Date: Sun, 11 Jul 2004 23:15:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kris Gibbons <bookwyrm6@yahoo.com>
Subject: SongSpell-30
This story is a work of fiction. It contains references to violent behavior
between adults, between adults and minors, and expressions of physical
affection between consenting males. If you find this type of story
offensive, or if you are underage and it is illegal for you to read it,
please exit now. All characters are fictional and in no way related to any
persons living or deceased. Any such similarity is purely coincidental.
This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any
form without the specific written consent of the author. It is assigned to
the Nifty Archives under the provisions of their submission guidelines but
it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the consent of
the author.
My thanks to Rob, for his patience in editing, the story would have a lot
more inconsistencies without his efforts.
I do not know how well-received these chapters are. The only clues I get
are emails from readers. Like the story? Hate it? Not seeing a storyline
you feel is self-evident? Let me know. I can be contacted at
Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com
Copyright 2003 Kristopher R. Gibbons. All rights reserved by the author.
30 The Taints of Liberty
Polonius: You must not put another scandal on him,
That he is open to incontinency;
That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so
quaintly
That they may seem the taints of liberty;
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind;
A savageness in unreclaimed blood;
Of general assault.
Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 1, lines 28 ff.
The Kwo-edan shared gazes with Sygkorrin first, and then Evendal. "I
don't regret killing them. Nor do I regret how I killed them."
Sygkorrin nodded once. "Good."
Aldul's eyes widened. "Good?"
"I myself would have kept the blade in a hearth fire first, then
smoked their guts."
Clearly the extent of Sygkorrin's approval was a surprise to
Aldul. "I... I..."
"Aldul, I have no use for a man who does not heed his own mind and
obey his heart. Who does not take care of himself. I get obedience from so
many people who think that submission is the path to primacy in the
Temple. I don't get mindless obedience from you. I get stubborn silence,
inscrutability, your most sincere effort, and an appropriate degree of
loyalty. You are your own man first, and a strong one."
Aldul shook his head. "I wonder how others will see it? I am a
foreigner still, and killed two citizens."
Evendal ald'Menam shook his head also; only Aldul would turn practical
at such a time. "No, Aldul, that is not what you have done. You executed
the men who orchestrated your debasement. You avenged your father's death
and brutalisation. Those are not the actions of a helpless child or
man. You removed two parasites that had been feasting on the citizenry,
warping its future. And you forget, I declared them t'bo before you put
hand to sword. Do you have any other misgivings? Any at all?"
His diversion having failed, Aldul admitted, "Only what I have already
said. I never thought I could harm anyone but myself."
Evendal turned his glow to Kri-estaul, who had begun to drowse with
the excitement now over. "That was a tenet hammered into my head early in
my tutelage. Even so, having it demonstrated is often quite a shock."
"What principle?"
"That everyone is capable of killing, given the right threat or
promise. More precisely, the tenet is that everyone is eminently capable of
every crime and every benevolence. Not just in the abstract, but quite
practically and immediately."
Sygkorrin smoothly inquired, "Is that why you did not deny Hanikrest's
assertion that his feelings were shared by all? He no doubt meant that his
fancies were shared by all."
"I suppose he did. And such an absurd allegation I would dispute. But
again, it is what a man does or does not do with the fancy and the urge
that matters. I entertained thoughts of blood-eagling Nisakh, but not for
long, as it soured everything I did for a brief time. So when the thought
or urge for going underground with a few knives and hooks emerged, I
acknowledged it but did not harbour it. Whereas Hanikrest and Tothofir
enjoyed their thoughts and images of pain and degradation. It would seem
they obsessed over such fancies, nurtured them."
Evendal was having a difficult time chatting. Talking inconsequential
speculation did not suit him. The idea, he knew, was to give Aldul time and
freedom from attention. "Your Eminence, how long before I can hold and move
Kri-estaul about?"
"It would depend on your methods. If you mean how long until he can
use his chair? After another sennight, so long as he stays within the
Palace. How long until he can be carried about as you did with a sling? The
same, with a great many cautions. How long before you can embrace him, or
hold him? Provided you are careful, you may do so now."
"But you had indicated that it would be almost a season before he
could be so active. Which is true?"
Sygkorrin looked perturbed; but whether she was angry or worried was
not obvious. "I had given that assessment of many sennights because I
anticipated various obstacles. One common result from amputation is bone
fissuring. Another problem is slow healing because the blood has less
reason to flow through the wound area. The wounds can get infected. A clot
can stop needed blood flow around the lungs. Your Majesty no doubt recalls
your performance immediately after Kri-estaul's cutting."
"Yes."
"That song prevented any danger of an embolism, and oddly enough,
prevented infection or seepage problems. This made the chance of bone
fissures much less. So the only real danger was from diminished blood
circulation. And if Aldul of Kwo-eda has been as diligent as he is reported
to be, that should be no concern."
Some of the words Sygkorrin used were unfamiliar, but the general
sense reassured the King.
Just then Iksiliran approached. "Your Majesty, the Quillmaster has
come, with Lialityne's relief."
Evendal sighed. "Iksiliran, unless Matron Drussilikh appears with
someone patently not of her guild, she need not be announced to Us. The
same is true for Lialityne and Danlienn. We thought We had made that known
to the Guard."
The Guard shifted a trifle, embarrassed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Rest easy, young man. Simply ask the Matron to attend her brother, if
she would, and Danlienn to comfort Lialityne -- who has witnessed a
deliberate and necessary violence. Or see to their proper seating and
comfort."
Secure in the regard or patience of his visitors, Evendal turned back
to his most immediate concern. The Kwo-edan sat in typical silence, but the
toll of the last few bells showed in his tired and dark eyes, the flush to
his normally wind-tanned skin, and the aura of friability about him.
"How is it with you?" M'Alismogh's face brightened as his attention
focused on the Kwo-edan priest.
"I am unsure," Aldul replied.
"Do you know what I want to do?"
"Scream?" Aldul huffed half-heartedly.
Evendal shook his head. "Hold you. Try to impart a feeling of
safety. Would you suffer such?"
Aldul shrugged, and somehow, without shifting a muscle or bone, looked
more miserable. "Mayhap. Later? 'Tis too cluttered yet."
The King wondered whether Aldul meant the room or his heart. "Very
well. Now, get closer to the hearth."
"Evendal..."
"Aldul, you have two options. Either keep my son company in that cargo
ship of a bed, or move your chair until you are nearly on top of that
fire."
"Evendal, I am not weak!"
The King glanced about as though inciting witnesses. "Did that sound
like a request? It was not."
