This story is a work of fiction. It contains references to violent behavior between adults, death, expressions of physical affection between consenting adult males, as well as some examples of both decent and self-gratifying parental affection. 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.
16 And Less Than Kind
King: But now my cousin Hamlet, and my son -
Hamlet: A little more than kin, and less than kind.
King: How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Hamlet: Not so, my lord. I am too much in the sun.
Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2, Line 63 ff.
As the Temple tolled the sixth bell of night, Kri-estaul slept the sleep of the secure, gentled by the rhythm of Evendal's heartbeat and, seemingly, eased by the understandably erratic cadence of his walk. Bruddbana had vehemently protested Evendal's continued attendance in the forest. No one, not Bruddbana, not Ierwbae, not even Brualta, questioned the child's presence in the midst of their task. The King, not willing to let the boy out of his sight, kept him on a sling in front of him. Were it not for Kri's runt-like size and weight, the result of two years of neglect, such an option would not have been possible.
Evendal did not abide in the forest out of restlessness or any sense of empathy for his Guard, but out of simple practicality: The power that had been Surn-meddil was both less and more than human. Evendal's gut told him it could be subject to odd lapses, mercurial swings in mood and action. So, since the safety of the Royal bloodline seemed an obligation Surn-meddil consistently recognized, the King remained.
Around them, the Guard and the Cinqet assembled and dispersed. After a brief discussion, Surn-meddil agreed to house the fruit of their efforts in his Tower. He continued to look unhappy about the presumption; the tree limbs near his phenomenon rustling and agitated. When two of the Guard hoisted an iron-banded battering ram through the doorway and scraped its stonework, roots from a nearby tree surged up from their burrowing and rapped back against the ground.
"Surn-meddil," Evendal whispered. "Do you... Can you see beyond your chosen demesne? With the same thoroughness?"
"Yes, distance is no objection, only will and desire. I have never felt the need." He quoted an age-old reference to the Thronelands' primacy. "'All hearts heed the Throne'. Anything that affects Osedys comes to Osedys. Why?"
"I cannot help wondering if this one camp is all, or if others are set up in case of discovery. Also..." He hesitated, dreading the idea. "If her mercenaries were successful, Onkira would want to be seen as a Saviour of her people, so she might choose to be closer-by than Arkedda on the eve of attack. Appearing on the stage at the perfect moment to keep the 'ravaging horde' in check."
"So, you wish me to peruse beyond my self-appointed confines?" The dead man's look was simple amusement.
"If you would be so gracious?"
Surn-meddil laughed. "I had already thought on your suspicions, youngling. And looked. She is not in our lands. But I will go searching again, if only to relieve the frightened hearts of your helpers by seeming to be absent."
As comprehensive as Surn-meddil's mirth seemed, it disappeared in a blink, replaced by a look, which - while not lacking in emotion - Evendal could not decipher. With a bonelessness that a snake would envy, Surn-meddil slid from his tree perch and strode up to the living ruler of the Thronelands.
"Forgive the familiarity, nephew." He whispered, then grabbed Evendal's nose, clamping it shut. He kissed Evendal on the mouth, pushing the King's lips apart with his tongue and inhaling. Surn-meddil waited as his victim flailed about. Evendal could not get a grip on the dead man, everything but the head and hand proved as incorporeal as mist. With no alternative and no air, Evendal inhaled Surn-meddil's exhalation. His senses confused him, Surn-meddil's breath tasted of the winds after a hard rain. Two more inhalations, and Surn-meddil released him.
Evendal stared in shock at the teary-eyed apparition. "I could not protect my Ganil, before. You two, I can protect. Now, if your body is at peril, I will know. And will be there before the next thought." And Surn-meddil disappeared.
Shaken to his foundation, Evendal sat on the damp ground and tried to get his wits in order. He looked down into the wide eyes of his son. "How is it with you, my boy? Did he scare you?"
"No. He told me what he was about to do, before he moved."
Evendal frowned. "How?"
Kri-estaul shrugged. "I do not know. I thought I was asleep. Dreaming. But, then he was there, and told me he was going to get real close, and not to be surprised. At least that's what it seemed like, but there was a lot more, too."
"Like what?" Evendal had learned not to disregard his adopted son's perceptions.
"I don't know. It's all confused. But... He's scared, and strong. And... You remember Soandrh?"
It took Evendal a moment to rally his wits and recall the bitter, grief-wrenched woman. "Yes,"
"He felt like her. All jumbled up, hurting. I wanted to cry, to hold him. I don't know why. How was his kiss?"
Evendal gasped, thrown by Kri-estaul's asking. "Not something I wanted." He prevaricated.
The King could hear the sleepy mischief in his son's voice. "Papa, that's not an answer."
"Well, why do you want to know?"
Kri looked away. Evendal chose to answer, nonetheless. "Strange. I felt panicky, then... invigorated, then safe. I. Whatever his glamour is..." He could not think to finish his sentence.
