Date: Fri, 11 Apr 2003 11:27:54 -0400
From: Kristopher Gibbons <bookwyrm6@yahoo.com>
Subject: SongSpell-5

SongSpell-5

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

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

I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com

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


                       5 A Pipe For Fortune's Finger

                       Hamlet: ...and blest are those
                       Whose blood and judgment are so well commeddled
                       That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
                       To sound what stop she please.
                                            Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2, Line 72

     "Blood and swash!" Evendal exclaimed. "I feel like I've spent my
entire life exhausted."
    "You have had a rigourous return home." Aldul agreed. "Now, lest I
forget to tell you.... Anlota and Sygkorrin have taken up those
responsibilities Polgern did not delegate. Or so I was directed to say."
    "Who is Sygkorrin?"
    Aldul blinked, startled. "The Priestess I now serve under. She
suspected you might need more than a few bells' rest. So why not lie down
again. Bruddbana can continue to guard."
    "Bruddbana..." Evendal echoed, frowning. "I summoned him
earlier. Bruddbana!" he called out.
    The Guard stepped in, took in the now calm face of his lord, and
visibly relaxed. "My gracious lord?"
    "The two who guarded the palace's western flank last night. Robiliam
and Metthendoenn. Are they at any duty now?"
    Bruddbana shook his head. "Robiliam is sharing quarters with Polgern,
my lord. The Priestess has only now had a chance to seriously tend to
Metthendoenn. I thought to stow him with Robiliam."
    Not feeling particularly patient, and recalling the reluctance and odd
demeanor of the Guard Ierwbae, Evendal asked the obvious question with a
barely managed civility. "Metthendoenn was wounded? How? Who?"
    "I did not ask."
    Startled at this lapse, Evendal stood up. "Then I will. Escort me to
this Metthendoenn." He turned back to Aldul. "Do you wish to join me?"
Suddenly he felt awkward, uncertain of how to do honour to the kind
ænigma before him.
    "No." Aldul replied, a light, barely perceptible smile wrinkling around
his eye. "I want to find that midwife who was here...Anlota? How do you
feel right now?"
    "Like I just raced from one end of the Palace to the other. But solid,
at peace." Then he added. "At least for the moment."
    Aldul nodded, sober-faced, but apparently satisfied with the
answer. "It's a tidal peace." He warned. When they got to the corridor,
Bruddbana started down one direction, the Kwo-edan pointed down the
other. "She turned that way. I will come by tomorrow to examine your hand
and make certain all is well."
    Oddly at a loss, Evendal tried to talk around the lump in his
throat. "Aldul...truly I don't know how to...tell you what your being
here..."
    Aldul looked puzzled for a moment. He shrugged. "You needed someone. I
am glad I was near... You're still a riddle. And a friend."
    Impatient with himself, Evendal shook his head, then glanced behind him
at a waiting Bruddbana. "You did not have to say anything...but you did. I
felt so strange, like no one could understand. In a kind of despair, I
guess. Alone.  When you spoke of.... what happened to you, I didn't feel so
overwhelmed." Despite his best effort, Evendal's voice broke at the last.
    With a sad smile, Aldul held out his arms in offering, and hugged
Evendal. Glaring over the Alismogh's shoulder at Bruddbana, he
whispered. "I... I am amazed I could tell you about it. What only three
other people still breathing know. In so vital a way are we knit
together. Thus are we veterans of two very different types of battle."  He
released Evendal and gave him a familiar smirk. "Tomorrow, my friend."
    Evendal could only nod, and watch the Kwo-edan leave. 'All this turmoil
and death around me' he thought with a thrill.' And his calling me his
friend has me grinning like an idiot.' He turned and followed Bruddbana,
still grinning.

    Two Guard stood flanking the doorway to the wounded man. Their simple
presence, their intimidating visages, suggested that what they guarded
required un-opposable security. The High Priestess must have come and gone,
for the room's sole occupant looked to Evendal to be a boy of maybe sixteen
years with short-cropped black hair. He lay on a modified, waist-level cot,
the room's only furnishing, shirtless, with strips of linen circling his
stomach. When Evendal reached the bed, he added four years and more to his
estimate of age; the body proved too well defined, with no adolescent
softness to its contours, and a crux of black hair radiated from his
sternum.
    "Metthendoenn."
    The supine figure opened his eyes, a surprising green, and blinked
several times before the pupils shrank and he could focus. When he
recognized Bruddbana, he struggled to sit up. The arm he used to prop
himself trembled wildly, so much so that Evendal, heedless, pressed him
back against the cot.
    "No." he told the youth. "Lie still for now."
    Bemused, Metthendoenn stared at Evendal and repeated his effort to
rise, until Bruddbana barked out. "Lay back, boy!"
    Metthendoenn obeyed.
    "Report on this past night." the Prince demanded.
    Seeming oblivious, Metthendoenn merely stared at Bruddbana. When it was
clear to Evendal what the youth was waiting for, he prodded Bruddbana with
a look of amusement and a raised eyebrow.
    "Answer him." the older Guard barked, scowling.
    "Sir. On my eighteenth circuit, I heard shouts coming from the guest
housing. As he was at the intersection point of our respective patrols, I
proposed to Guardsman Robiliam that he accompany me to investigate. He
refused me, saying that Lord Abduram had tasked the Guard to ignore that
section of the Palace for the evening. He further said that if we gave no
alarum, and ignored any clamor, the Guardsmen on-duty for those bells would
see promotion or extra pay." He blinked earnestly up at Bruddbana, as if
seeking confirmation. "But you told us otherwise, sir. How the rightful
lord had returned, with the golden eyes of the Crown Prince. With nothing
official heralded from the Dowager or the full Council and Court, he had to
be in the guest apartments. Whatever he was, he had been offered the
shelter of the Palace. So I told Robiliam, sir. 'Abduram's not got the
power to promise anything anymore,' I said I was there to guard, not let
mayhem be done. Robiliam told me I was a fool, and that if I disobeyed
Abduram I was likely to become his bed-fodder." Metthendoenn swallowed
hard, all composure gone for the moment.
    "My family had always served the Guard, sir. My father and brother,
before me. Their honour - my name - is all I have left of them. Robiliam
saw I would not betray this and drew his knives on me. I...I did what I
knew was best. But I failed. So when his blade hit I shouted and screamed
and tried to draw attention. After that I don't remember."  He stopped a
second time to recover his breath and composure.
    "Sir. The rightful lord. Is it true? Is he safe? No one...no one would
speak to me."
    Stone-faced, Bruddbana replied. "You speak before him now."
    Metthendoen struck Evendal with his gaze as he struggled against his
weakness, suddenly frantic to get off the bed.
    "My lord! My lord! Forgive me, lord. Please. I failed you! They took my
sword or I would give it to you." Still lying on the cot where only
Evendal's restraining grip kept him, he cupped his hands together and held
them before the Heir. Once sure the man wouldn't jump out of bed, Evendal
clasped the upraised hands between his own.
    "But I pledge you. I pledge you my life, my life-long fidelity and
service unwavering. May the sword I would bear take my own life if I ever
fail you again." The easy tears of a convalescent ran unheeded down
Metthendoenn's ardent face.
    Evendal's own eyes threatened to overflow, being the focus of what
could only be either artless innocence or inexorable virtue.
    "Metthendoenn," Evendal's voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and,
still holding Metthendoenn's hands between his own, tried again.
    "Metthendoenn, listen to me first. I can and do accept your fealty. You
have not failed me at all. To turn your back, to betray your oath as
Robiliam seems to have, that is to fail me. But you acted in honour, and
sought to do what you thought just. I offer the shield of my trust and the
light of my regard and deepest respect to you, a man of virtue and good
report..."
    Voices from behind caused Evendal to turn around. The two Guard at the
door had another man jostling and struggling in their grasp, vainly trying
to force himself inside. Metthendoenn lifted his head and stared.
    "Ierwbae?"
    Evendal nodded to Bruddbana. "Let him come."
    If simple surprise washed Metthendoenn's features, angry determination
clothed Ierwbae's. Ten steps from Evendal he knelt on one knee and spoke to
the floor. "My most gracious lord."
    "I thought I had dismissed you."
    "To whatever family awaited me. He lies now before you. I had to come,
my lord. To learn Metthendoenn's fate."
    Ierwbae's impassioned entrance told Evendal all he needed to know, but
he asked the question given him. "Why?"