Aldul stared at the King, who gazed blandly back at him. "Which would
you, Your Majesty?"
Evendal ignored the bite Aldul lent his title. "Kri-estaul?" The child
looked up, sleepily. "Do you understand about Uncle Aldul?"
"Yes, Papa. He got hurt worse than me, a long time ago. And those were
very mean scum-men."
"Yes, they were. Would it trouble you if Uncle Aldul rested beside
you?"
Kri-estaul looked up at the King for one long moment, his face utterly
unreadable. "Beside me?" The phrase had a strange dissonance from the
child's lips.
"Kri?" Evendal paused, listening. Belatedly, he retracted his
request. "Yes, my son. Only beside you. Not a good idea, is it? I do not
mean to tax your fortitude further, beloved." Again he realised he was
treating with Kri-estaul as with a man, not a child.
"You don't look so hale, Unk'Aldul. If Papa thinks you should rest,
you should."
"I am perfectly well! I..." The Kwo-edan stopped, struck by
Sygkorrin's disbelieving smirk, the grim looks on Bruddbana's and Evendal's
faces, and the sadness reflected in Kri-estaul's. "Let me move beside the
fire, thus should I suffer a muscle cramp or bone ache, I shall not disturb
anyone but myself."
Evendal watched as Aldul carefully stood, then with equal care began
to push his chair around and to the head of the bed on the window side. The
King signalled Hielbrae, who lifted the chair and then the intended
occupant and set them right in front of the hearth. With a comic look of
smug satisfaction, she draped some of Aldul's discarded bedclothes over
him.
"I'll get you for this," Aldul warned his friend.
"You already have, Evendal reassured.
Kri-estaul had watched the exchange with a look of surprise. Papa's
friend was angry, and showed no fear in letting Papa know this. But they
did not shout or hurt each other. In fact, they grinned at each other. When
the Terrible Lord got angry, his face turned dark and he hurt people,
noisily. When Nisakh got angrier -- for he was always angry whenever
Kri-estaul saw him -- his face and voice turned sweet and he hurt
Kri-estaul. Uncle Aldul was angry at Papa, but no one had gotten loud yet
or gotten hurt. Papa and his friend were scary, Kri-estaul thought, but in
what seemed a good way.
The King considered his friend. Aldul had never worn blue and black,
had never demanded anything of Kri-estaul, and Kri in turn simply accepted
Aldul as part of his daily life, quietly and without fanfare. When
Kri-estaul hurt, Aldul brought relief, treated him with respect and genuine
gravitas. When Evendal had no intuitions on how to deal with his son's
frailties, Aldul answered to both of their needs. The child and the
Kwo-edan understood each other in a way that Evendal could not approximate,
a way that Evendal felt only gratitude for. Kri-estaul gave purpose to
Aldul's pain, to an extent that Evendal's gradually fading traumas and
easily rectified inadequacies could not.
"Am I that beautiful?" Aldul asked wryly.
"What?" Evendal realised he had been staring for some time, distracted
by his own considerations. "Oh! You will not credit the answer, but you are
precious to both of us. And Our relations with the Archate would be a lot
less cordial but for you." Sygkorrin nodded agreement. "Can you rest there?
Will you be comfortable enough?"
Aldul hesitated to answer, and the King pounced on that
hesitation. "Tell me, my friend."
"Could you bear it to liven the hearths? I know a slight chill that is
provoking me worse than outright cold would."
Evendal heard, again, what Aldul did not confess to: the ache in his
knees and hands that had not truly left him since the weather turned. "We
shall have that remedied. But, otherwise?"
"Once it warms a bit more, Kri-estaul and I shall sleep the sleep of
the wise. But... I am not being much of an emissary, am I?"
The child smiled to be included, then glanced at his father.
Evendal grinned back and inclined his head in wordless approval; he
gave Aldul's complaint the consideration it warranted: none. He
straightened and glanced to the Priestess.
Sygkorrin inclined her head as well.
"Your Eminence?"
"You do well, Your Majesty. You listen."
"To more than you know," Evendal answered dryly. He watched as a
girl-child having between ten and twelve years first knelt at the door,
then walked a large pail to where Tothofir and Hanikrest had fallen and
began to dampen the floor.
"Matron Drussilikh, Master Danlienn, be at ease and know you're
welcome."
"Your Majesty!" Drussilikh snapped. "You have gruesome tastes."
"How so? Hanikrest and Tothofir?"
"The very! While he is hardly delicate, should Kri-estaul be subjected
to fools in Nisakh's mould? Or witness the recounting and wages of their
perfidy? Must he be reminded of his past durance at every turn?"
Both Evendal and Kri-estaul responded with blank stares. "First, what
We do is what he shall. It would be a mistake to shield him from his
future, his duty, and its details. Second, he is reminded of his past every
time he opens his eyes, only to see the rafters over the bed he remains
bound to. And Our adjudications have not reminded of his past so much as
engaged him in Aldul's past, unique to that man. Thirdly, he is Our son,
and must suffer all manner of fools, unfortunately." Evendal's expression
made it plain he included Drussilikh among them in that moment.
Frustrated, Drussilikh paused, regrouped, and then spoke on. "Forgive
me, Your Majesty, he has but eight years. He is too unversed to be treated
as if he had fourteen."
"Unversed? Drussilikh, it would be disrespectful and destructive to
treat Our son as some unformed and uninformed child. This lapwing may still
wear part of his shell, but you cannot fit him back into it. Do you think
my dotage of him a blind one? It dare not be."
"Stop snarling at each other. Please!" Kri-estaul interjected, then
hunched his head at his own forwardness.
"Your sister wishes me to talk down to you, as though you were an
oaf." Seeing the affront flaming Drussilikh's face, Evendal relented. "No,
in truth... she feels I should have shielded you from the pain and turmoil
of Hanikrest's and Tothofir's confessions and executions. Lest it incite
foul dreams and memories in you."
Kri-estaul worked through the explanation. "Drussie, that's silly. The
scum scared me, but if I didn't see Papa punish them, I would be more
scared."
"What do you mean?"
"Afraid the bad people were still around. Or wonder if Papa cares..."
Kri-estaul stopped, abashed.
"Cares still," Evendal completed for his suddenly tearful son. "You
expect me to grow tired of you? Of your fears and tears?" He did not wait
for an answer Kri-estaul didn't have the insensitivity to give. "Only time
will prove me, my son. You trust me, and will trust me more anon.
"Is all well with you, Lialityne?"
The young lady gave a quick courtesy. "Better, Your Majesty. Not well,
but better."