Kri said nothing immediately, and Evendal knew Surn-meddil had a friend in his son. The King returned to directing the Clan's efforts now that he understood the terrain. Heamon's skulkers arrived and departed in groups of three, leaving empty-handed and returning with bows, quivers, maces, swords, helmets, shields, and greaves. Leather armour became the most common item crowding the second floor of Hrioskunra Tower.
During the third bell of their gleaning, Ierwbae approached the King with a cluster of twenty gatherers, all holding small spherical clay pots. "Your Majesty,"
Evendal's smile of greeting died at his Guard's grim countenance. "What is toward?"
"Take a look at this, found in one corner of the Command tent."
Evendal took the pot Ierwbae proffered. Some liquid sloshed in the crockery, with a woven wick stoppered into the only opening. The wick gave off an acrid scent. "Naphtha." The trees nearest rustled in reaction, hard-rind seeds fell with spear-like branches. "Yes, not a wise weapon to carry in this forest."
"How goes the removal?"
"These were the last items, my lord."
"Are the Guard ready?"
"Yes, Lord."
"We accompany them."
"No, good my lord."
Evendal ignored Ierwbae, and walked about fifteen paces until he came before two rows of Guard, unarmed, but determinedly immobile. A passive barrier and deliberate symbol as the "arm of the King." After a moment, and three deep breaths, he turned again to Ierwbae, his eyes serving as lamps. "This is ridiculous! I will not be held captive by my own Guard."
"You will not recklessly endanger yourself for a prideful gesture. You are our lord, our guide, our adjudicator, and our hope. But your gifts make you the most vulnerable in the midst of combat. We adjure you, abide. Please, my lord and dearest brother."
No one spoke, even Kri, before finally Evendal replied. "I will not be held back, cossetted, when my people go into a fight. However one-sided we may have made the skirmish."
Ierwbae bowed, as if in concession, then sat on the ground and looked at nothing in particular. Behind him, the clustered Guard likewise sat, to a woman. Those Guard still in the clearing sat or settled where they were, clearly refusing to move. Evendal's face burned.
"You defy Us? For what? Is it not Our duty to be your battle-duke? Are We not the same as you, wanting to protect the people we love? Why is it so wrong for Us to be at your side in a fight where the peril is so miniscule? You diminish Our authority, unmanning Us by overruling Our will."
Ierwbae looked up. "We ensure that you are there to rule us tomorrow, and the day after. We honour a part of our pledge to safeguard you and your's. Please, let us do our work?"
Evendal fought for calm. "I, We, are going. We can orchestrate nothing if We cannot see what passes. Accept it." He paused and looked pleadingly at the Guard. "Ierwbae, I know I might become a liability in a skirmish, but trust me that I would not, ever, endanger my son. Grant me a man's dignity, and a citizen's rights."
Ierwbae took his time digesting this perspective, then bowed acquiescence. "Forgive me, good my lord. On a few conditions." Evendal nodded, and Ierwbae addressed the Prince. "Your Highness, who are you willing to have keep watch over you, in your father's absence?"
Kri looked sullen, glaring at the obdurate Guard. After a brief consideration, Kri-estaul grinned and answered. "You, Uncle 'Bae!" Then, realising he teased a Guard, his pleasure turned. "No! I didn't mean it, Master. Papa! Papa! I'm sorry! I'm sorry."
The King stared, dumbfounded, at his panicked son. "Calm yourself, Kri! You have nothing to apologise for. That was sly and clever."
"Truly, Kri-estaul, how could I be angered at the chance to spend more time with you?" Ierwbae whispered, his heart hurting at the quicksilver change in the child.
"Thunders, Ierwbae! Who could I relinquish him to that would not send him into terror? We have nothing but Cinqet and Guard here. One of the Cinqet? I would be bankrupting my privy thesaurus paying their ransom for him."
A breath across Evendal's face and suddenly a scattering of leaves and dirt whorled an elf-lock in front of King and Prince, oddly visible in the night. A voice spoke out of the dim whirlpool of detritus. "What of me, little one? I would be a surer guardian than most."
Kri-estaul looked up and stammered. "Would... Would you? That... That would be fun!"
"Surn-meddil? But we may need you near." Evendal protested.
"Selfish boy! I am fully capable of serving both our mutual concerns. Where would he be safer?"
Evendal knew only one answer, and was too stubborn to give it. Exchanging his Palace threads for a boiled leather vambrace and a hunter green overtunic, the King followed Ierwbae and a collection of Guard on a quiet trek to the militant camp.
The crackling of booted feet on leaves, conifers and husks, along with the noise of branches being thrust away or broken, seemed deafening to the King. "These mercenaries would hear us from a league away!" Evendal hissed at Ierwbae.
"There is no help for it." Ierwbae replied. "That is why I ordered the Guard to arrive at the camp perimeter in stages. We would not lose all our Guard if discovered. We would still have enough for concealed hit-and-run action. And if the first few roused the camp, but remained undiscovered, any further disturbance might be disregarded. Or ascribed to the uncanny forest."