    "If...If my lord believes him guilty of treason," Ierwbae lifted a face
pale as alabaster. "Then to soberly and seriously offer my death for his."
    Bewildered, Metthendoenn whispered. "Ierwbae, what are you...?"
    Bruddbana all but shouted. "Here, you bother the king with such
nonsense?"
    Evendal gestured him to silence. "Bruddbana. You will leave now." When
the Guard started to protest the Prince's glare shut him up. "And you will
take your two door-guards a good twenty paces from the door and await me."
    Scowling, Bruddbana obeyed.
    When the guards had moved, Evendal turned his attention to
Ierwbae. "So, Metthendoenn is kin to you?" He gentled his voice.
    Obviously struggling to keep a civil countenance in the face of his
inquisitor, Ierwbae answered tersely. "No."
    "Then what is he to you that you offer your person for his judgment?"
    "He is my heart."
    Evendal nodded, unsurprised. "Kin by choice, then. Rest
easy. Metthendoen offered up his life and honour to the judgment of the
Left Hand of the Unalterable. No life is forfeit until truth, intent and
will are clarified." He hesitated, then reached out and aided Ierwbae to
stand. "Unsuspecting, Metthendoenn demonstrated a probity and honour which
We do not doubt. Again We say, rest easy."
    Dazed, Ierwbae's eyes wandered to Metthendoenn, who had closed his eyes
in exhaustion. After he had collected himself, the Guard whispered. "I am
only grateful that you could test his mettle indirectly. In his present
state, the imputation alone might destroy him."
    "Yes." Evendal agreed. After a quiet pause, he tendered. "He is rather
frightening, isn't he?"
    Ierwbae looked at Evendal blankly.
    "I mean...he seems so passionate, guileless. And yet I gleaned just
from his brief account of last night that he is neither dumb, nor merely
single-minded, nor a hapless innocent."
    Ierwbae smiled uncertainly. "We can speak more of that later, my
lord. One of my favourite topics, the man lying before you."
    Evendal grinned. "Do you wish to stay until the Priestess has fully
healed him?"
    Ierwbae looked incredulous, but nodded his acceptance quickly
enough. Hesitant, face self-consciously flushed, he knelt beside the bed
and stared at the quiet, wound-worn form it held. For a long motionless
moment he simply watched the linen-wrapped ribcage rise and fall in a
steady cadence. The sight must have reassured, for his shoulders slumped a
sudden release of tension, and a barely audible sigh escaped him.
    Evendal nodded again, grimly acknowledging two disparate feelings: Awe
and envy. The feeling that he stood before something precious, and the
stinging despair of jealousy. His injured hand throbbed.
    "I will need to speak with you for a moment." he murmured. "But first I
must go and beard Bruddbana." He retreated to the door, then glanced back.
    Ierwbae rested on his calves, and ran his fingers lightly through
Metthendoenn's sable locks. Even from the doorway, the man's gentling hand
visibly trembled. Conscious of scrutiny, Ierwbae looked up and glared at
Evendal, as if daring his new king to utter a word in censure or sarcasm at
this display.
    And Evendal grinned, the prickles of jealousy and longing strangely
stilled, or transmuted. Involuntarily, Evendal sniffed, teased by a trace
of brine in the air, an inexplicably comforting suggestion of salt. He
walked out.
    "Bruddbana, you strain my trust in your competence: I applaud your
holding those responsible for my safety last night. But your duty did not
end there. To make no enquiries, no questioning or interrogation. To learn
nothing of the extent of the treachery, or the manner of men
implicated... What can you say of all this?"
    Bruddbana scowled and shrugged, looking troubled. "He is innocent,
then?"
    "By my estimate, and as I judge thus far. Yes."
    When it became clear that Bruddbana had no other comment to offer, one
of the other two Guard cleared their throat and an uncertain alto asked.
    "Permission to address His Majesty?"
    Pleasantly surprised at the young woman in Guard blue, Evendal nodded.
    "Bruddbana did only as much as he knew himself capable of, lord. He is
a strong fighter and swordsman, steady and dependable. I would trust him to
guard my back, my honour and my daughter. But to sift truth from fantasy,
to know a hypocrite from a true victim... He lacks such acuity, and knows
it. His only recourse was to retain all involved until someone else could
discern the truth of the matter."
    "That I can accept." He turned back to Bruddbana. "You thought I would
do the discerning?"
    Bruddbana shook his head, clearly not comfortable being talked
about. "I did not know, then, how badly you were injured, you may not have
been able. I was prepared to ask Lady Sygkorrin. It is said that the High
Priestess can unearth the hidden urges of any heart. Their actions and true
memories."
    "A good thought." He turned back to the woman. "And how are you
called?"
    "Falrija, my lord."
    "Falrija. Would you and your companion retrieve another cot and some
rope for Metthendoenn and Ierwbae?"
    Bruddbana protested. "But you said he was innocent! Why the rope?"
    Both Evendal and Falrija smiled at this. Falrija nodded and bowed to
Evendal, then she and the other Guard marched off to another apartment to
scavenge. Evendal answered.
    "He is innocent, I deem. The rope is to bind the two cots
together. Even as Ierwbae and Metthendoenn are bound."
    Bruddbana puzzled the allusion out quickly. His face turned brick
red. "How can you condone such?"
    "You forget yourself, Guard!" Evendal snapped, disappointed if not
surprised. He pointed one hand back toward the room, furious. "Henceforth,
those two dwell under my protection. They are to be treated in all
courtesy. Grieve them and I am grieved. Do you understand me, Guardsman?"
    His neck and head a congested russet, Bruddbana nodded, speechless.
    "Can you perform your duty at their door without rancor or hesitancy?"
    Bruddbana did not reply, though his blush ebbed.
    "Then tell me what you find so objectionable in them?"
    Silence. Evendal watched Bruddbana strive to put his distress into
coherent thought. The man's brow shifted numerous times. He scowled. He
took a breath to speak, then grimaced into silence again. Finally he rolled
his eyes and shrugged, still ascowl, just as the two Guard returned with a
cot and a coil of rope. Falrija stopped, seeing Bruddbana's evident
discomfort.
    "What ails him?" she asked Evendal, constrained by the royal presence
to speak to the Prince rather than directly to Bruddbana.
    "Metthendoenn and Ierwbae."
    Falrija chuckled at that, loudly. "Forgive him, lord. He never did have
much imagination." She eyed Bruddbana critically. "And while he acts too
proper even for his friends, I haven't abandoned him. Yet."
    Seeing Bruddbana's jaw clench and the veins along his bull-neck stand
out, Evendal's anger turned to amusement. "You are his wife?"
    Falrija sighed theatrically. "Aye, my lord."
    "Is he always so...arbitrary? So rigid?"
    Falrija continued to study her husband, both humour and anger playing
across her face. "Only when he worries how others might judge him, which
has become most of the time." She stared him pointedly in the face. "When
he is not sweating over the opinion of some invisible 'overseer' he can act
like a man."
    She smiled mischievously at Evendal. "I promise you. The increasingly
rare times that I can get him to relax at home, its not his neck that
stiffens."
    Evendal barked out a laugh in surprise. When Falrija first spoke he had
tried to stifle his amusement, not wanting to humiliate Bruddbana
further. Then, with a flash of perception, he suspected both what beset
Bruddbana and what Falrija sought through her personal baiting. Signaling
to the lady to continue with her task, Evendal gripped a startled Bruddbana
by the arm and stepped out of Falrija's path.
    "Bruddbana," he began, his tone now calm and gentle. "At this moment I
do not wish to talk about Ierwbae, or his belovéd. I want to talk about
you. And Polgern and his dead competitor. How long have you been a Guard?"
    "Ten years, my lord."
    "You did not go to Mausna?"
    Bruddbana sighed, seemingly bored of the question. "No, my lord. My
cohort commander felt I had not enough training for the rigours of the
battlefield."
    "So you remained. To perform what duties Polgern dictated. What was it
like? What did he expect?"
    "I remember being very uneasy at first, lord. He was a difficult
taskmaster, in many ways. Very unpredictable. His face would look calm
and... serene. Then his voice would whip out to flay our commander over
some minor error. Or he would penalise for some laxity he saw, which had
not been considered one before. He converted the old kitchen buildings
behind the Palace into a dormitory for all the surviving Guard, married or
not. He set down, through the chain of command, a code of discipline. It
was tough, I would not wish it on anyone." Even as he said this, a smile
lingered on his face.