"We would not see you troubled by either the swiftness or brutality of
Our labour here. Is there aught We can arrange for your serenity?"
"I expect that some time at rest and then in my habitual recreations
will work best toward that goal, Your Majesty."
The King nodded. "We ken they might indeed. Take your fair bell. What
time you need, claim, and your best graces spend it as you will. You have
Our leave, of course."
"Your Majesty... if I seemed too sharp..." Drussilikh began.
"Thunders, Drussilikh! I hope you never tender another word of regret
or penitence in my ear! I will not countenance it! Kri-estaul is your
brother, and you seek to protect him. I have no experience with a loving
family or a childlike childhood. You have no understanding of the intrinsic
shame, of the emotional aging, confusion, and ambivalence in the face of
mundane joys that hound Aldul and Kri-estaul."
"And you do?"
"Yes." Evendal let the successive silence, his refusal to elaborate,
serve to seal the subject from further exploration.
When he spoke again it was in pursuit of his original point. "Continue
to plague me over those matters so common among caring families, for I am
like to neglect them in my ignorance of them. And I shall decide, or Kri
and I shall, their value for him. In some concerns he still has but eight
years, in others he never will be so young."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
Evendal knew the sister was far from happy, and accepted that
inevitability.
"Bruddbana? See about assembling a score-and-a-half Guard, within the
next bell." The Guard nodded, bowed, and left.
"For what?" the leader of the Archate asked.
Evendal m'Alismogh stood, went to the cedar trunk at the foot of his
bed, and removed a small grey bag and a latched book with an intricately
detailed cover. After returning to his seat with the items, he answered the
Priestess. "For to enforce the aims of my primacy with the magisters I
shall summon."
Ermine, rod, gavel, and bell,
Scales, chain, pendant, and badge,
From hall and cubby, sward and swale
We call all given such wards,
Ours to gift and so reclaim.
Your ennobling ensigns yield,
For this turn of Fortune's Wheel.
Tridentine authority
Beckons you from current tasks.
Comes an accounting of your works,
Judgment for decisions past.
"You would compel people to your seat, simply on caprice?" Sygkorrin
censured.
Evendal raked the High Priestess with an amused look but continued.
Judex Ordinarius,
Judex Selectus, Saemend,
Judex Pedaneus, Reeve,
Judex Fiscalis, Praetor,
Magistratus, Marechal,
and Judex Oerarium.
You who have shunned Our summons,
Thinking We dare not give chase,
Our song's a hound giving tongue(95)
And e'en now puts you to ground.
Justice calls you to this place,
Before this day's light is gone.
"Justice?" Sygkorrin echoed, doubt in her tone.
"Have you been talking with Heamon?" Evendal inquired wryly as he
extracted a red and black ring from the pouch. The ring slid on his left
forefinger just as Ierwbae came through the door with a face redder than
the cold would make it.
"Your Majesty, if I might impose, and bask in the sun of your
presence?"
"Granted, of course, chosen comrade."
"Health and peace, Uncle 'Bae."
The child with the bucket had finished and Evendal voiced his
appreciation, putting the girl to blush so that she bolted out.
"Iksiliran?" The Guard stepped about to face the King. "Do you know
that so eager youngling?"
"Aye, Your Majesty."
"Have Our most weighty counsellor among Guard, one with senses most
acute and able, to visit upon her and her parent, to incite them to
discussion, perhaps to find through encompassment and drift of question
what she feeds on at home. Have him bear an orikas or two and this message
from Us: 'This is in gratitude of your effort, in appreciation of your
great courage. In all verity We do not sample or enthral either the young
or the virtuous, so accept Our word: You are safe in Our Presence.'"
The Guard bowed and left.
"Danlienn, see about assistance with your task -- more than one
scribe."
The scrivener echoed Iksiliran's swift parting, leaving his tools.
Sygkorrin smiled, her face turned so the Majesty of Osedys would not
see.
Drussilikh frowned, bemused. "Your Majesty, she is but a drudge, no
doubt well taken care of in bed and board for her work."
The King shook his head. "She all but screamed her fear,
Drussilikh. Did you not see? She expected at any moment to be noticed by
Us, and toyed with in some nebulous but cruel way. She seemed to think We
cast geasi over everyone in Our circuit, removing their will
utterly. Someone has been terrorising her with Us. That We did note her
will frighten her, which We cannot help, but We cannot simply do nothing in
the face of such a misapprehension."
"How many wards would you claim?"
Evendal stared at the Matron, and his glow waxed slowly but
distinctly. "As many as have need of Us. And are you not right glad that
this is so?"
Drussilikh had the sense to bow her head, acknowledging her
fault. When she opened her mouth once more, to tender an apology, Evendal
sat ready, with a finger raised to his grinning lips in warning. "We have
had a surfeit of regret."
He looked across the bed at a dozing Aldul, bundled heavily and
oblivious to all. That the chatter and tensions in the room did not rouse
the Kwo-edan only underscored the depth of his exhaustion, pain, and
unhappiness. By his own profession, Aldul had come to Osedys in order to
live free of notoriety and painful expectations, unimpeded by his past. So,
of course, his past awaited him. A reserved man, to have his most personal
vulnerability unveiled before people he had to work with daily added to his
turmoil.
Evendal thought on his own ordeals. He cared not whether the details
of his life fell from the lips of others, no matter how those details made
him seem. It was part and parcel with his ethic, indeed his nature. He
poorly and indifferently separated his own private and his public
personas. Every facet and habit of his life and mind -- whether foul,
grotesque, childish, or dim-witted -- could stand open for scrutiny and
examination, and he would not care. The bitterness and anxiety he had
voiced during the trek from the Wastes, that his lack of memory equated to
a lack of character, now seemed simpleminded. The minutiae of his years,
known and obscure, did not define him, and so were unimportant to him. He
no longer saw the gaps in his memory as crucial absences diminishing him.
But Aldul and Kri-estaul were another matter. Kri-estaul had not the
resources or dwoemer to understand libel or dissension. Nor had he the
emotional distance to remain unaffected by the reactions of those around
him. Aldul knew his own worth yet kept himself isolate, and turned to no
one in sorrow, want, pain, or joy.
"Your Majesty?"
The King turned to the High Priestess.
"Have you any thoughts or... means to help him?"
"Help him how?"
Sygkorrin hesitated, looking bewildered. "I was unaware of the extent
of his hurt when I offered him a place in Osedys. To work every day around
people who know how damaged, how vulnerable he is, will whittle away his
strengths and defeat his value as Temple envoy."
