderif - the mutable seasons
- the warmth of the season that currently prevailed within Surn-meddil's
domain. When he got back to the Palace both he and his entourage shook like
jellyfish from the cold. Evendal suppressed his first reaction, which was
to complain and curse. The decision to walk had been his, but he didn't
dare touch his sword, for fear his hand would stick. "Brualta, take your
companions to Master Fillowyn, at the completion of your duties, to reclaim
an orikas(57) each."
     The woman started. "To what do we owe such a kindness, Your Majesty?"
     "I tend to forget that when I decide for myself, I am not deciding
just for myself." He did not invite further inquiry. True to his word,
Evendal made directly for his apartments.
     Bruddbana's enervated bulk fidgeted at the door. "Your Majesty,"
     "Commander," Evendal greeted, gratified when the man neglected to
kneel for once. "How fares Metthendoenn?"
     "That is a question yet to be answered. I would like a half a bell
alone with the one who did that to him."
     "Yes. So would Ierwbae, I'd suppose. You were aware of when Ierwbae
rendered you sole custode of the Palace, were you not?"
     "Yes, Your Majesty."
     "Then for what did Mar-Depalai come to Us so vexed on the question of
authority?"
     "Someone insisted they had seen Metthendoenn returned to the Palace,
and presumed his authority restored."
     Evendal shook his head. "A fortunate mistake, for his sake and ours."
     "I hope so, Your Majesty." Evendal charged himself to remember that
Bruddbana's formality increased with his anxiety.
     "Tell me, Commander, is Henhyroc available?"
     Bruddbana nodded. "She awaits your judgement."
     Evendal halted his slow step into his rooms and glared at the Guard
Captain. Then he recalled Falrija's assessment of her husband. "Our
judgement? Our judgement is that she be released and acclaimed with every
sign of approbation you can express."
     "My lord?"
     Evendal ald'Menam sighed. "Bring her before us. And Bruddbana..."
     "Yes, my lord?"
     "Do not be alarmed if it is reported to you that Nisakh has
disappeared. He is no longer our concern."
     The Guardsman did not move. "Am I your Commander of the Guard?"
Bruddbana demanded.
     "You know you are."
     "Much that passes here involves creatures and mysteries I have no
stomach for, nor understanding of. But as the one charged with your safety
and weal, I warrant more intelligence than that."
     Evendal continued to stare at his Guard. "Bruddbana, if We were to ask
you to go down and garrote Nisakh, what would you?"
     Bruddbana frowned, thinking the answer obvious. "I would go
under-ground and garrote Nisakh. Accompanied by witnesses, of course. Do
you wish this?"
     Evendal said nothing, sorely tempted, though he had given his
word. "No. But you know I trust you, my first friend in the city. I trust
you quietly, knowing you abhor display. And I confide in you what I feel
you can endure." Without announcement or warning, Bruddbana had two
companions.
     "Papa!" Kri-estaul exclaimed, grinning sleepily.
     "Your Majesty," Surn-meddil smirked and bowed, though Kri-estaul
remained motionless, seemingly suspended on the aether. Evendal swallowed
the shout of surprise in his throat.
     Bruddbana had pivoted about, hand pulling his sword out before he
checked his movement. "What? How? Who are you?"
     Feeling his head ache at the temples, Evendal interceded. "Surn-meddil
Father of Our Fathers, late Lord of the Thronelands, I present Bruddbana,
Commander of the King's Guard."
     Surn-meddil inclined his head. "Not a task I would envy." The spectre
commented. "Your Majesty, I would ask a privilege."
     "Ask, Father of Our Fathers."
     "Leave to visit with Kri-estaul as I will."
     Caught unprepared, Evendal started to grant the request out of blithe
goodwill. He stopped himself before the first word formed on his lips and
stared at the phenomenon of his ancestor. "Bruddbana, if you would do as We
asked, and escort her to Us?"
     The Guard Commander bowed and left. Evendal glanced at the Guard
remaining with him and made a sweeping motion with one hand. Obliging, his
attendants stepped several feet away, blocking both ends of the
corridor. Satisfied with the illusion of privacy, Evendal ald'Menam turned
back to the spectre safeguarding his son.
     "Wherefore?" The question came out harshly, abruptly. Evendal could
not admit why he baulked at the request, only his suspicion that mere
neighborliness or compassion was not the revenant's motivation.
     "I need not justify my whims to an absurd pun of dust." Surn-meddil
snarled.
     Evendal, hearing confirmation of his misgiving, felt a calm settle
inside. "Yes. You do. At least to this one."
     The King looked from Kri-estaul's pale and vaguely troubled face to
Surn-meddil's mask-like youthful countenance. Both stared back expectantly,
and Evendal m'Alismogh said, without consideration. "He as yet has only
eight years, ancient. Would you add to his turmoil?" And though he had
never seen such a thing himself, Evendal realised what the tableau
suggested: A proud youngling asking a parent for permission to court.
     To Evendal's added surprise, Surn-meddil lowered his head, his
shoulders sagged, and the voice he projected held the gruffness and
thickened timbre of sorrow. "You. You are right to remind me. Very well."
The spectre of Evendal's ancestor suddenly looked old, tired and his
substance diminished. "But when six years have passed and he's an adult?
What then?"
     And a chill that had nothing to do with winter crept along Evendal's
bones. He stared at a creature for whom centuries meant little, one capable
of cultivating long-standing grudges and obsessions. "He will yet remain
under my eye and hand! Why are you so eager for my son?"
     Surn-meddil's semblance opened its mouth twice. And twice it shut its
mouth in silence. Then the ancient commander of armies and courtier of
courtiers gazed with troubled, anguished features down at the wide-eyed boy
in his care.
     "He is Ganil returned." Surn-meddil whispered, as though admitting to
leprosy.