    "But your wife spoke of 'getting you home.' So you don't live on the
grounds anymore?"
    "No. Someone set fire to the roofing. Rumour was that...the dead
traitor...had it done, from fear that Polgern was making a private militia
out of the Guard. Yet Polgern's code is still part of our training."
    "How did this code treat displays of affection or comfort? Let's say
that your mother had just died, and you learned of this during your first
assembly for the day..."
    Bruddbana interrupted with a bark of a laugh, then declaimed in a loud
tone. "When guarding, patrolling, or on the Palace grounds. When in the
presence of a fellow Guard - any citizen other than your immediate
commander - you stand, walk or pace forward, impervious, implacable, and
impassible. A Guard."
    "Tears?"
    Bruddbana flicked a scornful glance at the question and questioner,
then realised to whom he spoke. Disdain shifted to apprehension.
    "Bruddbana," Evendal drawled softly. "You are a traitor, a saboteur in
waiting."
    "My lord! I swear to you...."
    Evendal held up his hand to continue. "No. It is not arguable. You will
go to the Temple, ask for an adept who remedies mind-molding. You will
present yourself as a victim of Master Polgern's. And you will stay there,
under their care, until they declare you solidly restored. You will do this
now, at this moment. Do I have your parole, that you will do so, without a
stop along the way to some tavern or other shelter? Now?"
    Unnoticed by Evendal, Falrija had returned and, tears filling her eyes,
lightly touched Bruddbana's arm. Her husband bristled at the public
familiarity.
    "My love. Please?"
    Before he could reply, Evendal added. "My friend. Do not think that I
single you out in anger. Rather from need. I need you beside me without the
subtle lessons that Polgern taught those Guard he had claimed. Without your
mimicry of his asceticism or distaste for the diversity and chaos of
life. Without your enforced admiration of him. You will not be the only
Guard who is Temple-bound, merely the first. Do I have your word?"
    Bruddbana looked at his wife, the muscles of his face drawn and
tense. "You want me to go?"
    For an answer, she asked simply. "Do you remember the week after we
pledged our love to each other?"
    As his face flushed crimson once more, shame, anger and longing chased
each other in the twisting of his expression, settling into an even grimmer
façade.
    Pain edging her words, Falrija whispered. "Once upon a time, your only
reaction would have been a full-hearted laugh. And you might have chased me
to the bedroom, no matter where we were. I miss you."
    His voice ragged with his own dismay, Bruddbana asked. "You would
accept my parole, my lord?"
    "Yes. And affix no fault or blame. It shall not be heralded about the
Palace."
    "Then you have my pledge." Slowly, he turned to his wife. "I...I care
for you...will do my best." The words came out, a strained mumble.
    "I know. And I love you also."
    He moved as if to go, then stopped and bowed to his king,
scowling. "Tell Ierwbae, and Metthendoenn.... I do not wish them ill." Not
waiting for a response, Bruddbana strode swiftly down the corridor and out
of view.
    "Were it not for your explanation, I would not have believed anyone
could be so changed..." the Prince marveled.
    Falrija knelt. "I thank you, lord."
    Evendal grimaced. "All this kneeling! Must I get used to it? Get
up.... I need your help, not your thanks. It is likely that Polgern, the
dead traitor, maybe even this Robiliam, have accomplices or
friends. Metthendoenn and Ierwbae may need guarding."
    "Is that your wish?"
    Evendal hesitated. "How trustworthy is your companion?" He gestured to
the other Guard, standing at a distance from the door. "And will I have to
send him after your husband?"
    Falrija shook her head. "Heamon is an orphan of the King's Fifth(12),
so he has no love of Polgern or Polgern's methods, and he despised the dead
usurper."
    Early in Osedys' history, the beggars, crippled, orphaned or the
stigmatized accepted one vast annex of the city; a place where royal
charity would sustain them. Support for 'the King's Fifth' of the city
being a traditional obligation of the Throne, Evendal worried what Heamon's
orphanhood had to do with any loyalty toward the regicide. His expression
must have conveyed his bemusement, for Falrija interjected.
    "Polgern declared the King's Fifth outcast. No longer a part of Osedys
or entitled to its graces or privilege. They had refused to be his slave
labour, and had successfully repelled any Guard or officer that went in
press-ganging. I suspect, as others do, that Heamon had hopes of
assassinating Polgern. Not that he ever had a chance."
    The Prince nodded and walked back to the room, motioning for both
Heamon and Falrija to join him. In respectful tones he asked Ierwbae's
leave to sit on the now-extended bedding.
    Familiar with the duumvirate's too contagious attitude of injured
merit, it took Ierwbae a moment to realise the Pretender intended neither
mockery nor sarcasm - and to stammer his own permission.
     "I thank you. I do not like wresting your attentions from your
belovéd's distress, so I hope to be brief. Falrija has reminded me that
nine years of foul change have passed. I need to know what has been done
under the banner of 'the Good of the Kingdom.' She briefly explained about
the King's Fifth. It will take time and care to restore any trust in the
royal benevolence there. What else have Polgern and the dead traitor
brutalized?  Aside from all of the King's Fifth and half of the Guard."
    Tentative, Ierwbae offered an initial response. "The markets, and
shipping."
     When Evendal merely frowned and raised an eyebrow, Falrija
continued. "Import percentages with absurd exceptions and burdensome
amercements. Seamen and traders imprisoned over imaginary
infractions. Visitors or émigrés likewise taken, brutally questioned,
then killed 'while trying to escape' or forced into labour. Abduram's
prisoners got killed outright more often than Polgern's."
    Ierwbae qualified. "But the ruthlessness by which our duumvirate ruled
made the death-count seem like a competition. We, the Guard, were
abused. And made to abuse our own, delegated, authority."
    Metthendoenn awoke, alerted by the pain in Ierwbae's tone, and drew his
attentions. Heamon took up the tale of rapine.
    "When the King's Fifth first repulsed Polgern's efforts, his
desperation to erect a protective wall around the city, he officially
restored the old Nikraan practise of indenture. This meant that no one had
any lawful recourse, and that Polgern could consistently pursue slave
labour without opposition or legal fictions. Indeed, replaceable workers
have become the only import in which ships make a clear and ungarnished
profit."
    "Polgern's dictum of the most work for the least maintenance means
workers cyclically die of malnutrition, exposure, exhaustion or neglect. I
have heard visitors, afraid to be caught disparaging Osedys, refer to it
obliquely as.... 'that place which offers money in one hand and death in
the other'. Most simply call us 'Money and Death'."
    Stunned, m'Alismogh looked at Falrija and Ierwbae, who both nodded
their confirmation. Heamon took a deep breath to continue, but Evendal
waved him to desist. Stone-faced, the Guard obeyed. Head whirling, the
Prince's vision dimmed and his hands curled tight against his
chest. Neglect, taxes, and misfeasance he had felt prepared for. He had not
anticipated fragility, or such parasitic wasting. As a child, Osedys had
seemed a marvel to Evendal; huge, magical and deathless. Where people often
disappointed, the city never had; always busy, alive, constant. Now Polgern
and the other traitor had forced on his belovéd wonder the illusory
gratification of cannibalism, and his darling had taken to devouring its
own flesh. Shadow swift, his earlier weariness returned to him.
    The Prince's whisper sounded light in the awaiting silence,
incongruous.
    "They left nothing. Not even a city to come home to. All I wanted... I
have no home. Nothing. No one. No one. And a struggle I can't hope to win."
He faced Ierwbae, but plainly did not see him.
    Unnerved by this reaction, Falrija blurted. "But you have the
Dowager... All this."
    Evendal shook his head in vehement denial, and shut his eyes as tight
as his fists. It was Ierwbae who answered. "The Dowager reflects the city's
corruption. She would consume him if he permitted."
    "You have yourself." Heamon offered softly. "That is all any of us have
had. For nine years."
    Ierwbae gave Heamon a horrified look. "Yes and no, Heamon." He fingered
the clasp of his mantle and glanced at a now wide-eyed Metthendoenn, who
merely nodded. "I intend no disrespect, Lord Evendal."
    With quick, spare grace, Ierwbae removed his cloak, to drape and
re-clasp it on Evendal's shoulder. Startled, the Prince looked up to see a
homely face made solemn with a familiar haunting. In a moment of
complicity, Ierwbae and his mate, with a simple gesture of adrogation,
offered him the constant sanctuary of a legally binding adoption. At a
loss, Evendal gazed at lover and beloved with grief, embarrassment,
gratitude and weariness so entwined and so plain, that Metthendoenn started
to push himself up in his cot again.