When they were what Ierwbae estimated as three minutes run from the invaders, he bade Evendal halt and assigned three people to act as the King's protectors and messengers. Once, Evendal came across a wiggling, humming lumpy shadow: one of the mercenaries' watch, trussed and gagged.
Oblivious to the hissing of his companions, Evendal stepped past the last stand of foliage and onto the target clearing. A shallow but broad concavity in the earth provided a natural border for the camp. Within that stretch, row upon row of oiled fabric awnings blanketed over a third of the grounds. Two tents centered this miniature valley. Eyes acclimated to the night, the King knew the ensign draping one tent, the primrose of the Dowager, with the etoile beneath it connoting her deputy.
A clacking signal behind him alerted Evendal that all waited on him.
"Allo the camp!"
Like ants from a violated hill, men and women came pouring out from under the awnings. They massed to the ensign-less tent, only to roil away, shouting dismay and defiance. As the mob turned to scatter into the wood, Evendal's Guard stepped out into visibility under the starshine.
"You are surrounded," the King confirmed. "Your weapons claimed. Yield, and live. Refuse, and die." Despite his glamour-touched voice, Evendal had to repeat himself. Waxen gray visages, bereft of character in the dimness and distance, whirled around senselessly, struggling against each other, with no purpose but the hope of escape. Once he felt certain the majority saw their disposition, Evendal continued.
"Should you submit, in all verity, you will be treated honourably. Those willing to tender their parole, sit or kneel where you are, hands outstretched."
Heedless of the King's largesse, many challenged the cordon, brandishing fists or hoarded knives. The Guard, implacable, killed those who attacked, pitiless at Evendal's relayed directive. With the first death, m'Alismogh sat on the moss-draped root beneath him, and cradled his head in shaking hands. He expected that some would not yield, regardless of terms. He also knew that he could not let his dwomer-born vulnerability dictate his presence or absence.
After the tenth convulsion, Evendal tumbled to the dirt and vomited forcefully. Vaguely aware of the Guard flanking him, the King gripped the root and strove to breathe slowly and deeply, dispersing the vertigo that threatened and momentarily ignoring the sharp demand to purge his bowels. When his urge to gag turned into dry heaving, Evendal could no longer ignore the imperatives of his abused body. He retreated back in among the trees, with escort following, removed some of his protective garb, and pulled out the cloths he had stored for Kri-estaul. He could not tell how much time passed, how many spasms wracked him, before he no longer heard the cries or saw the glare of camp-fire and starlight. He came to himself when a blood-splattered Ierwbae found his King clutching his stomach, a puddle of bile and feces close by. Not until the last aggressor's mortal act of defiance shuddered through his own frame did Evendal m'Alismogh dare to begin cleaning himself.
"There are times," Evendal gasped. "When I feel like my body is someone else's. Under someone else's control." He fought the urge to giggle, the onset of hysteria. "Because it is! How many?"
Ierwbae understood. "About two hundred killed. Fifteen Guard dead or wounded. The rebels thought to overwhelm with their numbers, but they didn't know how to fight, weaponless, in concert."
"Did... Did any yield, at the beginning?"
"Yes. Quite a few. Some even turned on their fellows, once our success became obvious."
Evendal grimaced a smirk. "No doubt." Red-faced, the King asked. "How bad do I look?"
"You look like you have run through the forest, willy-nilly. Rumpled and hag-ridden. You still have some chyme on your face, lord."
"That good?" Evendal wiped at his cheek and chin. "Well, might as well put it to some advantage. Let's go intimidate the vanquished." He said sourly.
Ierwbae supporting, Evendal stumbled down to the carnage. Seeming oblivious, he stepped over a severed head, and moved to where the emblazoned tent still stood. About him, people sat or lay in pain and fear, those who had not submitted initially. Using Ierwbae more and more as a crutch, the King looked around. Less than half the mercenaries remained among the breathing. Against their inclinations, the Guard secured the living with leather cord, rope and shackle, rather than with their blades.
"What to do with them..." Evendal pondered.
"They deserve death, still." Ierwbae argued. "Regardless of their appearance of submission."
"They came to demolish Osedys. To claim the spoils of battle." The King mused. "There is demolition to be accomplished."
"My lord?"
"The Wall. If they were so anxious for destruction, what better gesture can a gentle ruler make than to grant them their wish?"
"You are, indeed, gracious, my lord." Ierwbae answered, grinning lightly. "But haven't you already enlisted the Stoners to that effort? Won't that be placing too many enemies in close proximity?"
"Anything I conceive of, other than death, mutilation, or lifetime incarceration, would render them a further danger."
Ierwbae had an answer, though. "These poor fools, most certainly, have a past. In all likelihood, an invidious past. I doubt this is their first criminal act, merely the first time they got caught in flagrante delicto."
"So, you suspect other cruelties shadow them? Evoking the Left Hand?"