     Evendal blinked. He drew a breath, hard, deep into his lungs. The
chatter in his apartments only registered as a buzz, irrelevant and not
imposing on his awareness except as a peripheral annoyance. He glanced
about. The Guard still stood, two down one corridor direction, two now down
the other direction, facing away. Surn-meddil, still seeming old and tired,
still kept the illusion of physically holding a puzzled-looking Kri-estaul
in his arms.
     And the King knew that his forefather spoke true.
     Once more, Evendal's mouth leapt in advance of his mind. "When I am
not at his side, you may not be a tangible presence to him. No sub rosa
meetings. No advancing of your cause, until I myself grant you leave,
several years from now. No abductions, no spiriting him away, unless he is
in mortal danger. No troubling his sleep. Can you honour these limits? I
may add others as events unfold."
     Surn-meddil, in his turn, stared at his descendant in disbelief. "You
don't fear...? I will accept whatever I must. Its only a few years time."
     Which goaded Evendal to ask. "But so will his life be. A few dozen
years, then his body given to the fires, and you alone again. The thought
seems so cruel for you, Father of Our Fathers."
     Surn-meddil shook his head. "I do not know how it is that he is
returned to me. It is a gift I had little hope of for centuries. Those few
years will be more full than the years since my death have been. And I
know..." He saw Evendal open his mouth to protest further, and forestalled
it. "I know he may never recall what we were. I do not have every answer,
Evendal! I only know that he is, here, and I have been in a turmoil since I
suspected."
     "Please don't fight!" Kri-estaul insisted, weakly.
     "I would never give you, either of you, cause to fear me, younglings."
     "In life, you were a man of honour." Evendal assured him. "In death,
you cannot help but be the same."
     "Father of Our Fathers," Evendal declaimed, not grinning but not
somber. "You imparted your news as though I would disapprove or
retaliate. It is a tiding you had no control over. And one that is cause
for joy, surely."
     "You were talking about me." Kri-estaul murmured. "What were you
saying?"
     "I was simply letting your Papa know how special a boy you are to me."
     "Let me see what is toward, then we can settle you back into bed,
Kri." So saying, Evendal walked through the doorway.
     "Papa!" he heard behind him, and forced himself forward.
     Surn-meddil interceded. "Rest easy, child. Do I scare you now?"
     "No."
     "Can you not trust me like you did before? With your father just
beyond this doorway? I know I may seem strange and scary. I am sorry. I
would change that if I could." Evendal m'Alismogh comprehended a world of
painful truth in the spectre's last declaration.
     "You're silly."
     "I strive to be." And the King grinned. While Kri-estaul meant
'humourously nonsensical', Surn-meddil - perhaps unintentionally - played
on the word's older definition of 'good.'

     Evendal's rooms were busy. Metthendoenn sat in a chair, his midsection
covered by a towel. A thick poultice and cloth wrap adorned each forearm,
thigh, and his chest and neck. Ierwbae sat cross-legged on the floor at his
man's side, hiding his face in the crook of Metthendoenn's knee. Behind and
on either side of Metthendoenn stood the two Guard Sygkorrin had left the
forest with. The High Priestess sat on another chair facing the young
patient, applying some viscous mucilage to the unfortunate's face. The room
was now accoutered much as the apartment in the Archate had been; a long
narrow table had been placed against the windowed wall opposite the door,
and a third chair in the right corner near the entrance. The jakes-closet,
which had been a small wooden partitioning, now encroached on the space in
both this domicile and the one beyond the right wall from the entrance;
with a functional hearth and venting to the outside, all in stone: A gift
from Jaserle of the Rosette and the efforts of the penitent Stone-wrights.
     "Our thanks for your attention, Your Eminence. How fares our brother?"
     Metthendoenn lifted his head, an obvious effort, and took a
breath. Evendal quickly shook his head and mimed for silence, and the Guard
subsided. Evendal wanted to cry, to scream until his throat burned, to
punch some sense into Ierwbae and some remorse into Emmriab. He wanted to
turn back the tides of the day, so that Robiliam's deferred vengeance never
happened; an impossibility. Under the watchful eyes in the room, the King
did not indulge in the hysterics he forbade Ierwbae, but waited on an
answer, the image of patience and calm.
     "Both good and bad that Emmriab did not know what she was
attempting. She missed major arterial flows and did not know that most
victims of this style of murder are force-fed vein dilating syrups."
Sygkorrin declined her head. "I but awaited your return, that he might
either receive a bed to rest on here or be helped to the Temple."
     The King nodded. "Which would you, Metthendoenn?"
     Ierwbae, who had been quietly stroking the unscathed section of limb
closest to him, abruptly stilled. He then forced himself to continue, so as
not to draw attention to himself and coerce his partner. The pause had been
sufficient, however. For a moment, a shocked and befuddled Evendal thought
Metthendoenn to be laughing. Until the Guard struggled to stand, to escape
his chair, the poultices, and the company around him, and Evendal
understood. As he vacillated, uncertain where he could safely touch his
friend to restrain him, Evendal looked down at Ierwbae and barked.
     "Talk to him. Tell him."
     "Tell him what?" Ierwbae demanded, anxious.
     Quickly exhausted by the pitiful opposition to his effort to stand,
Metthendoenn collapsed back into his chair. Tears mixed soundlessly with
the mucilage. Evendal ald'Menam brought Metthendoenn's face up with a touch
to his unscarred forehead. "Forgive me, 'Doenn, for being brutal here." And
Metthendoenn nodded.
     "Ierwbae, your occasional infidelities will soon be heralded all over
the Palace. It does not matter how discrete we four are, it will become
common knowledge. People will now see you as available provided they have
what attracts you. Do you want to remain by Metthendoenn's side? Or do you
want him sequestered, leaving you free for a time?"
     The Guard, to his credit, looked confused and furious. "What? What is
this nonsense?"
     "Refute what I say. You know you cannot. Metthendoenn wants what will
give him the least pain. But right now he does not know what that is,
because he does not know, or trust, what you truly want." Metthendoenn
moved to grasp Evendal's hand, but Sygkorrin was there to abort the
medically risky gesture.