    "Yes." Metthendoenn gasped, after Ierwbae forced him flat once
more. "If you can accept."
    "With this stipulation," Ierwbae hissed. "Your estate is your own, not
ours to share. As if we would want to! But our hearth and kin are your's."
Ierwbae's caveat echoed good sense; without it, he and Metthendoen left
themselves the object of mortal reprisals from the class-conscious and the
caste-climbers.
    "Then in honour, and all humility, I do accept." Evendal replied in a
directed, more restrained whisper. He cleared his throat, self-conscious,
and asked of anyone. "How many Guard do we have?"
    "Six hundred and sixty." Heamon supplied.
    "I would have them all assembled in the Palace courtyard
tomorrow. No. Have them assemble, but in three separate units, three bells
apart. Two hundred and twenty in each. We need a written chronicling of
those absent, as well. Begin at midday. Can this be done?"
    Falrija nodded.
    "Then let it be so. Heamon, how do you stand with the folk in the
King's Fifth? How would you fare if you walked in there?"
    Blond, tall and stocky, Heamon shifted a grim gaze around the four, but
said nothing at first. No one intervened. Brows knitted, he turned his gray
eyes on Evendal's gold ones. The Prince waited several breaths,
unprotesting and patient.
    "I could go in there." Heamon replied, a sharp syncopation to his
speech. "And return unscathed. But not if I wear Guard colours."
    Evendal chuckled. "Do you state the obvious simply to have something to
say? Like every monarch-under-tutelage, I have dwelt in the Fifth for a
time. I know full well how my father's idea of royal beneficence failed."
    Heamon glowered. "Your...august parent...simply gave them a foretaste
of Polgern's care. Unlike any other candidate you could possibly suggest, I
can return whole. And, undetected, tender a message for those who minister
to the people there."
    "Good. I may ask you to spread word that Polgern's ban is rescinded,
his enslavement tactics abolished. This will not be believed. It may only
provoke. Even so. The King's Fifth shall, once again, abide under royal
grace."
    "To what end?" Heamon rumbled, a rhythm to his speech clear and
pronounced. "A grudging disposition of coarse clothing, rickety shelters,
and food either spoiled or rejected by others. The Fifth can do as well
without the 'patronage' of either the King or the Lord Protector. They
would not return to so pathetic an honour. And if I delivered such tidings,
I would just get dunked in sugared beer, leftover from the King's
'largesse'."
    Unperturbed, Evendal nodded his acceptance of the assessment. Quietly,
pointedly, he murmured. "Thank you, Guard Heamon, for the intelligence."
    Heamon's lighter skin flushed slowly, painfully. He said nothing and
carefully looked at no one.
    "Have you lorekeepers still in the Fifth?" The Guard nodded. "Very
well. Can you spread the word of the co-ruler's death and Polgern's
imprisonment?"
    Again a nod.
    "Then please do so. We may have to wait, before making any overt
gestures of goodwill. But we will at least stop construction on that
damnable wall, and restore the survivors to what kin may exist. Restitution
must also be attempted, though how...I do not know. Of course none of this
can be accomplished without the certain and uniform support of the Guard."
Scowling, he scrutinized the blond Guard before him.
    "Heamon?"
    "Yes, lord."
    "Where do you live?"
    "I have a place near the ports."
    "Yes, I'm sure. But where do you live?"
    When the Guard hesitated, Evendal smiled ruefully, waving away any
answer Heamon might fabricate.
    "The hour you have hoped for approaches, Heamon of the Fifth. Tell me,
in your heart, what do you want?"
    "I do not understand the question, lord. I have wanted many things."
    Evendal matched Heamon's earlier rhythmic speech pattern. "When I
arrived at the Palace, I thought I had come to mourn. To mourn and to
avenge my father. But motives are never simple, nor single. In secret, I
was furious with a man now dead. The traitor. For doing what I had not the
stomach for. What I had secretly wished for."
    He paused to take a shaky breath, then added.
    "Listen to me, Heamon. And share. Truth for truth. What do you desire,
in that place you hide in plain sight in your heart? What do you desire?"
    Slowly, but with no change in manner or expression, the Guardsman
answered. "To give recompense. For my shame, the grief and pain I've
abetted."
    Evendal thought a moment, then chose not to pursue where he might cause
damage. "How? How would you, a Guard, make amends?"
    "Abduram is beyond my skill, but Polgern's defense is all words and
schemes. I would strike him down. Whatever becomes of it, the Clan would be
safer. And I could die, having achieved some small redress."
    Evendal still shied from the obvious, and the personal. He vaguely
recalled folk in the Fifth calling themselves 'the Clan', and said nothing
more for the moment, hoping a stretch of time, unsupported by rhythm or
tone, might mitigate or diminish the effect of his newfound glamour. With
Metthendoenn looking bemused and Ierwbae staring at him in mingled unease
and surprise, Evendal let himself realise how he had just used his
dwœmer to coerce another. And had done it simply to confirm a personal
suspicion.
    "How did you do that?" The question came from Heamon.
    "What do you mean?" Evendal blustered. "All I did was ask what
motivated you. And you told me."
    "I know what I said! That is what disturbs me. It felt like I was
talking to my.... my nathlil(13).... to Pereiallwn."
    Ierwbae interrupted, looking ill. "The old emissary? She was your
guardian? Oh, Heamon, no!" He locked gazes with his comrade, pain
reflecting pain, and could not speak for the welter displayed in his
features.
    "Any alternative...If we had had any alternative, you know I'd have
taken it." Ierwbae's tone pleaded. Confused, Evendal did not interfere,
merely waited.
    The standing Guard nodded. "I know. She made her own choice, as
well. Its just.... there isn't a day that I don't regret it, even so." He
glanced down at a tearful Metthendoenn.
    "I wish you had not been awake for that."
    "We put you in such a bind! Ierwbae was right, I had no call burdening
you more."
    Heamon smiled a little. "Silly...the dilemma already existed. That
Pereiallwn was our quarry just made it more personal. Neither Ierwbae nor I
could have done otherwise."
    Finally, Evendal interjected. "Would one of you be willing to explain
what you speak of?"
    "My lord." Metthendoenn glanced at Ierwbae, then Heamon. Both
nodded. "Life has not been easy since Mausna. The lords Polgern and...the
Other...It was like choosing from different ways to die. Serving under this
Protecto...interregnum. Fearing one master for his brutality. Dreading the
other for his cold-blooded obsessions and connivance."
    "I gave Ierwbae...I caused him much pain. Each day, I knew, I might be
killed. Some scheme of Lord Polgern's or some retaliation from his
adversary would be my death. Or his. Ierwbae's. Like when Lord Polgern sent
a squad of Guard into the Fifth to enforce his edict of indenture. Not one
returned. I did not want to make or be a widower. And both masters had used
a threat to a loved one to enforce their wishes. So I treated Ierwbae
coolly, indifferent." Metthendoenn's tone was breathy, light. The look he
bored into Ierwbae could have melted the wall. "That kind of thinking got
me through six years of service. Twisted thinking for a twisted time."
    "I cannot imagine you ambivalent." Evendal smiled. "What changed?"
    "As you must know, the Temple maintains an emissary to the King's
Fifth. A liaison. Polgern ordered three Guards to seek her out and abduct
her." Metthendoenn still held Ierwbae's gaze, but both tone and look
gentled as the wounded one wearied again. "When I heard of Ierwbae's
orders, I realised then that I had been destroying us both. I had already
given my heart, my deepest respect and trust. Pushing him away had been
senseless. I felt so angry with Polgern, and scared for Ierwbae, and
helpless. I...I acted like an idiot." he halted, tongue-tied.
    Chuckling, Heamon ruffled Metthendoenn's hair, much to the
convalescent's annoyance. "What this love-crazed young man did, my lord,
was offer me a bribe. Everyone knew where I grew up. So, if I saw to
Ierwbae's safety in the King's Fifth, this lad would be my willing
bedmate."
    Taken by surprise, Evendal coughed on a swallow. "Truth?" he rasped.
    Heamon nodded, with too-fleeting a grin. Ierwbae glared at a
flame-faced Metthendoen, his indignation spoiled by the effort to keep from
smiling.