Ierwbae nodded. "As you winnowed at our fealty, can you not do so here?"
Evendal thought for a moment, looking out at the faces now staring back at him. Some glowered, sullen, angry at the thwarting of their ambitions or their lust for battle: their moment of excitement. Some wept for the loss of a comrade. Some wept or hid their faces out of fear for themselves. Like a stranger, disconnected from the past hour, Evendal felt only sadness; these people were just as vital, as complex, as interesting and alive as the citizens they had unconcernedly planned to terrorize and slaughter.
"Ierwbae, I will need another Guard for when I am done." Ierwbae sharply waved a woman over.
Those who's hearts thrill to the song of another's pain,
Who have known another's hurt as an avenue of joy,
Those who have cared less for blessing than for bane,
Who, wanting their ends, care not what means they employ,
Those here whose pledge and troth means naught but a moment's breath,
Our judgment stands implacable: Let that breath choke them.
Let their hearts become stone. We give them death."
The King saw an expression of shock on a few of the captives, more a quicksilver lack of expression, then the world went blacker than the night around him.
"Why doesn't he respond? He did before." Someone screamed in his ear. "Papa! Wake up! Please!"
Evendal's eyes flew open, only Kri called him that. Dim in the starlight, the rounded scowling visage of his son gazed back at the Songmaster. "Kri... I am here, beloved."
"Stop doing that!" the child rasped. "You did this with that Commander and that stupid girl... Siarwak!"
"It is not an action over which I have much control." With the help of Ierwbae and Brualta, the King sat up. He noted that he had been moved. Hrioskunra hovered over him, its stones luminescing a delicate, ephemeral, green.
"My lord," Brualta interrupted. "Please say how you are recovered."
"What is toward? Why?"
Ierwbae explained. "She and most of the Guard got frightened out of their old age, Lord. When you collapsed, we carried you to the vale. When the prisoners saw you being carted, they assumed you were dead and began hobbling as best they could anywhere and everywhere. Many of the Guard thought the same, and were all for open slaughter. Into the mayhem, 'our friend' appeared, bright as a full moon come down to earth. He picked you up and shouted."
Ierwbae stopped. After taking a series of breaths, the Guard resumed. "Every conscious man and woman felt his rage, lord. Brualta can confirm. My lips turned gray, she said. My veins writhed and emerged like snakes trying to escape my skin. No one could breath but we felt our lungs were burning. He shouted 'Fools, he lives still, with no thanks to your wit or care! You know where to find us.' You both disappeared. Then we could breathe again. Once the prisoners were recollected and marched off to the Undergrounds, Brualta and I came here."
"I am well, I think. Bone-weary, but well. How many?"
"Eighty-five survive, my lord. Eight Guard dead, eight wounded."
"Are your Guard totally without sense?" the voice of Surn-meddil demanded out of the air. "What were you doing perched in the midst of future manure? Why didn't they take you to safety?"
"I commanded them to refrain. I will not let this questionable gift dictate my actions. Can you imagine? 'Lord Evendal, commanded his Guard at a safe distance from any conflict or battle, and left to others the executing of the culpable.' 'We can rely on our king to be as far away from any fighting as possible.' My reasons will not survive me, just my actions."
Surn-meddil made no retort; he knew the truth of Evendal's words even better than the King.
"Lord," Ierwbae piped up, hesitantly. "One of the dead Guard... He was alive and hale, before you sang last."
"What?" Evendal stared in disbelief, horrified. "But. But they... Their pledge of fidelity should have winnowed them!"
"No,... brother." Ierwbae replied gently. "What you asked for here differed from what you asked for in our pledging. 'Those who gave their wills over to "Mean and Ugly".' As opposed to those who enjoy inflicting pain, or whose fidelity is ephemeral."
After a moment to accept and consider, the King decided. "Find out, if you can, if he indulged such yearnings. If your answer is no, then he died in honour and his kin must know that. If he pandered to his impulses, then they need not know, but let us - quietly - strike him from the lists of honoured dead. If."
Ierwbae nodded.
Kri-estaul interrupted, surprising Evendal. "What am I supposed to do? You keep scaring me like that. I keep wondering if you're...going to wake up." Kri stumbled and mumbled over the last phrase; he kept darting looks at the Guard around him.
"Ierwbae, are we ready to leave?"
The man nodded again. "Half of the Guard have left, the other half are scouting the area."
"Then let us join the first half. Start on ahead, Kri and I need a moment."
As Ierwbae moved away to assemble his honour-Guard, Evendal looked eye to bowed forehead with his son. "What was it you keep wondering, Kri-estaul? The truth, now."
Evendal could feel the tremors become more pronounced, and see the shaking crest and ebb through his son, even in night's dark. "Wondering when you were going to die. And leave me alone. Again. You scared me! You scare me!" And the child wept for shame and anxiety. For drawing attention. For interrupting his Papa. For interrupting a Guard! For expressing doubt in his Papa's immortality and invincibility.