     "What I want? I will say it and mean it until I go to the
fires. Metthendoenn. I want Metthendoenn."
     Upset, the younger Guard shook his head forcefully, inciting a tired
Sygkorrin to shout. "Stop! Take a breath, young man. Another. Relax as much
as you can. Let your kinsman speak for you. He has been doing well so far."
     Slowly, making sure the Priestess knew what he intended, Metthendoenn
lifted an arm and, fingers spread, raked his hand in a downward movement in
front of his face. He then patted his chest, lightly. Then, carefully
making a loose fist with both hands, he gently pressed them against each
other repeatedly.
     Evendal nodded, and interpreted. "You say that now, in high emotion
and shame. But when you see what Emmriab has made of him, of his face, what
then? And he still feels such fury, such a struggle of doubt, anxiety, pain
and anger, that... you will get little from him but frustration. What
then?"
     "I don't know 'what then'! I only know that... Your Majesty once
referred to my cruelties as 'shallow feedings', and you were right. I know
that I want Metthendoenn, and only Metthendoenn, at my side or in my arms
henceforth for every day I breathe."
     Metthendoenn stared hard at Evendal, who responded. "Truth. And there
must be truth between you two. Every day. Constant and unforgiving."
     Ierwbae nodded, the first look of calm on his face since the day
commenced. "It is how we began."
     The younger Guard pointed downward. "As you will," Evendal
replied. "But for the moment, rest here. If it pleases you."
     A woman looking to have fifty years or more stood at the entry to the
rooms and waited. Her hair crimped at the neck, indicating she had recently
worn it in a ponytail or bound-up. Her shoulders were firm and broad, her
gaze direct, the creases at the corners of her lips quite pronounced,
betokening a grimness to her character. Her breasts, though evident, were
swathed securely as fighters often do. She stood in black livery, with blue
selvage and accenting.
     Evendal gestured to one of Metthendoenn's shadows. "Go to the next
apartment and retrieve a bare cot." The King shared gazes with the
invalid. "Provided you and Kri-estaul have no objection, I would have you
right at hand."
     Metthendoenn shook his head. Kri-estaul dozed.
     "I'll wait to ask him. Let him rest."
     It was only as the Guardsman exited to obey, that Evendal perceived
his visitor. The King turned to the doorway and inclined his head. The
woman strode to within ten feet of Osedys, then knelt with head bowed and
arms splayed out at her sides. "My lord."
     Evendal accepted the woman's need for a full obeisance, despite his
discomfort at the ritual. "Guard Henhyroc, you are welcome into Our
Presence. Arise and report."
     "I beg to report that I both succeeded and failed to protect the
property and honour of Your Most Sovereign Majesty. I succeeded in
circumventing a foolhardy plan at rebellion, instigated by the bitter
brother of a dead and dishonoured Guard. I failed to see that it was not
the only attack on your Name."
     Evendal shook his head in wonder at the series of euphemisms,
downplaying the woman's skill and effort. "As We understand it, you became
this fellow's confidante, deluding him that you had the willing ear of a
number of fellow-Guard. Am I correct?"
     "Yes, Your Majesty. He approached me, as I was the last Guard his
brother had served with, and had been Plw-radch's weapons tutor. He
presumed a camaraderie that we had never had. I did not disabuse him of
that notion, nor of other fancies he conceived. His talk was more
of... civil unrest, of disruptive tactics and petty destructive acts than
of deliberate focused rebellion. Stealing from the Royal
Thesaurus. Ransacking the Palace Records and destroying grants and
fee(58)-records. Ransoming the daughters and sons of Manourlords. Each
visit evoked a different plot. Much of it nonsense."
     "Why did you suffer that fool in the beginning?" Evendal asked.
     "At first to see who he would attract, then to keep a weather-eye on
him. Better to let him complain loudly, and know what he is about, than
plot quietly and be unpleasantly surprised."
     Henhyroc hesitated. "Your Majesty, in the common way of things, I
would laugh at such a man and vow not to frequent that taverna again. But
Hielan-Plwa spoke most cogently when he spoke of his... hate(59) for
Metthendoenn, his suspicions of Ierwbae - and so his hate for him as
well. His voice held none of his usual bombast or hyperbole when he spoke
of his desires for them. He worried me."
     "And then he introduced me to Emmriab, and I knew that face. She
goaded him, and cajoled him into an uprising of the Guard. The idea did not
sit well with him at first. He thought, rightly, that since no Guard had
sought to track Plw-radch's mysterious killer, those Guard yet living had
hated his brother. That he would find no common cause with any of the
Guard."
     "I enlisted the aid of a Guard I knew and trusted, Kinmeln, and
convinced both Emmriab and Hielan-Plwa that he and I together represented
several others who did not want to be publicly associated with his
insurrection until they absolutely had to act. When the time came, neither
of us was as prepared as we thought we would be. Hielan-Plwa had never said
so, but we assumed he would assault Bruddbana first, as your Commander of
the Guard and a man who vocally abhorred Plw-radch. Hielan-Plwa came to me
this morning! And told me that Emmriab wanted the discontented Guard to
attack their counterparts in the Palace at the midday bell. Not a word of
what she intended, not a word of why or what it would serve."
     "I have no talent for conspiracy, Your Majesty. Forgive me, if you
can, for failing so miserably. And I would ask Metthendoenn's grace, as
well, if you would convey it." For all Henhyroc's earlier informality on
Evendal's second day home, she felt too demoralised to presume. She dared
not address anyone else in the Royal Presence, except at the King's
direction.
     Sygkorrin had left the paste on Metthendoenn's face and then worked
over the young Guard's wrists, stitching with needle and thread like the
lady's maids Evendal used to see about during his father's days. The King
did not think on the incongruity of the Eminence of the Archate setting
wounds for a common Guardsman. Neither did the Eminence.
     Evendal declined his head. "Had you not convinced this dastard of
Guard support, he would doubtless have turned to the commoners and
discontented surrounding him in the taverns for his legions. And if We had
to put them down, We would have had civic distrust or mob rage."