    As Evendal's coughing quieted, Ierwbae kissed his anxious beloved in
reassurance, then chided. "Clarify, Heamon. Lord,... before he became a
Guard, Metthendoenn had received only affection, and stumbled through a
youth's overtures at romance. He knew that the attentions of men gave him
the greatest comfort(14), but that was all. What more he learned, he
learned from a few Guards, superiors who emulated...the dead traitor in
gentleness. They're dead themselves now. But as a result, his view of
people can be jaded, while his manner is...virginal."
  Evendal smiled, sadly. "What you describe sounds like hard-won virtue, to
me." He glanced down at Metthendoenn. "And someone who learned more of lust
than he did of love. It took a lot of courage to put yourself in Heamon's
hands."
    "No. Desperation." He could barely speak, glaring tear-blind at
Ierwbae. "If you had died..."
    Heamon resumed the tale. "But I knew all this. Kul! You would have had
to be blind to not see how they felt toward each other, the love and the
fear. And when I said I would not bargain! Forget Polgern or.... the
other. That moment was the closest I ever came to death, right then! I
tried to convince him that I would not sacrifice Ierwbae either for the
success of the task or my own safety before the Clan. Finally, I did
bargain. I would see Guard Ierwbae back safe, if Guard Metthendoenn vowed
to never again peddle his body to anyone and if he told Ierwbae, promptly,
what he had offered to me. And why."
    "The toughest assignment I ever had." Metthendoenn slurred,
tiring. "The rest is... Heamon's to tell."
    "Yes." Heamon agreed, grim. "The third Guard in our commission was a
toe-kisser of Polgern's. Determined to be our constant shadow, cunning and
alert for any chance to ruin his fellows for his own advancement. We both
had his measure. My being raised in the Fifth made this foray possible, and
made me his target. I was able to forewarn Pereiallwn, she knew I could not
merely pretend to pursue and expect to live. But she did not flee for the
Temple as I had hoped. When we finally... finally caught her, she came
along blithely. She made a point of reviling me before Ierwbae and
Kenles... the other Guard. Stalking her without alerting the Clan took four
days, and it would have taken us near as long to return with her in
tow. Pereiallwn... she knew all the tricks of a Clan-bred
pouchpicker. She... On the second day, in the midst of a busy street..."
    Heamon stopped, unable to continue. Ierwbae came to his aid.
    "She got our toe-kisser's blade from him, undetected. Tripped him. And
fell on them both, making enough noise to ensure witnesses to the man's
knifing her. And she did not die immediately, but lingered long enough to
exonerate Heamon and my..."
    "No, Ierwbae." Heamon interrupted harshly. "What she did was charge me,
in the patois of the Fifth, with a responsibility to... my Clan." He glared
at Evendal, daring him to comment. "Which guaranteed that those who had
witnessed her death also witnessed her unaltered regard for
me. They... They let us go, with the corpse. That weasel of a Guard could
only apologize and beg Polgern's mercy for his apparent clumsiness:
Allowing the emissary to suicide. And with his own knife. Polgern's mercy
involved the man's palms being bound against the edges of his blade, while
another slowly pulled it from his grasp."
    "Cold comfort, that."
    "Very." Heamon stared Evendal in the eye, belligerent. "And you have
not answered how you coerced me to speak."
    "Nor will We. Our sharing enemies does not make us friends. We will say
again. The time you had hoped for is near, Heamon. What would you do with
him, if We had Polgern brought to you, bound and judged?"
    With hardly a pause, the Guard answered. "Flay him slowly. Pull his
lungs out through his ribs. Slice off his genitals and stuff them in his
mouth. Burn off what hair he has left on his head and body..."
    "Enough!" Ierwbae barked, sickened more at hearing Heamon's growing
enthusiasm and hate than at the images evoked.
    Heamon stopped. His briefly animated face went stiff and still, though
splotches of colour glowed on his pale cheeks. "What do you intend for
Polgern? Lord."
    Evendal matched Heamon's earlier brevity. "Death."
    "Yes. What manner of death?"
    Of the four, only a fitfully conscious Metthendoenn showed any dismay
over a Guard questioning the Heir. The Prince felt neither surprise nor
umbrage. As a member of the King's Fifth, Heamon held only marginal
citizenship. So Evendal's authority had a limit, until the collective Guard
gave their fealty.
    "Traditionally, a traitor in the nobility was bound by each limb to a
half-tamed horse and torn apart. A symbol of his betrayal's effect on the
kingdom."
    A grin quirked across Heamon's lips.
    "Yet if the King's Fifth, and those building the wall, can agree on a
method, then We shall relinquish Polgern to them, and their imaginations,
for public execution."
    Stunned the Guard coughed out a gasp. "Hold to that promise, lord, and
the Clan will gladly return to the old charter! Do you wish me to share
these tidings now?"
    "No." Evendal replied, smiling sardonically. "First We will accept your
homage."
    Heamon glanced about again, suddenly frantic. Falrija and Ierwbae,
attentive and curious, again refused to intervene. Metthendoenn had closed
his eyes again, weary. When Heamon made no move or sound, Evendal's face
began to mirror Metthendoenn's worn expression.
    "Heamon. How would Polgern's adversary have reacted to your reticence?"
    "He would have had a dagger at my throat and a sword pointed at my
heart."
    "And after hearing your coerced pledge, he would have planted those
blades into your neck and heart." Heamon nodded. "And Polgern?"
    Heamon snarled. "He would not have wasted time hearing a false vow. He
would have had Ierwbae and Falrija take me to the nearest deadwood in
Khanderif Forest and execute me where it wouldn't stain his stonework."
    "Whereas We give you a choice. Pledge, and go share Our offer. Or
leave, no longer of the King's Guard, and do not return. Nor involve
yourself in any way in Polgern's fate. We cannot afford Guard of uncertain
loyalties, indifferent to everything but a single future execution. Go or
stay. You choose."
    Long did Heamon and Evendal glare at each other. Then the blond Guard
sighed and gazed, with a fond smile, at a lightly snoring
Metthendoenn. Ierwbae and Heamon shared the same wordless amusement before
Heamon turned his attention back to Evendal. Ierwbae nudged his beloved
awake.
    "By the Clan that has claimed me out of solitude, I shall to my
rightful Lord, the mold of Justice and Equity, be true and faithful. To be
the sword by which he cleaves, the shield by which he guards - the will of
the Left Hand of the Unalterable made manifest. Nor shall I ever with will
or action, through word or deed, do aught which might dishonour the
fairness of his Rule. If I fail in this, or prove faithless, then will I be
exiled from those who call me kin, expelled from their hearts and homes
henceforth. I hereby pledge to the righteous Lord of this land my strength,
my wit, my life, my honour and service unwavering. Receiving, in return,
all that I offer, as my need arises. This I, Heamon akha Lenwertth, do
pledge."
    Both Ierwbae and Metthendoenn winced at Heamon's appellative:
'lenwertth' betokened an anonymous woman of easy virtue. Traditionally, a
Guard voiced the conditions of the agreement being entered into, and the
ruler or deputy merely nodded his sanctioning. So all startled when Evendal
did not decline his head.
    "As Left Hand of the Immutable and Unalterable, We stand beside Heamon,
child of life. We pledge Our comfort, support and counsel. As he has spoken
so do We. Henceforth Heamon holds Our honour, Our good name, Our very life
in his keeping. Even as We hold his life, his honour and well-being in Our
hands by the choices, judgments and commands We make..." Subtly, Evendal's
voice altered, dropping to the lower registers. It turned gentle, yet
maintained strength.
    "If, in your heart, you can accept Our commission, We would rename you:
Heamon akha Lliori, in the old tongues, Heamon son of Life. And add further
responsibility to the many you have claimed. We would charge you, Heamon,
to do overtly and under royal sanction all that We suspect you have done
covertly. To stand as protector and mediator for the King's Fifth. Can this
content you for a purpose, after Polgern has been judged and dispelled?
Your duty would be to ensure the quality and manner of goods and care the
Fifth receives, to arbitrate the range and limits of the Guard's authority
in the Fifth, and keep Us informed of the Clan's temper, well-being and any
notable concern that might require royal resolution. What do you say? We
offer this in good faith and all verity, before three witnesses."
    Halfway through Evendal's declamation, Heamon's eye bulged and his face
flushed brilliantly. When he spoke, his words came out harsh, rasping and
rhythmic. "What are trying to do? What do you want?"