Drussilikh opened her mouth to contribute, then shut it with a sour
expression.
"Again We ask, 'Help him how?'"
"Help him to forget, perhaps. Or to numb the pain those memories
evoke."
"Lady Sygkorrin, do you know what one of the few amusing sights for Us
as a lad was, when We attended the Courts?"
The Priestess shook her head.
"Watching the then Temple Envoy. The fellow spent more time evading
courtiers' lustful attacks and proposals than he did communing with the
Majesty of Osedys."
Sygkorrin shrugged. "People cloak the Envoy in exalted raiment, as one
in fellowship with Ir, and want to be loved by such a one, or want to lay
such a one low. Many priests face that same behaviour from others."
"So if the fellow had taken up any of those propositions, his
effectiveness would have been lessened. Just so with Aldul, Your
Eminence. Numb his pain, tear away his memories, and you no longer have the
man the reports about whom led you to summon here."
"But Your Majesty..."
"He needs not such 'help!'" Evendal hissed. "He is how he is, and
valued by Us as he is! The only result of his childhood despoiling that
might, in truth, diminish his puissance and virtue is the pain in his
sinews from the cold."
Sygkorrin smiled. "It gladdens me to hear just such an attitude, Your
Majesty."
Evendal grinned back, aware that he had been tested. Again. "For a
moment We thought Matron Drussilikh was set to dispute with Us."
"I was indeed, Your Majesty," Drussilikh answered with a
self-deprecating quality to her voice. "Until it whelmed me how, in His
Grace Aldul, I beheld a man who could be my brother in adult form."
When she did not clarify, Evendal pressed. "And would you have
Kri-estaul's memory of the past two years submerged or wiped from the
tables of his mind and heart?"
The Quillmaster gnawed on the inside of one cheek before
answering. "No. The pain from that time is not only his. And passing
comments, the loss of scrivener children his age, the battles fought by his
body to survive, all would make that a cruel and frightening choice. A
decision I have no right to make."
"A decision We have no right to, either," Evendal affirmed, "even had
We the means to accomplish such a change."
He turned back to his lazy-eyed son. "How is it with you, sweetling?
Athirst? Hungry? Needing the ewer or pan?"
"Ewer," Kri-estaul whispered, pouting his dismay.
Encouraged by Sygkorrin's words earlier, Evendal lifted his son to the
edge of the bed, and then signalled Ierwbae to support Kri-estaul's back.
"What do I do?" Kri-estaul asked, wide-eyed. Ierwbae stood on one
side, with one hand supporting the boy's spine, keeping him from falling
backward. Kri-estaul sat with his stubs and most of his thighs suspended
off the bed, his skin goosefleshed from the slight chill that persisted in
the room.
"Grab the rim of the ewer." In truth, Evendal himself kept the pitcher
in place, but let his son feel he helped in his own care. The child's weak
grip would firm up so that soon enough no deception would be
needed. Evendal and Ierwbae affected this procedure under Sygkorrin's eagle
eye.
The movement, the position -- half suspended and fearing that if he
leaned forward he'd fall but if he didn't he'd piss on his Papa -- and the
audience made it difficult to drain his bladder.
Reminded of the very first time he had helped Kri-estaul with the
jakes, Evendal said nothing, only kissed his son on the forehead and
waited. "So how fare matters with your beloved, 'Bae?" Out of the corner of
his eye, he noted Bruddbana's return.
Ierwbae flushed, unpleasantly uncomfortable. The King immediately gave
chase. "Tell us! Do not fear Our displeasure."
When Ierwbae thought to speak, it came out a mutter. "Please. Do not
send me away. I could not think of what else to do."
"We do not understand you, as yet." Evendal sat.
"When time comes for my elevenses, I take my snack down to the sward
by the Archives. After Metthendoenn learned of... my infidelities, he asked
that I give him that time unplagued." Ierwbae swallowed hard but
rallied. "Well, Kerulminh stands that post at that hour. He and I would
joke and... Why is this so hard to admit honestly?"
The anguish on Ierwbae's face moved Evendal to pre-empt the Guard's
internal struggle. "Is this another infidelity you needs must divulge to
Metthendoenn?"
To Evendal's surprise, the question elicited first a look of
reflection, and then one of relief. "No," the Guard exhaled. "No. Kerulminh
and I... we have spent a few rest-times flirting with each other, teasing
each other. Today I watched myself hug him warmly and later run my hand up
his thigh as we sat beside each other. I knew what I was doing, but at the
same time... it was like watching someone else. I came within a fingertip's
distance from gripping him when I stood up and ran around to the front, to
the courtyard and other people."
Kri-estaul, listening to Ierwbae's confession, forgot to be afraid
long enough for his bladder to relax.
"Whence your timely panic?"
Ierwbae stared back at his kinsman, a look haunted and
overwhelmed. "At first I told myself I was in control. That I was simply
being friendly. That flirting was harmless. Then that I was simply enjoying
some fun. When the thought emerged, 'This has nothing to do with anything
else in my life, it will not affect anything else,' with my eyes focused on
his scrotal bulge, I had a brief instant of panic and bolted."
"Do you begin to understand now?" Evendal whispered.
"At first I didn't know. I wandered several times around the dais that
once held the usurpers' statues, afraid to go any place less public. I
think it was too obvious a lie, more than I could stomach." Ierwbae
retrieved the ewer.
Evendal listened and nodded agreement, even as he returned Kri-estaul
to the middle of the bed, restored the cushioning around his sac, and
covered him again.
When Ierwbae returned with the ewer, Evendal took up the
discussion. "What other conclusions have you?"
"That I am a fool. That I cannot trust my own judgement. That I am
going to cause Metthendoenn enormous grief. As I was walking I kept
noticing other Guard, clerks and servants and drudges, and suggesting to
myself that I strike up a conversation. Every one of them either gave me a
come-hither look or a coy smile. Or so I imagined! I don't know!"
"What did you do then?"
"I... I came here. Forgive me, Your Majesty."
"For what?"
"For using you, using my liberty to come and go in your presence
toward such a purpose, and not for the purpose for which you granted me
that grace."
Evendal shook his head. "Ierwbae, We pledged you Our comfort, support,
and counsel, whatever is Ours for your succour as the need arises. You have
done exactly right -- you have allowed Us to make good Our word to you. And
you have turned to someone safe as regards your compulsion. Again We ask,
what other conclusions have you?"
"None, Your Majesty," Ierwbae's direct and pleading look shifted to
merely troubled and askance.
"Ierwbae," Evendal asked hesitantly "Do you yet fear me so?"