     The hulking Bruddbana, waiting at the threshold, nodded. He then got
out of the path of the Guard retrieving the second bed.
     "The ferret-spawn handed me these rags and insisted Kinmeln and I wear
them. As marks of our 'new allegiance'. He had black baldrics for the
other, fanciful, Guard that we had supposedly persuaded to his 'cause'. I
went to Kinmeln, charged him to shadow Emmriab. Then I went to Bruddbana,
after being certain Hielan-Plwa did not trail me, and alerted him. He
informed me that Ierwbae had taken Metthendoenn to the Temple, so I thought
him safe. I did not think to enquire as to the cause of his move, or to
think it would be momentary. Now I fear for Kinmeln."
     "Yes, We can see why you would." Evendal remarked, then called
out. "If you would commence a search, Bruddbana? Henhyroc, if you wish you
are free to join in the search." The stern-faced Guard bowed and retreated.
     Surn-meddil, who had abided quietly, spoke up. "Your Majesty, I would
decline your gift to me, if I may." Sygkorrin paused and looked up, curious
about this manifestation.
     "Emmriab and Nisakh?" Evendal clarified for himself. Kri-estaul
frowned in his sleep.
     "Aye, my child."
     "Wherefore?"
     "As the Warden of Kh'Anderif, with no accountability but to my own
unique estate, I would treat them to the ruthless compassion of the
forest. But as all that survives of Surn-meddil, beloved of Ganil
Adhinnon," The spectre glanced pointedly down at the trusting convalescent
sleeping in his hold. "I must resume traits that are more
human. Clemency. And forbearance. Moderation. And baggage like that."
     "Perhaps it is as well." Evendal proposed. "The Throne shall deal with
them. Even though you have the older claim."
     "What mean you?"
     "You cannot tell me that you never pledged vengeance against anyone
who would harm Ganil. Nisakh qualifies, whether Kri-estaul recalls your
pledge or not." Evendal pointed out.
     When the Guard stepped away, Surn-meddil lowered Kri-estaul onto the
larger bed. Sygkorrin and Ierwbae helped Metthendoenn to stand, so Evendal
took her chair to sit beside his son, between the two beds. Cautious,
Ierwbae guided Metthendoenn onto the second cot and made him as comfortable
as he could be made. The King watched, his heart twisted, not certain what
he felt, not sure what was best. Ierwbae dithered, afraid to cover his man
with the bed-linen at hand, but despairing of keeping him warm and so
rushing to add faggots to the hearth. He then scurried back to readjust the
coverlet. Ignoring the High Priestess still at his side, Metthendoenn
called out repeatedly. "Llera! Llera!(60)"
     "Ierwbae, desist. Please." Evendal demanded.
     Red-faced, Ierwbae stepped back from the cot and stood in furious
silence with hands clenched. Seemingly oblivious, Sygkorrin grabbed the
chair Metthendoenn had vacated, placed it beside the cot, and continued in
her care, suturing up a long slice in her patient's upper thigh near the
groin. Evendal, signaled by the Priestess's silence, took up the gauntlet.
     The King gazed about. Kri-estaul looked like a broken doll, so small
and pale in such a large bed. It took all his exhausted command to keep
from rushing down to the under-grounds to beat Nisakh into a sodden
mass. Surn-meddil stood on the far side of the large bed, all his attention
seemingly on Kri-estaul. Metthendoenn abed in a cot beside Kri-estaul's, a
motley of colours from cuts and bruising and fatigue; an intent Sygkorrin
and a frazzled Ierwbae attending, two Guard at post near the beds and other
Guard out in the hall. With an envious sigh the King noted that Kri-estaul
had already fallen asleep. Relieved, Evendal grabbed the chair he had been
using and gestured Ierwbae to join him in a corner distant from the
aggregate.
     After waving the two Guard to remain where they were, Evendal sat
again.
     "Kneel," he commanded, and pointed at his side. Trembling, Ierwbae
obeyed.
     Looking at the tension-wracked visage of the Guard awaiting his word,
Evendal felt like he was dealing with a second Kri-estaul; anxious and
confused and too vulnerable.
     "Do you know what you are?"
     Ierwbae nodded. "An idiot, and cruel and selfish..."
     "Enough!" Evendal barked. He had not intended to lose his temper; that
was not what was called for here. "Ierwbae, enough. Have you truly
forgotten? Did no one ever tell you?"
     "Have I forgotten what?"
     "Forgotten what you are?" When he got nothing but a look of utter
incomprehension, Evendal relented.
     He placed both hands on Ierwbae's shoulders. "Relax. Before you were
my Guard, you were yet my defender, just and honourable. Before you gave me
your pledge, you gave me your heart and a home. This is what you are:
honourable, caring, innocent in many ways, courageous and steadfast. You
are a man. You are my kinsman, then and now. You are such a man as I would
want ever at my back." He took a long breath. Seeing Ierwbae yet trembling,
Evendal, unthinking, shook him by the shoulders. "Do you remember now? You
are the man Bruddbana respects, the man I trust, and the man Metthendoenn
wants to trust - still - and loves."
     As Evendal had all but expected, Ierwbae lunged forward, wrapped his
arms about his King, and broke down. He thought on all that had passed for
this Guardsman. Years immersed in despair and the mindless frisson of
dancing on a blade's edge maneuvering between two despots. Nearly losing
his mate to treachery. Dealing with a new master of unknown temperament,
learning to trust this new Oathkeeper, then finding himself the pawn in a
brief but intense mind-game between his only blood-kin and his King and
brother. And three years hiding his failure at fidelity, harbouring the
corrosive secret of his hypocrisy. Three years excoriating himself with
every expression of contentment or trust from Metthendoenn, so that his
heart gradually grew numb.
     Aware only of the need, Evendal stroked the head shivering in his
lap. How well he knew that everyone had limits beyond which they could
hardly endure. He found himself murmuring gentle gibberish, such as he had
seen people spout at infants, and stopped himself. This was an adult
needing reassurance, not a child.