Heart hurting, Evendal wrapped the boy in his arms and stroked his prickly hair.
Assured, comforted by his father's gestures, Kri explained. "I need you. I'm sorry, but... I waited for you. Two years! Every time someone dies, I'm afraid you will too."
"Oh, Kri," the King murmured. "I lived through battle, assassins, a delusional foster-mother. My Songmastery awoke in the midst of an ocean of combatants killing each other, and I survived their deaths. Understand?"
"No." Kri replied mutinously.
"I will not leave you. While I doubt that I am going to die in my sleep of old age, I am most definitely not going to die from my own glamour, nor the feeble plots of others." Evendal realised, as he could not have before, that all his reassurances would never matter in this: From his child's viewpoint, Evendal sacrificed Kri-estaul's only safety and security every time he executed someone, defended their home, or countered an attack. It could not be helped, of course. Neither could Kri-estaul's reactions, to which the child had the most uncontested right. "There is a reason you are not now in the royal apartment, why I did not have you taken there at first threat. Do you know what you are?"
"Your son."
"And?"
"Your friend."
"And?"
"Umm," Kri-estaul strove to recall other words used. "The Prince?"
"Yes! So, as Prince you may be called upon to defend the City or surrounding manourlands. How would you do it?"
Kri stared at Evendal to see if the question was meant. After a moment the child's gaze turned elsewhere. "It would depend on how many attacked, Papa. But I would not use the Guard! And besides, the City would still need them." Kri-estaul's trembling diminished.
"Good. So you see one mistake I made."
"No! I didn't mean that!"
Evendal kissed Kri-estaul's nose. "I know. But it is true. What else?"
After reassuring himself, as much as he could, that his father had not taken umbrage, Kri continued. "I think I would ask for people from the lands in the attacker's way. Lead them into battle. Make the enemy eat dirt!"
"Not bad. And how would you deal with the cohorts under your command?" Evendal hoarded the moment, his son's involvement in his questions. The King knew that their brief semblance of solitude in the darkness, of freedom from the eyes of others, and Evendal's serious consideration, were the agents loosening Kri-estaul's restraint. His son's constant silence was unnatural, and Evendal had had enough of it.
"I don't understand."
"Why would these farmers, herders, and landed criminals allow you to lead them? So, you call yourself Prince. So what?"
Kri-estaul thought in silence while Evendal walked. "I could make the Guard scare them into obeying, but they wouldn't like that, and would be mad later. I guess I could ask them, showing them that they are going to be killed if they don't help."
"People are strange, Kri. They may tell you they know the enemy is coming at them, and still not help. For all sorts of silly reasons. If they don't like someone else who is helping. They may think they can convince the attacker away. Or they may think they can stop the enemy all by themselves. Then what?"
"I don't know."
"Well, one way is to bribe them. Promise them something they want in return for co-operating. I don't like that way."
"Nor do I. You help them enough by helping with their defense."
"Another way is the one you have seen me use in the Council. I basically play the dictator of terms. It is a method of fear and force. This is not possible unless you know more or have more martial support than the person you have to deal with. And I don't recommend it, except in a situation like you saw: One man, wanting power simply for its allure, not as a tool to heal or help. And no one was willing to render any counsel that wasn't selfish. A situation where most of the people you deal with would fight to gild the boat they are in, rather than fix its leaks."
"Another way is a more subtle kind of forcing. Shaming. Without the help of the Manourlords, the Guard and I just fought against a foe larger than we were. Earlier, I asked Bruddbana to alert those in Council whom we knew were allies. None showed, which would commonly be a cause for foreclosure on their land-grants. This failure, in the face of our victory, is a leverage point usable in the future. Of course, I suspect they did not come because they knew this was more my fight than theirs."
Kri-estaul looked confused, so Evendal elaborated. "I suspect they knew Onkira would strike in some way. And chose to perceive this as a 'family squabble.' Since the fracas entailed nearly four hundred fighters, and not some sub rosa assassin, that view is laughable. Another potential avenue for shaming. By my showing any measure of magnanimity, they end up in my debt. And they know that they become objects of popular ridicule, should they fail my war-cry a second time."
"This gives me a headache, Papa."
Evendal smiled humourlessly. "I know, my son. So how would you convince others to fight for you?"
Kri-estaul smirked. "I wouldn't. I'd let you convince them. I don't know."
"There are two more methods I know of. One, offer some illusory reward to their fighting. This may sound like the first way. It is not. Offer some intangible that no one possesses, but which all think valuable. 'Honour,' 'Fame,' or 'Glory,' whatever those are. This attracts the very young and very old more than anyone else. The other way is to present the fight as morally necessary. That they fight 'for all that is good.' For that method to succeed you have to portray the enemy as all that is horrid, loathed, or frightening. It is one of the easiest ways."
"It is?"
Evendal looked down at his son. They were approaching the Palace. "Yes, my beloved boy. The Beast used it very successfully on you. He had you believing you were the most evil creature to draw breath."