"I love Doenn, and only Doenn!" Ierwbae barked out. "I tell myself
it's only harmless looking, flirting, touching, groping. I tell myself that
although I know better! I tell myself that until it is no longer harmless
and I am no longer just Doenn's mate, but anybody's!"
"And this means?"
"I... I cannot stop myself!" Ierwbae wailed, inconsolable. "It is not
simply a game I can halt or a pleasure I can refrain from. Wish and will
mean nothing!"
"Yes. You cannot stop yourself. You cannot do it... alone. I have been
waiting and hoping you would come to that conclusion out of your own heart
and not just the insistence of others."
"But Metthendoenn! I... I need him, and..."
Evendal stood, took a clean rag and cautiously wiped Ierwbae's
face. "Silly man. Friend. Brother. You can remain truthful to your beloved,
you just cannot do it unaided!"
Ierwbae stared at his liege, still despairing.
"I will help you, as I am certain Aldul would. And if you will permit
me to explain matters to Falrija, she might likewise prove an excellent
person to turn to; little surprises her or escapes her."
Sygkorrin spoke up. "And I also understand, through a similar burden,
and would help as I can."
Reminded of others about and attending, Ierwbae flinched. Then,
realising he had already exposed nearly every vital vulnerability, he just
shrugged. "How?"
"First, by expecting you to report to me, or to one of us,
daily. Without fail."
Ierwbae tensed. "What would be the matter of that report?"
"The number, nature, and level of the lusts you have felt. What has
attracted you, caught your eye, stirred your daydreams, or excited you on
that day."
"You cannot be... My Lord!"
"I am. Further, the same person must receive your report each
time. And when you find yourself in such distress as brought you here
today, act in exactly the same manner. Come here, to me. I will not account
it a dereliction of your assignment. Ever. Nor shall you have to give me
anything more than a nod to announce the purpose of your presence.
"Do you accept the necessity of these measures?"
Ierwbae did not answer immediately, but Evendal took no umbrage.
"I refuse to act as a man compelled to eat, simply because he sees
food."
"Good. Do you accept the necessity of these measures?"
"Must I detail my poverty of character to Metthendoenn as well?"
Evendal looked to Sygkorrin, uncertain.
The Priestess hesitated. "Do you ken why you are enjoined to confess
of your compulsion daily?"
"'Tis like an anxiety. Unnamed, unrevealed, it holds greater power. If
I do not grapple with it, it shall surely conquer me."
"And of what use is your telling another?"
"This... corrosion is part of my very sinews," Ierwbae spoke calmly as
water again crept down the curve of his cheeks. "I cannot always see
clearly where it keeps its grip on me and my 'haviour. Another person may."
"Yes," Sygkorrin affirmed. "And what would it mean to Metthendoenn to
hear such a list? Or hear you profess to him a fearful longing for, say,
Iksiliran?"
"It would be the final weight," Ierwbae insisted. "It would break his
heart."
Evendal shook his head, his own thought clarified by Sygkorrin's
methods. "You speak of Metthendoenn, my gentle, innocent brother. You may
know him better than I but you do not know, do not understand, what most
grieved him as well as I do. Go to him now; tell him both what you almost
did and what truly passed. Then, when he lets you, tell him what we have
resolved here and why. Then, before the first bell of night, come back and
let me know who you would confide in."
"My Lord. I... I am afraid."
Almost, Evendal chided him how an efficient, courageous Guard could
fear a few words. Fortunately he said no such thing, reminded anew that
Ierwbae floundered in what was, for him, a great unknown. His affliction,
his black beast, was such as no one spoke clearly about. Most people no
doubt simply saw themselves as either being constitutionally capable of
focusing their affections and attractions, or not needing to. Assuming
either that all people had an innate predisposition for fidelity, or that
attraction existed for its own sake, needing and serving no other purpose
than procreation and recreation.
"Look on me, Ierwbae," Evendal bade.
The Guard obeyed, letting his Lord see the terror of impending loss
that stormed through his frame.
In turn, Evendal strove to show his steady regard and calm
certainty. "It will be well. He needs this from you, Ierwbae. Go now,
directly to him." And with a kiss on the forehead, Evendal pushed Ierwbae
toward the door.
Next in through the door came a series of workers. Palace menials
hefted five wooden pews and began to place them between the bed and the
jakes. Then four youths lumbered in hefting a thick marble slab. Evendal
moved his chair aside and pointed to the spot on which it had rested. The
four obligingly and gratefully set the stone down, bowed, and left. The
slab was sized to accommodate the Council Chamber throne, so the chair fit
quite readily atop it.
Evendal signalled one of the menials. "How are you called?"
The woman knelt in a courtesy. "Sindyalys, Your Majesty."
"A sonorous name. Sindyalys, do you know where the Vaticanus(96)
hies?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Would it incommode you to ask her to attend Us? With her wards."
"No, Your Majesty. Now?"
"That would be Our preference, yes." And the woman complied.
Within a quarter of a bell, Anlota trundled in, supported on each side
by her fosterlings. Evendal hid a smirk behind his hand as she leaned on
one child so that she might gently prod and fuss at the more timid child to
keep in step.
"Anlota, how is it with you, now that you are mother to more than just
midwives?"
"Were my flaws and shortcomings not so fresh in my mind I would be
cursing you so you could no longer stand or speak!" the old woman
snapped. "I have most of my colleagues liberal with their amusement at my
sudden 'motherhood.'" A thought startled her. She stopped in mid-rant and
scowled more believably at Evendal. "You have not changed your mind. Have
you?"
Niar-lles inched around the back of Anlota's skirts to tug at
Eirath-harl, who nabbed his hand and stared wide-eyed at the King.
"Do they burden you so?" Evendal asked slyly.
Anlota gaped. If she said 'yes,' she not only lost credibility, she
lost her charges. If she said 'no,' she would have to prepare two
emotionally needy children for another abandonment. She could count on one
hand the number of people near her own age that she knew of; she would not
live as long as these two would need her. "They are indeed a burden. One I
do not want relief from. But..."
"Then do not play the curmudgeon with Us. We asked you here to confirm
Our appreciation for your love and care of Osedys in its time of peril. To
tell you directly that We bear you no ill-will or resentment, and have
missed your presence. So We ask you, and your sons, to attend Us as you
can.
"Harl, how has the lady treated with you? Has she been kind?"
"She has been wonderful! Please don't hurt her!"
"We have no intention of harm. She is Our great-aunt, and beloved by
many. Do you wish to stay under her care?"
"Please? With Niar-lles!"
"Of course with your brother. We would not tear your heart out. Have
you felt safe here?"