     "I love you, Ierwbae. Do not doubt that. Rely on it, rather. As I rely
on your love. You are my brother."
     "I can rely on Bruddbana to be the voice of the most cautious of those
citizens I serve, and look to him for the protection of my person and that
of my heir. He and his wife. I rely on Aldul, as on my calmer self, an
older brother I never had. I can rely on Heamon to oppose me, to be the
voice of the survivors of the interregnum. But I find that I depend on you
as well. Of adults, after Aldul, you have come closest to me. A
circumstance I did not anticipate."
     "Why?" Ierwbae burbled. "I am dense. Dull. A fail..."
     "Shhh." Evendal forgot that, in pain, no one is an adult.
     "I will say it again, and as many times as you need to hear it. I love
you, Ierwbae. Hence, I trust you to do the honourable
thing. I. Trust. You. Were you the densest oaf in the Thronelands, or the
most failure-wracked fool in my Court. Because you strive. You do not
relent. And where you don't understand me, you yet accept me. Have you any
idea how vital that is to a ruler? To a socially inept man such as myself?"
     "But you are not...!" Ierwbae began to protest, but Evendal gripped
his shoulder hard to quiet him.
     He placed both of his hands on the back of Ierwbae's head, to
punctuate his next plea. "No gentility between us, please, Ierwbae. I know
well who and how I am. And I tell you one of my vulnerabilities. As Left
Hand of the Unalterable, and as Lord Absolute of the oldest Hramal domain
in Kelotta. There are four words that, much like cattle, must share the
same field if I am to survive as a ruler, as an authority. Truth, Trust,
Honour, Honesty.(61)"
     "The honesty of my Guard must be pervasive,
Ierwbae. All-encompassing. You are not a sword-for-hire, whose actions
become irrelevant to me once you leave your assignment. While I cannot
plumb and scour the hearts of six hundred Guard every day of my rule, I
must do so for the Guard in my Presence and in my immediate care. Thus, my
intervention today."
     "One word of advice. In your grief and penitence, do not smother your
beloved. You will have a battle ahead of you in the days and months to
come, salt your passion away for that."
     Ierwbae lifted his head a little. His eyes showed more red than gray,
and the skin beneath them sagged darkly. "What? What do you mean? What
battle?"
     "The battle to convince Metthendoenn that it is not guilt keeping you
at his side. That it is not pity for his damaged looks. He will be
hard-pressed to believe you." The Songmaster's voice gentled, his pupils
widened, and Ierwbae guessed him to be absorbed in a memory. "He will act
differently for a time. He may seem fine and amiable, then suddenly turn
cold and stone-faced. This will go on for a little while, along with times
of seeming indifference and quicksilver moments of insecurity. You have
demolished the certainty he depends on, he may find himself seriously
doubting your love and commitment, and then hating himself for doubting."
     "Yet all this is but a season of anguish, which can pass readily
enough if allowed. You know where you belong. At my back and Metthendoenn's
side. So do we all know. And that is not changed by your failure. That has
not changed. And if, some time in the future, Metthendoenn needs reminding
of your renewed probity, I will be more than happy to provide. But
understand..."
     Here Evendal waited until Ierwbae understood he must straighten up in
his kneeling position and look, up, at his liege. The King's face turned
grim, his eyes brightened dangerously.
     "Understand that if I even suspect that you have taken advantage of
his uncertainty, to further 'indulge yourself', you will not have the means
to so indulge again."
     "Do you hear me?"
     Ierwbae nodded. "I hear you, my lord."
     "Then tell me what you have heard."
     "That you are my brother and my lord. That you stand ready to support
and preserve my honour as well as your own, even if it means my gelding or
death. That, as my lord and my older brother, you ensure the well-being of
both Metthendoenn and myself."
     With a shiver of relief, Evendal briefly closed his glowing
eyes. "Yes. You understand. Of course if anyone could understand, it would
be you."
     "First my father's sister, then myself... My family keeps distressing
you, Lord..."
     Evendal's eyes flew open. "We settled that! Do not make a ship out of
a cluster of kelp! You have someone else who needs your gentle presence
more than I." The King emphasized the descriptive.
     Ierwbae took Evendal's hands and, placing them together, kissed
them. The King, in turn, again gripped Ierwbae's shoulders and kissed his
forehead before letting him go. As though orchestrated, Sygkorrin stood and
moved from the chair that Ierwbae promptly sat down in. The High Priestess
approached Evendal.
     "Your Eminence?"
     "Provided my needlework endures, he will revive. The silver of his
scars will not show appreciably for many years. He was discovered soon
enough. His heart, however, and with it his will..."
     "Yes, I know. But any further intercession on Our part would weaken
them both. Comes a point when it's a matter for their own will and
intention. What they say to each other, what they don't, and what they
don't think to say or do." The King turned to other concerns.
     "Your Eminence, though We are now ensconced in the Palace, We would
yet request Our foster-mother abide in the Temple, under the same Rule as
Gwl-lethry enjoyed."
     The Priestess stared at Evendal, disbelief in her face and voice. "The
same? Did not what came to pass for Gwl-lethry inform you better?"
     "Excepting the Nikraan Advent, Our family has faced a serious threat
of saunkefin(62) but one time." Evendal reminded. "Do you know of when I
speak?"
     Sygkorrin nodded. "And she represents the same threat?"
     "She is to be aspersed." The King pointed out. "We did not decide on
that method out of spite." He shrugged. "You choose if you want her
communicating with your wards."
     "And she dwelt among us for how many years before Mausna?"
     Evendal considered. "Eighteen, I believe."
     The High Priestess had the sense to look horrified. "It is a wonder we
yet have a kingdom! It shall be as you have said, Your Majesty."
     "Our thanks, Your Eminence..."
     Without hesitation, Bruddbana strode in, encumbered with a
carcass. Henhyroc rushed in front of the hulking Guard, pulled a chair from
the corner nearest the door, and placed it by the foot of Kri-estaul's
bed. "Your Majesty! I would beg your indulgence!" In a move that made
Evendal's back ache in sympathy, Bruddbana knelt and lowered the body he
carted into the chair.