    Matching ferocity with ferocity, Evendal spat out an answer. "Justice,
Heamon. We cannot give it to the dead, the unjustly abused and dead. But as
much justice and equity as one mortal ruler can possibly achieve."
    Shaking his head, Heamon slumped to one knee, thus face to face with
Evendal, and held out joined hands. "As you have named me henceforth shall
I be. Heamon akha Lliori. To defend your life and honour with all I have
and all I am. And to do the labour which you have named me to with all my
heart." At Evendal's nod he stood.
    "My lord..." he stopped and swallowed. "May I leave now?"
    Again Evendal nodded. "Go, at peace. And Our respect and trust go with
you." He smiled.
    Forcing a smile uncertainly back, Heamon bowed and made a swift exit.
    Eyebrows raised in query, Evendal looked to his three companions.
    "You have upset him tremendously." Falrija marveled. "I have never seen
him so emotional. He has a reputation as quick to anger, but otherwise
impassive."
    "You have won a major victory, my lord." Ierwbae confirmed. "His first
pledge was a careful, cagey accommodation. Pledging himself to the rule you
might achieve. Not so, his second."
    Evendal smiled. "You noticed that also?" The smile fled. "But will the
offer suffice? That is what I want to know. Polgern's fate is
inevitable. And when it has passed...?"
    Sleepy-eyed, Metthendoenn assured him. "Heamon will be thoroughly
engaged in a more fulfilling goal. One he will never, truly, complete. Yes,
my lord. Heamon believes himself inscrutable. But both Ierwbae and I have
seen his fury over the conditions in the King's Fifth. We ourselves..."
Suddenly uneasy, Metthendoenn flicked a glance at both Guards. Ierwbae
completed his sentence.
    "...Have committed acts of subversion. Depressingly minor ones. But in
the eyes of Polgern and the Beast, still treason. For the benefit of the
Fifth and the Temple."
    Evendal guessed whom "the Beast" referred to, so he merely said. "You
have?"
    "My lord," Metthendoenn hesitated. "Heamon's first vow is one that many
of us have made in our hearts, and to each other."
    "That is all I need to know for now. Tomorrow let us find out how many
Guard have done so in deed. Falrija, I would ask you to assemble what Guard
you and Ierwbae trust and form into four-bell shifts. One will guard
Ierwbae and Metthendoenn during the day. Unless Ierwbae must leave, in
which instance one Guard accompanies him and two abide with
Metthendoenn. Two will guard through each night."
    Metthendoenn protested. "Surely that is not necessary!"
    "Anyone loyal to the dead traitor, or Polgern or Robiliam could enact
their own idea of justice or ambition upon you two."
    Both Falrija and Ierwbae nodded their agreement.
    "And those guarding will be respectful of you both." Falrija added. "I
will see to it."
     "This seems so absurd."
    Evendal glanced at Falrija, who bowed and strode out the
doorway. "Metthendoenn, however you may see it, you were wounded in my
service. Having honoured me, gifted me. And as you're in no shape for a
formal feasting or ceremony, please... cousin. Permit me this small gesture
of grateful concern."
    "For how long?"
    "Three, maybe four days."
    Uncertain, Metthendoenn kept his gaze on Ierwbae. "Just so we are not
gawked at, two exotic animals in a traveling spectacle. Then I yield."
    "And what of Robiliam, lord?"
    "When Falrija returns, I will visit the man. Question him, test him."
    Ierwbae shook his head and growled. "When facing death, anguish and
repentance are sincerely felt. Permit me to escort you."
    "Do not, my lord." the wounded man implored. "He only seeks
retribution."
    Evendal smiled. "Of course he does. As Heamon does. As I did. It has
become the fashion here! If you were my beloved, Robiliam would not have
lived this long. And as for fear-born sincerity..." His face darkened with
a flush. "I can compel him to truth."
    Not trusting his voice, Ierwbae nodded.
    "Do I scare you? Ierwbae? Metthendoenn?"
    "Yes, my lord." Ierwbae replied. "What you did to Heamon. He would
never have spoken to you so freely. You constrained him."
    "I did. And I regret doing so. I acted without respect for a
defenseless innocent." He paused, took a deep breath, and glanced back and
forth between Metthendoenn and Ierwbae. "I tell you now. I shall so compel
others again, but in the pursuit of justice, and truths more vital, not
whims and rumours."
    Uncertain, Metthendoenn wondered. "Do you seek our approval? We are not
your conscience, we cannot be."
    "No. But I would reassure you, though words are easily given. Only time
and familiarity will prove if I can act responsibly with this glamour. It
scares me and intrigues me equally."
    Ierwbae glanced at Metthendoenn, who chose to rasp. "An added
responsibility, as you say. If an awesome one. It changes nothing between
us three. My lord, forgive me. But I must rest. I can barely keep my eyes
open."
    Mortified, Evendal stood up, knees creaking in protest. "Yes, of
course. I think that is what I need as well. If Ierwbae is agreeable, I
would leave Robiliam's interrogation for tomorrow morning."
    "I can wait on justice." Ierwbae acquiesced. "But not for long!"
    "No," Evendal agreed. "It has been years long enough. I shall stay
until Falrija's return, then retire also. You know where I am housed,
Ierwbae. Come by on the fourth bell of morning, if you would, and I shall
be ready."
    "I shall be there." the Guard vowed. "And lord. Fey virtue or no.... I
also wish to trust you.... but, a bit more gradually."
    Evendal grinned, rueful. "You and Metthendoen are much alike. Prodigal
with your goodwill. We have seen each other vulnerable, Ierwbae. That
scares me as well. I am as capable of motiveless, whimsical cruelty as my
father. As the dead traitor. But not toward you or your beloved." He felt
his exhaustion resettle upon him, making him fretful.
    "I did not offer my protection or attention to win a Guardsman,
Ierwbae, to win your allegiance. It was just...." At a loss for other words
and distressed at sounding pretentious, still he muttered. "A help I could
offer two honourable people." He stopped, inhaled briskly, and resumed in a
normal tone. "I can think in terms of debt and payment, or of giving and
receiving in equal measures. But I don't like to." His voice grew
angry. "It may be how a king must rule, but its not how I want to live."
    Ierwbae stood and clasped Evendal's shoulder. "Peace. As you said
before. Time and familiarity. Neither Metthendoenn nor I regret the mantle
of adrogation. Metthendoenn made his feelings quite clear." he paused,
grinning. "And when you accept the individual pledges of the Guard
tomorrow, I would like to be the first. Without 'goading', please."
    Evendal stared, eyes wide and eyebrows climbing. "How did you know my
intention?"
    The muscles in Ierwbae's face tensed. "When you had your... fight with
the Dowager. I stood guard beside the door. At first I didn't know what to
do. She was the Dowager, your kin. Did a Guard intervene? But as I decided
I could not just stand there, your shouts of fear changed to anger and you
took control over her assault."
    "Is that what you call it?" Evendal interrupted, nettled. "I would call
it being scared witless!"
    "She ceased her attack." Ierwbae pointed out. "She was reduced to
evoking pity. But what I am saying is that... Then and here, I feel like I
have indeed glimpsed your mettle. How you think. You dealt with Bruddbana,
yourself. And you yourself confronted Heamon. As one man to another, not as
monarch to underling. You troubled yourself to see Metthendoenn
personally. Not only are your decisions unlike either co-ruler, but so are
your methods. You admitted fault just now, and to Heamon earlier, without
fanfare or posturing." He smiled again, wider. "You can be as scary as you
thought Metthendoenn, my lord."
    Ierwbae's observations left Evendal both amused and troubled.
    "Are you certain you do not regret this gesture?" Evendal asked,
fingering the cape about his shoulders.
    "Of course, I'm not certain!" Ierwbae hissed, looking uneasy. "But I
have learned, through resistance and pointless grief, to rely on
Metthendoenn's impulses. What seems like spontaneous rashness has proven
uncanny instinct. And we both know the desolation you were feeling."
    From the corner of his eye, Evendal noted Falrija's reappearance, two
Guards in tow. "I will direct a helper to bring you food, and other
amenities. For the interim, he or she will also sample the offerings
first. Just as will be done with my own meals." Evendal grimaced at his own
words.
    "Surely that is not necessary. The dead traitor and his flock would not
think in such indirect ways."
    "No, but Polgern, and his ilk, would."