"Halt!" A voice called out from past the vanguard. "Declare yourselves!"
The King gaped in amazement. A line of figures stood shoulder-to-shoulder between his entourage and the Palace, swords and pikes held ready. Every tenth person bore a torch. Exuding solid determination, Evendal felt certain this cordon encompassed the entire building.
"The King returns!" Ierwbae replied, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
To Evendal's continued bemusement, three figures approached; three women. Grim-faced, Pohul-halik, Drussilikh, and the Typika Sielre-han drew near. Drussilikh and the Typika gave courtesie. Pohul-halik, cane in one hand and sword in the other, bowed. Evendal gestured them up, and stammered. "Where... Wherefore?"
Frowning, Pohul-halek answered. "Did you think we would simply hold our breaths? Abandon our home, and you, to some moon-driven hysteric? Really, boy! I, at least, learned that lesson the first time. Drussilikh has been busy tale-bearing, with heart-breaking honesty. While you two foolishly endangered yourselves, we chose to secure your home, and the waterways."
Evendal felt a frisson of dread. "Thunders! The ocean! Onkira would know all the reefs and shoals, the traps and safe-ways to our harbours! I completely forgot!"
"Drussilikh did not!" Pohul-halek declared, with an intentionally comic hauteur. "Alekrond has been on the alert since yesterday. Among her former guild-members' papers, Drussilikh found a reference to the Dowager having moved onto her personal frigate since the weather changed up in Arkedda. The Quill-master contacted the Maritime Counselour, knowing that any winds Onkira might depend upon would change again fairly soon this time of year. We chose to bring our personal arsenals out of hiding." In a dazzling gesture of agility, Pohul-halik took a stance and whipped her sword through an intricate and deadly exercise.
"May I?" Evendal asked, gesturing to the thin-limbed woman's sword. Once in his hands, the King realised the blade was of some resin-hardened or laminated hardwood, with wafer-thin metal imbedded along each edge.
"My humbled thanks to you all, gracious ladies. Your care is a delight, and your efforts are such an encouragement..." He handed the sword, pommel first, back to the sharp-eyed Guild-mistress. "You can stand down, for the moment. Out of four hundred ruffians, eighty-five survive. Seven... No. Eight Guard died."
"A small loss of life, then." Someone off to the side tendered.
"There is no such thing!" Evendal m'Alismogh snapped back. He glared, unerringly singling out the speaker. "Sixteen citizens wounded or killed, defending their home from a woman who pledged, fourteen... twenty-five years ago, to safeguard her adopted land and its people. Mark me. She will come to us, for judgment."
Whisper soft, Drussilikh spoke. "She already has, Your Majesty. Alekrond captured her vessel three bells past. She awaits your pleasure in the Under-grounds."
A moment of silence, but for the crickets, blanketed the gathering. Kri-estaul, sleepy, only thought how stupid, to return after creating such a mess. Ierwbae, equally tired, felt further wearied by the prospect of the impending confrontations. Brualta looked aside to gauge her ruler's countenance.
Lord Evendal Bright-eyed, Songmaster, son of Menam and Wytthenroeg, Ruler Absolute of the Thronelands(37), stood statue-still. As all awaited his response, be it command or request, the torches seemed to dim. After several breaths, the friends surrounding Evendal were reduced to squinting. "So you palm her back on me?" he whispered. "This ball, I'd rather you had not tossed my way."
"Let us not keep the dear lady waiting," the King rumbled, a muscle-aching rictus on his face. But rather than rush away, Evendal turned to Drussilikh. "Matron, you have been such a support as anyone could hope for. We would ask one further service."
"Certainly, my lord."
"Work with the Criers, to have the summary of Our true lineage posted, Our honest antecedents, on every station."
"But the repercussions..." the Typika began, halted by a moment's reconsideration. "No, you would not fear the scandal. This would be a scandal only if you felt diminished by its disclosure."
"But, my lord," Drussilikh protested. "You are not the only one affected by such a disclosure..."
For a moment, the King stared at the Matron as at an exotic animal. Then his eyes refocused, and Evendal bowed his head. "Thank you, gracious lady. You are right. Wytthenroeg must be consulted first."
"Summon Anlota, if she is not already keeping the Dowager company." Not waiting for courtesies or replies, Evendal hurried with a suddenly wide-eyed Kri-estaul to the Throne room. Just as he touched the Trident, the King paused and backed away.
"Kri, dear heart, I almost forgot."
"Do you have to go down there?" Kri-estaul could not help but whine.
"My foster-mother is such that I expect I will be singing before we are done. I do not know how much more this Chamber could withstand. Would you feel at ease with Ierwbae? Or Pohul-halik? Or..."
"You," Kri replied. "It's just a place. As long as you... Please don't let me go. I would stay with you."
Troubled, Evendal sat on the hard Throne. "No, Kri. I don't know how long I will be down there..."