     "Your Majesty, I hope you will forgive my bringing this man to you
unsummoned..." The Guard that had returned with Sygkorrin moved to join
Bruddbana, until the Guard Commander waved them back.
     "Give over, Bruddbana! Let it rest! Priestess, if you would grant me
yet again the gift of your skills."
     Sygkorrin sighed heavily. "I will need more clean water, and
cloths. Then we will see." Bruddbana obliged.
     Evendal let his eyes assess the older Guard. Kinmeln wore that
antagonistic black and blue livery, Emmriab's tribute to her brother's
ambitions. Red streaked and flowed across the cloth from the wound at the
Guard's back, an unintended imitation of that brother's methods. He vaguely
recalled the Guard who treated with him over Onkira's mock-suicide
spectacle(63). A quiet man of probity.
     "Has he family?"
     "He had, my lord. A wife who disappeared five years ago." Henhyroc
offered. They both knew what her fate had been, under the duumvirate.
     "No children? Cousins?"
     Henhyroc looked at her king with the suggestion of a scowl. "Do you
seek kin to notify?"
     "No. Incentives to place before him that he might live."
     The Guard paused, too clearly surprised, and answered slowly. "I know
of none, my lord. No one."
     "We will let Her Eminence do what she can first." Evendal
temporised. "Where did you find him?"
     "Not far from where I presume you found Metthendoenn. You left enough
signs of your passing: two ditches, an outline of bloodied litter and
ravaged clothing. Two fish-gutters."
     "He was there! Just inside Kh'anderif?" Surn-meddil looked up from his
vigil and frowned. Evendal felt sick, thinking how they must have stood
near, unaware of his vassal's extremity. What good then, his 'gift'?
     "Aye. Gagged lest he call attention to himself."
     "Emmriab has been too busy. Forefather!"
     A small wiry figure appeared at Evendal's side, startling Henhyroc.
     "Peace, Henhyroc. Father of my Fathers, this Emmriab..."
     "Awaits your pleasure," Surn-meddil assured. His face seemed a child's
drawing again, only the most basic of features, utterly lacking
individuality or personality.
     "My displeasure, rather." Evendal but glanced at the spectre. "You
heard?"
     Surn-meddil nodded.
     "Our displeasure, then. Here. And now."
     Even as Emmriab appeared, red-cheeked and gasping in the warmer air of
the apartment, Evendal unsheathed his sword. "Henhyroc? A gag." After a
quick look around, the Guard found a rag and shoved it into Emmriab's
mouth, overcoming the restrained woman's dogged resistance by gripping her
nose and gouging her breasts.
     "Next one, forefather." Evendal ald'Menam bade. Surn-meddil grinned,
his eyes aglitter; a pewter drinking-horn appeared in one hand, such as
Evendal had only seen in old scroll illustrations.
     And Hielan-Plwa stood beside Emmriab. The man stood nearly as wide as
his height, with a pale and unlined face. m'Alismogh took a breath and
composed

        You shall not speak, you may not cry.
        Had you caused anyone to die,
        Just meet my blade, as I see fit,
        Let Justice be served, so be it(64).

     And with steady and unflinching step, Hielan-Plwa walked toward
Evendal. The King braced the hilt and held his sword slightly askew, so
that Hielan-Plwa skewered himself with a serious, but not mortal,
wound. The man's mouth opened, his lips quivered, as did his throat
muscles. Indeed, every muscle tensed, but the seditionist made no
sound. Evendal gestured, and Hielan-Plwa stepped back. Blood spread down
the corpulent man's mud-covered tunic. Denied the release of a scream,
Hielan-Plwa began to hyperventilate.
     Evendal surveyed the result of his song arrangement. The blood that
normally would have puddled never reached the floor, but Surn-meddil drank
deep of his horn-cup. Evendal knew Surn-meddil's act to be anagogical,
representational, as Kh'anderif claimed this man's blood. It still made his
stomach churn.
     The King braced himself once again, and gestured Hielan-Plwa
forward. Emmriab's eyes bulged out in terror as Hielan-Plwa again impaled
himself on Evendal's sword. The englamoured man's knees buckled briefly,
then he straightened and waited. "Henhyroc?"
     The Guardswoman stepped up dutifully.
     "When I finish him," Evendal whispered. "I shall need you to bear me
upright." And Evendal gestured Hielan-Plwa to step back, then thrust his
sword through the small intestine and upward. Soundless, Hielan-Plwa
trembled and shuddered throughout as Evendal m'Alismogh swiftly withdrew
his sodden blade.
     Lights went off like phosphorus and water behind Evendal's eyes, as a
large and deep-voiced viol played reckless notes at the base of his skull
and through his chest. 'I should have taken a deeper breath first,' Evendal
thought in passing, as someone's body cried out in both an all-encompassing
burning and an unslakable demand for air. Every nerve shouted out a demand
for relief, the flares of light diminished into pinpricks that somehow hurt
even worse. One might expect the pains of the body, sympathetic or not,
would rule under such an assault. Not so. The discordant, deep-toned notes
of the man's dying grabbed Evendal's heart and gut and mind, and sent him
on a moth's disorderly journey. Evendal felt in all verity that he was
being dragged upward into the air, pulled by reins gripping his chest, when
a stroke of the invisible instrumentation sent a trill of tones up the
scale. Similarly the descending tones tugged him down over nothingness,
with no breeze, no handrails or footholds with which to orient himself or
grant him even the pretense of control. This the reason he lost his meals
and soiled himself in Kh'anderif.
     Quick deaths were infinitely easier.
     He recognised the doorway several paces in front of him, and the
figures of Emmriab and Surn-meddil came into focus. Henhyroc helped keep
him upright, gripping his elbow. And Evendal found he could breathe
again. He looked down to see that he was using his uncannily clean sword as
a support, its tip scoring the floor. Surn-meddil yet had his drinking-horn
in his hand.