    Signing one Guard to wait at the doorway, Falrija introduced a busty,
olive-skinned woman, decorated with pale scars and rough ridges, to Ierwbae
and Evendal. "Your Guard Falrija presents a fellow Guard, Mar-Depalai, for
your succour."
    Dour-faced, the woman glanced at Ierwbae briefly, and then stared at
Evendal. The Prince matched her, stone-face for stone-face, silent. The Mar
suffix served as an honorific article, denoting excellence, but it meant
nothing to him. Ierwbae, however, looked impressed, or at least surprised.
    "m'elumña Evendalh." Mar-Depalai murmured. She did not look happy
over her recognition. "And where have you been these nine years?"
    "Avoiding you." Evendal spat back, annoyed at what sounded like an
accusation. "Is the Mar given for your ability to irritate?"
    The woman smiled at that. "No, lord. For my handiness with any weapon I
choose. Most particularly sword, quarterstaff, and dagger. When it comes to
bladed weapons, I have only one rival. So Falrija came to me, knowing I
would want to help in his safekeeping. Why are you here... Lord?" Depalai's
attentiveness made it clear she expected an answer.
    "I am here to arrange for your help. These two are kin, and for the
moment, possibly under threat."
    "I understand you delegated that task to Falrija. And she assigned
me. So you can go now. The Guard at the door can be your... escort."
    Irked and amused, Evendal shot back. "Your task is to protect them, not
isolate them. And please, I merely awaited Falrija's return, so you needn't
waste more of your considerable charm on me."
    Depalai's smile widened. She bowed to the Heir. "How are you with a
blade...? Lord."
    Registering her wheedling tone, Evendal grinned back at Depalai. "Maybe
someday soon, I'll show you. But not today. A Guard at each shift is to see
that whoever brings them food or drink also samples each item." He turned
back to Ierwbae and Metthendoen. "Until tomorrow, get well and be well."
    When he left the room, Evendal returned to his own, too exhausted for
further travels. He decided that Robiliam could wait. The world he had
tried to reclaim, however, had not finished with him.
    The second bell after sunset, as he came back from his meal in the
kitchens, he met a young messenger hopping and pacing nervously before the
door of his apartments. Ten paces from the girl, and that close he saw the
runner for a stripling, she dropped down on one breech-clad knee and bowed
her head.
    "Stand." he barked, discomfited. "For what do you seek me, young lady?
A message? From whom?"
    "No message, your majesty." She obeyed with nervous speed, but kept her
head lowered. "That is... Guard Kinmeln directed me to inform you of the
dire condition of the Dowager."
    "Dire?" Caught by surprise, anxiety tightened his chest. "Then, inform
me, please."
    "No one knows when, but sometime earlier tonight, the Dowager Onkira
nier Menam doused her drink with a sedative. She was found passed out on
her porch lounge..."
    "Was found? By whom?"
    "A...a servant not wishing her to chill in the night air, my lord. She
barely roused."
    "Where was her maid?" At the girl's look of puzzlement, Evendal
realised any attendants Onkira had could not have survived nine years with
a jackal and a wolf prowling in the same building. "Never mind that. What
has been done for her?"
    "I do not know. I was asked to find you."
    "Onkira asked?"
    The girl shook her head vigourously. "Kinmeln, my lord,"
    "Where is she?"
    "She dwells in the new section on the west side, my lord."
    Evendal rolled his eyes at that. His father's father had built the
'new' section. "And she is there still?"
    The girl nodded.
    "What are you called, child?"
    "Iliamarro, my lord. And I have fifteen years."
    He kept a smile from showing. "Forgive me, lady. Would you escort me
there?" She nodded, a trifle shy, and flushed prettily with discomfort when
Evendal nestled her hand in the crook of his arm and held it there with his
other hand and a grip of iron.
    In time they came upon a man in Guard livery, compactly muscled, with
short-cropped hair a silvered sable. He had been scanning the corridor in
both directions from the doorway framing him. At the sight of Evendal and
Iliamarro, he lost some of the tension lining his face.
    "My lord, she rests within." He began to kneel.
    "Stop this!" Evendal shouted, then blushed at his own loss of
control. "Kinmeln, is it? Kinmeln, I know such deference is traditional. It
may border on instinctual for some of you. But it makes me bloody
uncomfortable!"
    Kinmeln managed to look both amused and scandalised. "What would you
have, my lord?"
    "If you must do something... obsequious, bow. If you must. Now. Has an
herbalist been sought?"
    Kinmeln nodded. "Immediately upon dispatching Iliamarro to seek you
out."
    "Do you know what she swallowed?"
    The Guard nodded again and held out a red glass he had gripped tight in
his fist. "Tatorea, my lord. Similar to nightshade in its effects."
    "Then, quickly, go to the kitchens and return with a jar of warmed
vinegar, and ask if they have any magnesia."
    "Magnesia?"
    "A blue-white powder. Older people use it for weak stomachs. Go,
quickly."
    Where Kinmeln hesitated, Iliamarro turned and sped down the corridor,
back the way she had come. Evendal shrugged and walked inside. Onkira
rested on feather-filled pillows atop a rush mat, wearing a yet lower-cut
garment of bridal-crimson.
    "Did you bring her in?" Evendal whispered. Kinmeln nodded yet
again. "Did she speak? Was she responsive in any way?"
    "She squirmed about. Asked me who I was, but I don't think she heard my
answer."
    Kinmeln had stopped speaking too abruptly. "What else did she say, or
do?"
    "Does it matter, lord? The Dowager was obviously delirious...."
    "Guard Kinmeln, I have neither the time nor the temper to debate
this. The Dowager's delirium is irrelevant. You guard the royal person, not
the royal reputation. What passed?"
    "She started weeping, lord. Yet.... even though I have never had to
pull duty for her, I could sense a flamboyance... a falsity to her
sobs. When I had put her down on the cushions, she clutched my tunic and
repeated over and over, "He doesn't love me anymore" or, sometimes, "He
doesn't want me anymore"."
    Evendal's stomach clenched tight, and saliva flooded his mouth. He held
his supper down through sheer anger and stubbornness. Once the fit had
passed, he faced a troubled Kinmeln.
    "I will not insult your intelligence, nor further strain an already
strained and tested loyalty. The Dowager is a woman who, in her wanting,
disdains to separate maternal from uxorial love. I guess.... this has been
so for many years. More than the nine of my absence. I was confronted with
her fault only this noon, and had resolved to retire her to some private
residence, or to the Temple if possible. Now this...."
    "If you do that," spoke a voice from the doorway. "You had better
ensure her escorts are either blissfully married, women of some autonomy,
or male lovers of men."
    Startled, both men turned quickly, and exclaimed in unison. "Anlota!"
    "Why do you say that?"
    The old woman looked up at Evendal and snorted. "You, of all people,
should know the answer to that. Imagine some manorlord's young doe-eyed
daughter, sheltered by her kin, and thrilled, honoured, to be the Dowager's
attendant. Soon enough a trusted companion... and a confidante with kin and
friends among the courtiers...."
    Evendal grimaced. "Anlota, she swallowed Tatorea. I'm not sure when."
    "Yes. Iliamarro found me in the kitchens. I have the vinegar and
magnesia, also some galbanum. Do either of you have the cup she used, or
the vial?"
    Kinmeln handed both to her. She squinted at the items, then scowled at
the twitchy, somnolent widow. "Well, now. Silly little mountebank! She took
enough to sleep for the length of a day, and guarantee some bizarre
dreams. But that is the extent of it."
    "What?"
    "See here. She used half of this vial. But not into this cup. Since it
bears the same design with that pitcher by her chair, she probably poured
it in there." With a natural stealth quite at odds with her frail
appearance, Anlota paced to the straight-backed chair and wafted a hand
over the water pitcher. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
    "Yes. The contents in the cup came from here, much diluted."
    "No! No! That corpse is too green, too old. Find another Menam. There
must be another Menam here somewhere." Onkira shouted. She giggled softly.
    Anlota glanced at the Dowager, the folds of her cheeks dimpling with
amusement. "Histrionic flit."
    Evendal gestured for the vial, and Anlota surrendered it, her eyebrows
rising to deepen the creases on her forehead. The Heir sighed wearily and
contemplated the ruddy glass.
    "Anlota." Evendal drawled. "Lady Onkira has doused herself with a
dangerous drug. Must we not do what we can to see her body voids it
swiftly? Treat her as the victim of poison, which indeed she is? You
brought vinegar, you said?"