Niar-lles spoke up once he saw his brother turn shy. "Everyone has
been very kind. It has been... nice."
"You mean scary?"
Niar-lles mirrored his brother's saucer-eyed expression.
Evendal understood too well when life was like walking blind through
rooms with broken glass scattered about. "Give yourselves some time and you
may learn to relax your stomachs and stop fearing the roof will fall in on
you. I know you expect all this to turn sour or prove a lie. For most of
your young lives you have been lashed to Fortune's Wheel as she sent it
down a hill! No more."
"But the Warden..."
Evendal winced. "She will not touch you. Should she come near you or
engage others to retrieve you, I shall know and protect you both. Anlota is
your mother now, provided such is acceptable to you both."
"Oh yes, please!" Harl exclaimed.
"Must we really eat what she serves us?" Niar-lles asked. Anlota
bristled.
"Yes," Evendal answered solemnly. "Without debate."
The Temple bell tolled the fourth hour after noon.
"Have you had your repast?"
Anlota rolled her eyes. "They have had many!"
Niar-lles shared looks with Harl, unhappy ones. Evendal assessed and
interpreted the vignette.
"Anlota, how many meals have they had today?"
"Three, Your Majesty."
"Consisting of what?"
Anlota struggled to recall. "A fast-breaking of bread, honey, and
avalluin(97), elevenses was bara brith(98) and mint tea, and we each
nuncheoned on two eggs with a posset(99)."
The King kept himself from groaning through sheer force of
will. "Beloved mother of midwives, that list is an engorgement to someone
with a delicate stomach or spare needs. It is hardly appropriate to
children such as you parent. The combined contents of all three 'meals'
might be sufficient for their morning fast-breaking."
The older woman blinked several times in apparent surprise, and
Evendal m'Alismogh frowned.
"Anlota, you know better. Feigned stupidity will not release you from
your charges."
The elder rounded on Evendal, practically spitting. "I do not ask nor
want to lose them to another! This has been the most exhausting sennight I
have endured in thirty years! How terrible of me that I have been
preoccupied with Harl's fever, the curdled sleep both endure, attiring them
well and warmly, their constant mood shifts and questions, and the fearful
silences when they imagine I am the least bit angry with them! I told
Shulro to give them whatever I used to eat, back when I attended the Full
Court meal-schedule. The majority of Palace staff is female, a truth that
troubled and unnerved them at the time I spoke to Shulro. My attention was
all on allaying their worry of her, not the quantity of food she would
provide."
And Evendal realised he had wrongly expected a less-than-complete
acceptance from Anlota, and that he had not honestly taken her age and
physical health into account. The Mother of Midwives was -- thankfully --
willing and capable, just not as expeditious as someone his own age.
"Forgive Us, Anlota, for doubting your word and your will. While you
reside here, you are at liberty to employ the Palace modiste, out of Our
purse. Shulro will feed them amply, if you just allow her; let her decide
on the foodstuffs. And whatever other difficulties, there are people
willing to help here. You simply have to make your concerns known to
them. As for the gender of the staff here... That is a matter that time,
like water over the river-rock of their young hearts, must wear away. There
is no better solution."
Anlota visibly hesitated before speaking again. "'Twas a gift, Your
Majesty, these little ones. A rough challenge and a wonder, but not onerous
punishment. Your magnanimity with me affirms your estate."
Evendal smiled to hide his discomfort. "Go now and let Shulro occupy
their attentions for a time."
Anlota bowed slightly and obeyed.
Danlienn returned with two scriveners in tow soon after Anlota's
departure. And less than a quarter bell after that, Guard began escorting
visitors into the large apartment and assembling them along the back pews
in order of arrival.
Evendal, after much coaxing, suffered his son to be placed in his
lap. Sygkorrin bundled the excited child competently and settled him beside
the King. Drussilikh and Sygkorrin then sat flanking the Lord of the
Thronelands as the Sixty-six and their deputies assembled.
Midway through Menam's reign, some courtier with more wit than wisdom
referred to the King's burgeoning entourage of magisterial appointments as
'the Sixty-six.' Whatever the actual original number, age, jeopardy, and
folly had ensured that the current count did not even reach half of the
appellative. Evendal would never know all that the duumvirate had warped or
permitted, but he anticipated winnowing the number of magisterials and
justiciars yet further.
He leaned his chin on the sleepy head of his son, after kissing the
crown of it. "Thunders, I missed having you sit right here!" Kri-estaul
grinned hugely.
Evendal did not immediately confess to a correlative feeling. As good
as it was to have his son that much closer to full health, his sensibility
published a different need unmet: An almost-memory more evanescent than any
shadow or cobweb, someone of mass and sinew needed to be standing or
sitting at their side; someone had stood at his side in the past, solid,
steady, and sharp as any sword. Not Aldul, not Drussilikh, nor Ierwbae or
Sygkorrin. The certainty of this person gripped Evendal m'Alismogh through
a palpable absence, an absence whose salty odour tingled the back of his
throat.
Evendal swallowed, losing the hint of a cherished scent. He buried his
face in the pillow-caused must of his son's bristly hair, and fought
against a muscle-freezing loneliness that swept and crashed into him. The
blaze of his eyes betrayed the strength of his perverse ache.
"How is it with you, Lord?" Danlienn asked.
The King shrugged. "I am missing someone I cannot even name."
"What do you mean?" Kri-estaul asked.
Evendal lifted his head and stared down at his son. "I have only hints
and whispers of the past nine years. My memory plays the fox and I have no
hounds for the hunt. When I think I sight a brush, my very eagerness sends
the prize scurrying."
"You don't remember?" Kri-estaul guessed.
"Not well enough."
In that moment Bruddbana filled the door. "Your Majesty, such as they
are, they have assembled and await your pleasure."
"How many?"
"A score and six."
"Ah, internecine predation. Why are We unsurprised? Escort them in."
"En mass, or individually?"
"Individually, please." The King glanced down. "If you fall asleep, I
shall not relinquish you, have no fear."
Kri-estaul smiled, too happy at being out of bed to harbour that
worry. "And if you need both hands, Papa, give me over to Drussie
only. Please?" He had become familiar enough with his Papa to anticipate
that, at some juncture, Evendal would need to stand and move freely. That
his adoptive father always returned to hold him, that Evendal always smiled
and glowed to be with him, was all that mattered.
"If I must, it shall be to her only," Evendal agreed solemnly.
"Erual ald'Merir Constable for the Hawklit Oakham," Bruddbana
boomed. A man with an arm missing stalked to within eight ells of the King
and knelt awkwardly, a black-hued carving gripped in his one hand.