     "And thus is a fool taught." Evendal hissed. "Emmriab of Osedys, have
you learned wisdom? Can we rely on you to speak softly? And speak to the
point?" The woman nodded frantically. Evendal gestured for someone to
remove the gag. Surn-meddil obliged.
     "What would Your Majesty?"
     "You have made yourself very free of Our residence, Emmriab. You
manipulated this bit of Kh'anderif-compost into treasonous acts, simply to
avenge a cowardly and deceitful brother." The woman gathered breath to
speak, but Evendal waved his hand in negation. "Do not bother defending
him. He stabbed Metthendoenn in the back; there can be little doubt of his
character with such a defining moment. And this..." He indicated the
patient lying on the cot. "This is how you have chosen to be remembered. As
an obsessive, blood-drenched, self-deluded, schemer."
     "Look at Us, Emmriab." Evendal commanded. The woman, face pinched with
passion, obeyed, only to remain transfixed under the glowing gaze. "Who
inflicted the cuts to Metthendoenn?"
     "I did."
     "And Hielan-Plwa?"
     "Buggered him."
     Evendal spat on the corpse. "Which of you stabbed Kinmeln in the
back?"
     "I did. He thought Hielan-Plwa the only threat and myself grieving
over Metthendoenn's wounds, when first he came upon us."
     "We are not surprised. Who else has aided you?"
     "Uhult-helt thought me a destitute petitioner for Robiliam's pension,
and desperate for a man's attention and... protection. He let enough Guard
know that my persistent attendance at the Palace had his sanction."
     The name was unfamiliar to Evendal, who stored it away. "And who have
you helped?" The King could not have said why he asked, except the
suspicion of a mutual parasitism.
     "Mar-telohema wanted an item or two from the archive, without
becoming a victim of Siarwak's extortion. He knew of Uhult-helt's fable, so
I obliged him."
     "Thunders!" Evendal ald'Menam exclaimed. "The Court records! That is a
headache I have avoided considering. Father of Our Fathers, her neck."

        You shall not move,
        You shall not cry,
        You shall stand fast,
        Until you die.

     And the King of the Thronelands raised his sword and swung in a
precise arc, slicing through skin, muscle and bone by sheer force and
speed. The woman's carcass collapsed while the head remained momentarily
suspended. All Evendal heard and felt was a brief loss of muscle-control,
the inability to gather a breath, and a clash of several tones at once,
like a set of horns blasting different notes at the same instant. Then the
corpse's head slowly descended to the floor. No blood marred the stone or
stained the King's blade; but Surn-meddil took two quaffs from his cup
before removing both corpses and cup.
     "Our thanks, Uaestrho."
     Surn-meddil shrugged. "The fault was mine. I should have looked
longer, I would have found your man sooner."
     Evendal stared hard at Surn-meddil and said a second time. "Thank you,
Uaestrho."
     Surn-meddil raised an eyebrow.
     "If you would relearn human behaviour, one such is to accept
expressions of gratitude, and to give them. Even though many of us have
difficulty with both."
     "I will let you be for now, Evendal." Surn-meddil promised. "I trust
you have no objection to my keeping an ear out for you and your son?"
     "No objection, Father of Our Fathers. For now." And the spectre was no
longer apparent.
     Bruddbana looked about. "He could prove very useful."
     Evendal chuckled, appreciating the levity. "My thanks,
Henhyroc. Bruddbana..."
     "I know. Two names."
     The King shook his head. "No. Rather, yes, but that is not foremost in
Our concerns." Evendal began his list. "First, request Aldul's
attendance. Bring Nisakh up from under-ground. Then assign a rotation of
three Guard you know and trust to maintain a cordon, a ledger of visitants,
and a habit of searching people as they leave the archives. That was a
matter We should have addressed after Our first day, not on Our fiftieth."
Bruddbana nodded, bowed and left.
     "Your Majesty!" Sygkorrin called.
     Evendal rushed to the Priestess' side, even as Kri-estaul opened his
eyes, saw his father, then closed his eyes again. "Your Eminence?"
     "I do not know one way or the other, but anything you can do, or say,
to this man would be... helpful."
     And Evendal again stared down into the ashen tired face of the older
Guardman. The King was reminded of Ierwbae, but as Ierwbae might become in
twenty years; a man with flaws, uncertainties, and struggling - as many had
and still did - between despair and integrity. As Evendal m'Alismogh im
Seners me'Oatelharh stared, he thought he saw... or thought he heard, more.
     "Kinmeln. Kinmeln, your duty is not done. You have not finished what
you have begun. At least one assignment requires your hand. You are needed
still, Kinmeln. Your duty is not done."
     "Is it you? Lad?" Kinmeln breathed, struggling against pain. "Is it
you? I'll bring you back. I promised, didn't I?"
     Sygkorrin nodded. "He'll heal quickly, for all that the wounding was
grievous."
     "I hated abandoning you, Limmal." Kinmeln murmured. "Alone... a
kingless wilderness."
     Evendal looked interested and slightly amused. "A youth named Limmal,
exiled to Alta."
     The Priestess shared amusement with the King. "Alta is hardly a
wilderness, Your Majesty!"
     "To a city-dwelling Thronelander, Alta is 'the estrange and parlous
wilderness'! How long before he can assay such a journey?"
     "So long as he is accompanied, within three sennights."
     "It shall be as you say. Would you arrange for his companion from
among the Archate healers?(65)"
     Sygkorrin looked askance at the King. "What do you see?"
     "Nothing. I fear an unknown. And I fear for an unknown. Seek out any
record of a 'Limmal', if you would." Sygkorrin nodded.
     "Henhyroc, We have one more to execute."
     "If I might impose upon your good nature, Your Majesty..." Henhyroc
began.
     "Henhyroc, no. The next time my son awakens, his persecutor shall be
dead, and by my direct act." And Henhyroc subsided.