    The wise-woman stared a moment at Evendal, then began to
chuckle. Kinmeln smiled, if nervously.
    "My, my." Anlota replied, once she recovered. "It would only be
appropriate. And she would be so disappointed if her efforts went
unappreciated."
    The herbalist's words gave Evendal pause. He smiled yet again. "That is
very true. I have yet a better idea. Kinmeln, would you be willing to
return here tomorrow morning, near the third or fourth bell of morning, and
restore the Dowager to her lounge?"
    "Yes, my lord. It would be no hardship."
    "Then please do so, seeing that she remains in the attire she wears
now. I will have someone attend her tonight, should she need help with her
eliminations, have any trouble breathing, or prove too manic from the
Tatorea. And I am certain that her water jug is replaced each day...."
    Kinmeln's smile lost its edge. "I know a Guard who would be happy to
oblige." He turned his gaze on Anlota. "Frielh." Anlota nodded in satisfied
recognition.
    "And who is this Frielh?"
    "She has a good bit of experience with suicide attempts, my lord. She
has been the Guard most often assigned to those Master Polgern and the
traitor sought to interrogate or torture. Understandably, she's a bit of a
hard-nose, but she would know how to tend a poison victim. What to expect
and what to watch for."
    "Then she sounds ideal. Thank you, Kinmeln. Iliamarro... How does she
fare? I suspect it was she who found Onkira in this state."
    Kinmeln nodded, but Anlota answered.
    "The poor girl was too excited. Unnerved and anxious over the
Dowager. I left her in the kitchen with some chamomile steeping, and strict
instructions to stay there and drink two cups. Slowly. If you have no need
of me, I shall return there and let her talk herself down."
    "And I shall go inform Frielh of her assignment." Kinmeln bowed and
left.
    "I'm glad to be seeing you again tonight, my lord. I have some
indifferent tidings to deliver."
    Warned by the peevish expression on the midwife's face, Evendal
retreated to a chair and sat. "Say on."
    "As would be expected, word of your return and vengeance has spread
dolphin-swift through the palace. Likewise, word of your support of
Metthendoen and Ierwbae, as well as an inflated account of you sparring
with your poor, widowed, fragile mother."
    Evendal settled for a simple explosive, "Wonderful!"
    "One Guard of long standing and no reticence, while attending the
Beast's 'grieving' brother, saw fit to impart her ignorance with great
enthusiasm and detail. As a result, Luom agdh Lukaad chose to be borne on a
palanquin to the Temple for the remainder of his healing."
    "What? Why?"
    "What he said was that he could not, in good conscience, dwell under
the same roof with a man who so ignored the bonds of family, or failed to
see the evil in such unnatural affections."
    "Unnatural affections? My mother's? Who's...?" Then he
realised. "Ierwbae and Metthendoen's. Gossip does move dolphin-swift!"
    Evendal sat stunned for a moment, then quietly began to shake with
poorly suppressed laughter. The midwife blinked in surprise at this
reaction, until she saw tears trace the planes of his cheeks. She looked
about, found a clean cloth by a washbasin, and handed it to the Prince.
    "Thank you. Its just.... Do you know he tried to protect me from his
brother...the traitor, last night? To speak of the bonds of family...The
memory of his own choice must be harder to face than he thought. No doubt,
in hindsight he regrets it. So, instead of himself, it is I who ignore the
bonds of kinship."
    He paused, then added softly. "I wonder, then, what kind of 'unnatural
affections' he regrets as well?" He looked up at a thoughtful
Anlota. "Before... the Beast attacked, Luom offered to be my friend,
avowing to be steadfast and unswerving. It is well that I learned the
measure of his courage early. Even so, it hurts."
    The mother of midwives said nothing, but nodded her silent support.
    "Anlota. Don't you ever rest? How was it you were still in the palace?"
    The old woman grinned. "This is where I live."
    "What! How?"
    She sighed, and Evendal knew it for both genuine exasperation at his
slowness, and a theatricality played for the humour of it. "There is hardly
a child, living or dead, whom I have not assisted. Either as midwife at
their birth, Evocator at their Naming ceremony, healer in their childhood
ailments, or confessor or guide in their sexual awakening."
    "So when Polgern began to secure his authority by disbanding,
outlawing, or absorbing the influential guilds and orders, I had a cadre of
self-appointed protectors. They ensured I had advanced warning of every
twist in Polgern's, and the traitor's, designs. Despite this, the time
arrived when I had to dissolve the Guild of Herbalists and Midwives,
destroy our charter and membership rolls, to ensure the safety of its
members. In the midst of the resulting chaos, I realised the safest place
from which to continue my work was right here."
    "Yes," Evendal whispered with a dawning understanding. "I can see how
it could be done. Though only by someone such as yourself, whose bond with
each Guard and palace-dweller is personal without being uncomfortably
familiar."
    Anlota nodded. "Simply by being who I am, with the concerns expected of
the Mother of mothers, I was able to enlist people to help who would not
bother out of any sense of injustice. There, also, my looks helped as
well."
    The Prince smiled. "You look like everybody's grandmother or elderly
maiden auntie."
    She mirrored his smile. "Exactly. To be humoured, cossetted,
patronised, but obeyed. It was never terribly secure. But through the
gratitude, nostalgia or affection my charges felt, I was able to form
a... conduit, a channel of contacts by which some targeted victims of
Polgern and the Beast could be forewarned, or smuggled out of the
Thronelands."
    Evendal stared at the midwife in astonishment. "Ierwbae's 'little acts
of subversion'...."
    "Is that what he called them?" She smiled fondly. "My favourite
nephew. Always chary with words."
    "Your nephew?"
    "Now, my only one. Actually, the son of my brother's son. But he is all
that's left, he and Metthendoen."
    With a visible trepidation, Evendal corrected her. "And now, by their
grace, myself."
    The small, frail-looking, wren of a woman turned a fey eye upon the
Prince, emotionally neutral but fierce. Intense. It smote Evendal like a
harpoon. "You? Why?"
    With her simple question, every line on Anlota's face became chiseled
in alabaster, sharp-edged with a perilous import. The sword-gray of her
eyes glistened in ruthless clarity, discerning far more than words. Feeling
a sudden sweat develop, Evendal babbled. "I had to question Metthendoen
about the guarding last night...Ierwbae forced himself in..."
    Anlota interrupted. "I don't need the story, or the details. What
motivated either of them to adopt you? Why did they choose to do this?"
    His mouth opened, his lips twitched, but Evendal stood bemused,
unnerved by Anlota's fixed regard as he had not been by the traitor or
Polgern. "Pity, I suppose." he managed to say. "Compassion."
    Anlota snorted, and her demeanor resumed its humanity. "Compassion, I
can believe. Pity never moved them to anything but talk." With a tch-ing
sound over the sight of his damp forehead, Anlota lightly stroked the back
of the Prince's hand, soothing. He jerked, involuntarily.
    "Don't worry yourself so. I only wanted to be sure they acted without
constraint or coercion. That they offered, and that you accepted, is a boon
unhoped for. I honestly and wholeheartedly approve. And it is a poor
welcoming I've given you. You must be done in, child. Go. Rest. I'll wait
until Guard Frielh arrives."
    Relieved but still shaken, Evendal quickly retired.
____________________________||_____________________________

    Evendal slept. He emerged into the cool, strong winds of early spring,
leaving the damp dark of the dungeon well finally behind him. It had been a
torturous, oppressive instruction but, as far as he knew, it had ended. All
that he had to do now was to attend the commemorative ceremony. Worried, he
accosted a man in gray and green, seeking some clue of where the ceremony
would be. At first he thought the man looked like Luom, then he realised it
was either Aldul or Ierwbae, and that the rite was being held at Hrioskunra
Tower at this very moment. Panicky, he raced around the Palace to the woods
behind it, and suddenly the tower loomed in front of him, taller than it
had ever seemed before. Then Evendal was standing at the foot of the Tower,
not even breathing hard. He looked up to the crown, and the beloved who
awaited him, who looked down to him from the parapet. Parapet? No, the
crow's nest of a frigate. He no longer worried things might go on without
him, this wedding could hardly occur without the groom.

(12) Also called the Cinqet & the King's Quarter.
(13) Nathlil - Godparent, legally binding but without the religious accretions.
(14) ekharpareia - The Hramal had no one like St.Augustine, to fashion or
hallow a tradition of emotional repression, though such a tradition did
co-exist with others.