"Master Erual," Evendal ald'Menam named the man, granting him
permission to address the Majesty of Osedys.
"Your Majesty," the fellow huffed. "You could have simply sent a
messenger."
The King had the measure of this man. "Others have not your facility
for seeing that a right is a responsibility."
Erual snorted. "They never had Shenrowyn to answer to."
Shenrowyn agdh Rowylno, Alekrond's father by marriage. "You served
under the Maritime Counsellor?"
"Never stopped, even though I'm a landsman now. Would be so much ash
from a lych-fire(100) if it weren't for what he taught me."
"Stand, Erual. What have you there?" the King asked, and pointed to
the man's fist.
Erual complied, and opened his fingers to reveal a carving: a sea-hawk
with strands of tarred rope(101) looped through its talons.
"Is this Ours?" Evendal intoned.
The older seaman gave the ritual reply. "Yes, Your Majesty. This is
yours, entrusted to me by your late father."
"Likewise do We entrust it to you. Sit there and await Our pleasure,
friend of Our heart and purpose." Evendal indicated the empty first pew,
closest to where he and Kri-estaul sat. Erual obeyed.
What followed bored Kri-estaul and disgusted Evendal, until...
"Magister Penneklys of the Kestrel Tidebreak,"
Almost before the name left Bruddbana's lips, the summoned worthy
stomped through the doorway and bowed before the King. A plenitude of
kohl-black ringlets obscured a lean face; the wild hair drew Evendal's eye
away from the man's peg-leg. Over one shoulder hung a sea-bag, stuffed with
clearly weighty objects.
"Your Majesty." The man drawled his address, though Evendal felt
certain the slurring was not intentional. High Priestess Sygkorrin leaned
over and whispered in Evendal's ear.
"Our father granted you your post?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." He dropped his bag to the floor with no sound of
breakage.
"For how long have you been ennobled?"
Penneklys lowered his head and swayed rhythmically before he burbled
an answer. "I could not say. Your Majesty."
"Well, when was the last time you sat in judgement?"
After a long pause, Penneklys responded. "What day is this?"
"Lady Sygkorrin," Evendal turned. "This poor man is one for your
labours."
"How so?"
"Laudanum habit. Pull his tresses back from his face and it is
plain. The blue of his lips only underscores this. No doubt first given him
at the loss of his leg... and his bride. In a skirmish with a privateer?"
Unable to speak, uncertain of Evendal's actuality, the man continued
to sway, but nodded.
"Might I sit down? Your Majesty. I feel a bit light-headed."
"You may, after you relinquish to Us the ensign of your office."
"Must I? Your Majesty."
"Only for a time. You have been sorely tried."
Sygkorrin's gaze shifted back and forth between Evendal and
Penneklys. "Your Majesty, surely you do not expect us to wean him off
laudanum!"
"Yes." The King was clearly surprised at the question. "Not to leave
him without succour, but to find him some tincture less lethal and less
debilitating. If he needs to flow through his days, stewed in absinthe, so
be it. Even Healer's Water would be preferable. If you could get him to
take the laudanum in smaller doses, like paregoric... he would yet live
longer."
Slowly, Penneklys extended a scrimshawed ivory baton and dropped it
into Evendal's hand. To the dismay of those looking on, the Magister of
Kestrel Tidebreak toppled forward onto his good knee. The sound and sudden
movement startled Kri-estaul from his doze. The King gestured to help the
man up, but Penneklys forbore the offered hand.
"'Ware, Majesty. My hands are far from clean." The slow and morose
tone made it clear he spoke of more than dirt.
"We know. Would you credit it if We said We absolve you?"
"How can you? With what deaths I have caused, permitted, through the
haze of my indifference?"
"We can because We know that the names of the dead whisper endlessly
like a lay or litany in your mind. Just as Our enemies before Us, We have
neglected you and your neighbours, the southernmost section of Our
domain. But no more."
Evendal lowered his head again and murmured to his son, "What do you
see when you look on this man?"
Sleepy-eyed, Kri-estaul answered promptly. "Pain. He's weeping. No. A
black-haired woman and he are... Euwww!"
Evendal nearly chuckled. "Yes I know. But search his face. Aside from
humours, does it change or remain constant?"
"I don't understand. His face does not change like... Nisakh's did."
That remark brought a sharper focus to Evendal's expression. "So
Nisakh showed a different face at times, did he?"
"Yes, Papa." Kri twisted his head to gaze up into his father's
face. "Sometimes he looked like the Most Terr... like Abduram. Most of the
time. But sometimes he looked like Ancilat. Especially when he brought
people with him."
"Who is Ancilat?"
Drussilikh spoke up. "Ancilat was a retired Scrivener whom mother
employed to nursemaid Kri when he had four or five years. Kri called her
'the slimy snake' because she tried too hard to get on everyone's good
side. A foot-licker of sorts."
"She lied. A lot," Kri-estaul announced.
Evendal felt oddly encouraged at how Kri-estaul offered a clear memory
that pre-dated his imprisonment. His questions of Kri-estaul were not
patronising or parental dotage. He had once overheard, as part of another's
conversation, that for most children their world is very fixed, without
whimsy, fancy, or intangibles having any value. Had Kri-estaul been such a
child, he would have been a vermin banquet without chance of rescue long
ago. Faces do not change but with time, and though Kri-estaul certainly
knew this, for him appearances were as mutable as water. The sharpest
gambler, the most seasoned statesman could not hide from the child what he
wanted to know. Time, the advance of and distinction between cause and
effect, blurred in answer to the boy's need. Before Evendal had arrived in
Osedys, before Drussilikh's extremity had harvested a glow from his eyes,
Kri-estaul had dreamt a hope-giving dream of the golden-eyed one. The
King. His rescuer.
"And how do you feel toward him?"
"He looks a bit scary," Kri-estaul offered, then the whine in his
voice disappeared. "But he's sure exhausted. He looks so lonely, and
tired. Why, Papa?"
Evendal comprehended enough about his son to know he was not being
asked, 'Why do you want my insight?' "Because the person he loved best
died, and he did not. Because he knows he has failed at responsibilities
that did not care how much he hurt. Failed many times.
"Back when he was wounded, he was given a potion, just like you
were. Now he cannot live a day without it. But when he takes the drink, it
fogs his mind and will. Hobbled so, he has striven to do his duty, knowing
he will show poorly."
"Why not give the labour to another?"
"Because he yet cares for the people he was to help. And they have
cared for him. So both their need and their generosity, and his need for a
purpose other than grief, keep him trying."