     The King turned. "Your name?" Evendal asked of one of the standing
Guard.
     "Iksiliran, Your Majesty." he answered, after a hard swallow. Evendal
forced back a grin; Iksiliran could not have had more than seventeen years.
     "If Hielbrae is on the grounds, please retrieve her." Iksiliran rushed
to comply. Evendal moved his chair from the corner, up to the midpoint
between the window and the entrance, and sat.
     By the time the Temple rang out the next half-bell, Falrija and
Bruddbana had hauled Nisakh up to the apartment. Exhausted, Nisakh no
longer looked smooth-faced or well-fed. His clothing hung loose on him,
soiled with blood, spittle, dung and chyme. The stench preceded him. When
Bruddbana and Falrija released him, Nisakh sank to the floor, quivering and
seeming insensible.
     "Give over, Nisakh." Evendal bade. "We did not sing your durance to be
unceasing, just consistent and utter. If you continue to pretend so, We can
indeed arrange that you ever feel the pain of your victims, over and over
again and again."
     Nisakh quickly opened a lucid and furious eye. "No, but my thanks for
the offer." His voice came out gruff and weak. His trembling did not stop.
     "Wherefore Falrija?" Evendal asked Bruddbana.
     "Her insistence, Your Majesty." Hielbrae walked in, bowed to her King,
and again toward her Prince; Iksiliran followed anxiously and mimicked her.
     "Wherefore, Falrija?"
     The woman bowed. "If it please Your Majesty, to witness this
kohukt(66)'s demise. How does His Highness?"
     "To the Archate's satisfaction. But Our judgement, though uninformed,
is less optimistic. I will speak more of this later, my lady. Hielbrae, as
first of His Royal Highness's cadre, We thought it meet that you attend."
     The woman bowed low, then gestured to the larger bedding. "With Your
Majesty's kind indulgence?"
     "Most certainly, and welcome."
     Sygkorrin approached. "Your Majesty," she nodded once.
     Evendal stood. "Your Eminence?"
     "Metthendoenn is in capable hands. Kinmeln needs but rest and a daily
cleansing and poultice of the wound at his back. If his piss is blood or
pains him, summon a Temple healer(67). Kri-estaul will sleep and wake at
odd moments. He will feel his legs ache and itch, or burn. He may sweat
profusely. Give him clear water, his potions. Aldul will help you there."
     Aldul confirmed from the doorway. "Yes, I will." A satchel hung on
each side of him. Once within two body-lengths of the King, Aldul bowed
low, one eyebrow quirked as if to ask 'Will that suffice?'
     Evendal grinned momentarily. "Health, Aldul. Were the weather warmer,
We would think you prepared to go herb-gathering."
     The Kwo-edan shared his friend's humour. "That would be too restful
for my life as it has been here. The one case holds sleeping draughts and
medicinals. In the other, I carry writing tools. How may I serve here?"
     "Bear with Us a moment." Evendal bade. "Your Eminence, stay or leave
as you will."
     Sygkorrin, swept a errant lock of her hair back then, perversely,
bowed, undoing the point of her gesture. "I am tired, Your Majesty, and
Aldul knows this manner of healing better than I, unless matters turn
awry. So I shall retire, with an escort for both myself and your
foster-mother. Later, as I can, I shall make enquiries regarding Limmal."
     "Our thanks and leave are your's, Your
Eminence. Iksiliran. Par-shetophe." Evendal called the two Guard that had
escorted the Priestess from Kh'anderif. "Be Her Eminence's escort to the
Archate. Ierwbae... No. Bruddbana? See to the warding of Onkira, both en
voyage and at the Temple. Be excessive!"
     The three Guard bowed and followed Sygkorrin out of the room, though
Evendal caught the look of longing on Bruddbana's face as he
left. "Falrija?"
     The woman approached and bowed. Evendal sat, grateful for the
privilege as his head began to ache.
     "Summon... two more Guard, and a steward, then return, please."
Falrija left.
     "Now we wait."
     Knowing a request for a response when he heard it, Aldul
obliged. "What do we wait for?"
     "The return of Falrija and, perhaps, Bruddbana as well."
     "To what end?"
     "To witness the execution of Nisakh, here." Evendal m'Alismogh
ald'Menam y Wytthenroeg, Seners me'Oatelharh, hraktreh'amel yr Ddys stared
down with glowing golden eye on the tremulous bit of misery before him.

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

(57) The smallest gold piece in the Thronelander monetary system,
equivalent to eight vianki, the standard silver coinage.
(58) The records of who holds what lands, and since when.
(59) altalek-nekh'ka: lust against, passion against; as opposed to a 'lust
for' something or someone.
(60) Plella (play-hla): Stop.
(61) As, etymologically, the 4 English words are from two root words treow
and honos; in Hramal the 4 words stem from one root.
(62) L. Fr. End of blood; failure of the direct line in successions.
(63) Chapter 5.
(64) Lit. "as She wills". But as Evendal rhymed in his language, I try to
do the same. His song fragment is peppered with provisionals. Evendal had
to have prepared this 'spell' in advance, as it more directly translates:

If you worked for nothing less
than to wash your hands in another's blood
If so, then do not protest, if so, then voice no cry
As/If Justice wills, then be the eager passive for her blade.

Hramal Gis' & giso' serve as hina does in Greek; "If...then."
(65) Hramal have 4 functional words that translate 'healer'. Evendal
specifies a healer-of-the-air, a type of pastoral counselor.
(66) dingo or hyena. Hramal have words to distinguish between domesticated
canids and wild, but don't use them much. All canines are generally seen as
foul animals, untrustworthy and obscenely filthy.
(67) Healer-by-fire.

I made one change in Nisakh's punishment as it was presented in chapter 17,
realising the physical impossibility of anyone enduring it as long as he
would have had to. Blame it on sloppy translation! And don't assail me over
Hramal conventions regarding dogs! I yet honour the memory of the dog whose
affection saw me through much of my childhood; Venus, a german
shepherd/collie mix.)