The Guard had caught up with them, making the child flinch. "I would stay with you." Kri-estaul insisted.
"You are all but sweating with fear. Why endure this?"
The eight-year-old tried to calm himself, to still his shaking, and failed miserably. "This is now my home, no? All of it. And you promised."
Evendal's sigh mirrored Kri's smile. "Smart boy, I did. By the Five Thunders! You are wiser than I. But I am your father. We are staying right here. The Guard can bring her up from the Tullianum(38)."
Not wanting to drag the moment out, Evendal directed Mulienhas: Down a flight and past two doors, to a low-ceiling meeting hall. After the refugees and corpses had been removed, the King had commandeered the Stoners to cleanse the levels of the Under-grounds. Supervised, the former Stoneworkers' Guild had revealed cubbies, and hidden passageways to two un-chronicled multi-level warrens. According to Ierwbae and Bruddbana, the Stoners showed more vigour, more zeal, near the end of their labour. Nine of the twelve also, by the time the removal and restoration work ended, volunteered to harbour or tend survivors of their past indifference.
The King felt no surprise at seeing Anlota emerge with the Dowager. After kneeling, Anlota waited. Onkira stood, making no further move upon her surfacing. The Dowager looked the worse for her travels. Brine had rendered her hair a corbie's nest. Dressed luxuriously in an array of bleached linen, ermine accent and cloth-of-gold, she had obviously planned her return as a grand processional. Every hand-span of her attire sported mud, glistening saliva, or aromatic refuse. The whitening of sea-salt had begun to dry over a similar faded patina, a telltale that Onkira had been ship-bound for longer than a wind-aided trip from Arkedda. The reddening of her skin around her forehead and temples and the backs of her hands confirmed this conclusion.
"Evendal," Onkira whispered, stunned. "Your eyes!"
Ierwbae came up beside his lord, and then swiveled to leave on seeing Anlota, hurt etched in his features. Wordless, Evendal gripped his Guardsman's arm, halting his retreat. Face impassive, and movements measured, the King kept his luminous gaze on the two women.
"Wherefore do you visit here, Mother?" Brualta arrived at the royal entry.
With an audience, Onkira nier Menam stumbled verbally, giving every appearance of distress and weariness. "I had heard that some Manourlord had killed you. That bedeweri(39) were besieging you. You don't know what it means to me to see you well! But, my dear child, what is toward with your eyes?"
"Mother of Midwives, We have asked you a question."
Anlota's reply sounded clipped. "I came, my lord, to beg the Dowager to release me from my pledge of silence."
Evendal shook his head. "Hardly necessary, now, We would say. Not a very credible answer, Mother."
"Enough of this, Evendal!" Onkira snapped. "Don't plague the poor woman."
"Ierwbae, why is the Dowager unrestrained? She is not a guest here." Ierwbae unable to respond, Mulienhas approached with shackles and linchpin and cuffed the bedraggled woman. "Our thanks. Let no one mistake her status."
"How dare you! What kind of man are you?" Onkira quavered, all tears.
The King looked down at his genuinely distressed child and ignored the outburst. "Again, Mother. Why did we find you down there?"
Anlota looked from Ierwbae, to Evendal, Kri-estaul, and Onkira. Finding no quarter, she rocked backwards to sit on the floor, a gesture of exhaustion. Evendal merely raised an eyebrow.
"I went down there to provide Onkira with a bit of intelligence. Lord, I tend to hold my own peace of mind above the wishes of my matrons and patrons. And in a few instances... Thunders, this is hard! On a few occasions I have deceived, cruelly, for the sake of the babes I have helped into life."
"Stop. Tender no apology on your secrecy toward Us!"
"No, Lord. That I will give at your leisure." She waved away the irrelevancy. "I went to offer the Dowager Onkira a questionable comfort: she has living issue. A child she birthed did not die stillborn. A daughter."
The two persons unresponsive to Anlota's disclosure waited out the indrawn breaths and looks of astonishment: Lord Evendal felt unmoved and Onkira gave away no reaction. Kri-estaul felt a too-familiar confusion. Precocious, the boy recalled the papers Siarwak had hoarded. "Does this mean you have a sister?" Kri chirruped, latching onto the disclosure for a distraction.
"No," Evendal answered. "The daughter would be the whelp of the Un-Wise Counselor and Onkira. The unfortunate is no generative relation to me."
Turning away, Onkira let out a mellifluous sob and hunched over. "How did I raise such a son? What did I do, but love you?"
Finally, the King acknowledged the Dowager. "Greetings and defiance, Onkira. Be assured," he drawled. "Everyone here knows just how you loved Us!"
Onkira whirled back around, dry-eyed and hands clenched, mouth agape in disbelief. "What... What kind of man are you?" she repeated.
"Fortunately for all, not the kind you tried to fashion. Anlota, whatever inspired you, We thank you for the intelligence. What must be done is best begun here, and while it is right that you are present..."
Onkira squinted against the glare of her foster-son's eyes. "What do you mean by that?" she interrupted.