Kri-estaul was only halfway attentive. "Papa, what is that on his
leg?"
"A stick that attaches to his thigh and torso. If you had one good
leg, I would have arranged for a support like that. But you do not."
Kri-estaul did not respond immediately, and Evendal wondered if he had
sounded too nonchalant. Penneklys could only wait on the Royal
pleasure. The Majesty of Osedys, oblivious, waited on his heir.
"It looks painful," Kri-estaul decided.
Both Evendal and Sygkorrin stared at the juncture of wood, cloth, and
flesh that was Penneklys's peg-leg, uncertain if they merely heard the
blanket opinion of an ignorant eight-year-old or something more.
"Magister Penneklys," Sygkorrin asked. "Who cut your leg?"
"My father's groomsman. After they found me. Draped like kelp on the
rocks."
"Do you recall if they poulticed it after? Did they..."
"He tied a belt around my thigh, gave me five tankards of laced mead,
took a tree-saw to the leg pulp, and then a fired horseshoe to seal
it. After that I lived off laudanum and mead for several days. If my wife's
old gaffer were less of a curmudgeon, I would still be living off laudanum
and mead exclusively. And happier for it." The recounting exhausted the
man's already ebbing vitality.
Evendal again kissed his son's forehead. "Magister Penneklys, what
items do you yield to us in that bit of baggage off your back?"
"Ledgers, Your Majesty. Though I may have been derelict in my duties,
my companions have been assiduous."
The King gestured and one of Danlienn's two companions opened the
sea-bag to examine the contents. "The Book of Estreats for Kestrel
Tidebreak. The record of who came for adjudication, what they came for, and
what Penneklys did or failed to do. Levies and fines imposed, payments
received and in what manner -- coin or barter."
"Penneklys, We shall keep your office under Our watchfulness until you
can return from the Archate to retrieve it from Us. Your Eminence, We
submit Our man into your care." The High Priestess nodded
acknowledgement. "Magister Penneklys, We would have you sit beside Master
Erual for the moment, later to follow her Eminence." Penneklys clumsily
complied.
The Magister of Kestrel Tidebreak's collection joined the growing
stacks against the windowed wall.
"Metrwlye, Judex Ordinarius for the Hummingbird Straits."
Like the ingenue-heroine in a mime show, Metrwlye swept into the room
in a flannel tunic that had somehow been dyed white, with ermine edging
along every hem. A thin, intricately carved bone baton in his hand added to
the drama of his appearance. He smiled benignly upon all, leaned
dramatically forward to peer nearsightedly at Evendal, and then performed a
belated low bow to his King. His tone was warm and familiar. "Is this
once-child I dandled on my knee now the august Majesty of Osedys? With mien
most fearsome and eyes incomparable, I would not have it credited, 'tis not
the sweet prince of my recall. Must even I say 'Your Majesty,' oh only son
of my dearest friend?"
Evendal sat hewn of granite. "Yes."
Metrwlye nodded, unfazed. "Wise are you, Your Majesty. Solemnity
serves where years and experience have not yet accrued. I appreciate your
indulgence toward a man grown old, first in your late father's joyous
service, then serving him still by upholding the hopes and goals he
harboured against the encroachments of the usurpers. It came to me that I
had not offered my respects, and so, finding a moment untrammelled by the
needs of my hold, I sped hither to offer you my good wishes."
The Ordinary turned and signalled to the doorway, and a young girl
swaggered in hefting a net crammed with books and scroll-cylinders.
"One intention of my visit is to help and guide you in your struggle
to approximate your lamented father's wisdom and skill. My time not being
mine own, I can hardly stand at your ear all day. So I make a present of
these, my judgements, painstakingly inscribed, along with my musings and
the rationale behind my decisions. I included the tax rolls because I often
whiled away the time waiting on the canaille scribbling clever adages and
aphorisms that you might find pleasant instruction in."
"Cease!" Evendal commanded. The fellow's utter self-absorption
flummoxed him. Metrwlye had heard Evendal's summons as an independent whim
of his own to visit the son of the old King. "What have you accomplished,
wise Metrwlye, that has made you a champion of Our father's hopes?"
The Ordinary gaped to be interrupted, but recovered quickly
enough. "Upholding the standard of fairness, of equity, as it applies to
each estate."
Danlienn stood from examining Metrwlye's cache, a cylinder in his
hand. "Your Majesty, your indulgence for a moment?" he asked.
Evendal waved the scribe over and perused the item Danlienn offered:
To Your Most Sovereign Majesty Greeting,
I place this missive in with the effluvium Master Metrwlye
has dictated be compiled for your patient examination and ultimate
dissatisfaction. Having served as the arm of Master Metrwlye's
justice for over eleven years, I proffer the argument that,
while he bears no malign humours, his impulse for self-advance-
ment is destructive to the commonweal. To defend that conten-
tion I include, along with the catalogues of whimsy and
fabrication he had me notate to protect his pension efforts,
his actual estreats and the chronicles I also had penned of
his approximations of 'equity.'
I am and hope to ever be,
At Your Service,
Tethrym agdh'Lerytt
Scrivener & Deputy to the Arbiter of Hummingbird Straits
"Metrwlye," Evendal m'Alismogh intoned.
Return to Us what Our father lent you,
Sign of a gift you did not apprehend.
Curved in toward yourself around Fortune's gyre,
Such worship for you holds a consequence most dire,
Turning stardust on your tongue to road dust in the end.
She humbles every station, 'tis Her due.
Agony imbuing every line of his face and form, Metrwlye knelt, bent
his fleecy white head, and offered over the bone staff. Evendal took up the
sign of the man's authority.
"Metrwlye, you may go to Master Fillowyn and receive twenty vianki,
after which you shall take up residence in the Cinqet. You shall not go
anywhere near your former residences or hall, nor enjoin another to
retrieve items for you from those locales. We adjure you to remain in the
Cinqet where you will take up legitimate labour in order to keep your
sinews hale and food in your larder. But for the moment, you will join the
stone-faced lot in the last pew at the back of this room and await Our more
informed pleasure."
(95) Cry - The sound given by the hounds when hunting. Also called "giving
tongue".
(96) The Guardian of Beginnings; one of the Mother of Midwive's oldest
titles.
(97) A drink, the contents of which varies widely, but whose principal
ingredient is apple juice and pulp.
(98) A fruitcake-type bread with currants, raisins, or blackberries.
(99) A beverage composed of hot milk curdled by some strong infusion.
(100) Crematory fire
(101) A.k.a. oakum