"We see that you did not get the welcome back you anticipated. And you have not the right to wear ermine, Onkira."
"Mother Anlota," Evendal gestured Ierwbae to help the woman to her feet. "If you wish, you have Our leave."
"Your Majesty, however just your wrath, surely you would grant her the solace of learning..."
Evendal gestured for silence, then waved the Mother of Midwives away from the circle of witnesses. "Look well, Mother." He whispered. "Grasp(40) in that way we both know is your's... Your tidings mean nothing to her."
Startled, the old woman squinted comically at their prisoner. Onkira's pointed shaking might have stemmed from chill or passion, the occasional wringing of her hands mere effect or unthinking reaction; her posture denoted the very shape of grief and agitation. But a febrile tension in the Dowager's muscles bespoke differently, restless, indexing anyone unresponsive to her show. The widow of Osedys' mimickry suddenly shouted out its mendacity to the midwife. Anlota gasped audibly with the shift in her perception.
"I... I am oft blinded by my own occupations, Your Majesty. I see a child and I think, 'Who would not be humbled and awestruck by such a wonder? Who could not be changed?' But not everyone sees." Anlota's sigh bore the weight of her world.
"No. Before I met Kri, here, I would not have felt what you mean." Evendal murmured. He rushed through the question that most plagued him. "But you showed a harsher wisdom twenty or so years ago, one perhaps best imitated now. Menam needed an heir, you could not countenance a daughter raised to mirror Onkira's mentation. We suppose you deemed a son to be made of sterner mettle?"
"I exacted a pledge from Menam to keep a watch on you around her." Anlota muttered, still amazed how she had deluded herself regarding Onkira.
m'Alismogh's eyes, ablaze, highlighted the age in the midwife's face. "You should have known, even then, how effective that would not be. No, Anlota! No more pathetic, weak self-delusions. So, Menam got an heir, Wytthenroeg sacrificed a son and a lover. And Onkira got a son and a lover: Us."
"My lord, I did as best I could."
"No. You did what you did. Your motives still utterly escape Us."
Anlota, clearly, had reached the limit of her deference and discretion. "Think you that the Left Hand of the Unalterable wields the only glamour? What I saw, with the emergence of Onkira's get, made Mausna look idyllic. A vain, self-consumed, spoiled child ascending to the Throne in the wake of a narcissistic, power-hungry, rapacious she-weasel of a widow? I saw pathetic attempts at coups by the two of them motivate the other provinces to devastate Osedys in retaliation and self-defense. It was the most prolonged and dread nosotriel(41) I had ever suffered. Had you such a prescient moment, what would you have baulked at?" Though spoken in a hushed rasp, decades of anguish imbued her words.
Anlota's speech stunned the King. "This you saw at the babe's birth?"
"Yes, my King. It comes to me at odd moments during many a birth."
"And at Our own?"
Anlota visibly hesitated. "I saw something I did not understand, and still do not. I saw a breathtakingly beautiful dragon, coiled... encircling the Palace, sleeping."
Impressed, the King nodded. "A symbol perhaps. A cipher."
Anlota hesitated. "I would say not, my lord. I can usually sense when an image carries the weight of more than one or two meanings."
The King shrugged, and spoke in normal tones for all to hear. "Have you any further disclosures, appropriate to the moment?"
"No."
Drussilikh and Pohul-halik had arrived in silence.
"Then, again, Mother Anlota, you may leave and await Our good will elsewhere, if you wish." The midwife nodded. "Ierwbae, escort her, if you please. Then return."
Anlota stared at the Dowager. "That woman makes me feel old!" With the arrival of the two Guild-masters, Onkira had resumed her dramatic gesticulations. The midwife snorted her opinion. "For all I have not done, Evendal, all I have not seen, I beg your forbearance if not your forgiveness. For the pain I have abetted and caused. Tell me..."
The King briefly, lightly, laid a hand on the old woman's shoulder, and nodded to Ierwbae. "Later, good Mother. Now is not the time. Go."
When the sound of the door's closing echoed, Evendal took a deep breath, hugged a sweating Kri-estaul to his breast, and glared once more on Onkira. His son had endured much this day, in the name of his love for his father. Too much. The sooner he began this farce, the sooner he would be quit of it.
"Shall We enumerate the perfidy you are responsible for? You keep asking what you have done to deserve Our antagonism."
Once again, the royal-entry opened and closed, and footsteps advanced toward him. Without turning around, Evendal grinned slightly. "Greetings and health, Aldul." The Kwo-edan's arrival lightened his heart.
"Health and prosperity to you and yours, Your Majesty." Aldul replied equably. "I see Alekrond was successful." He nodded his greetings to the Matron and the Woodwife.
"Yes, this fish has to be his biggest catch yet." Evendal took a slow breath. "Let Us begin. This is all the peerage needed for our motives. Onkira. Though exiled, you were, by marriage and oath, a citizen of Osedys. In defiance of Our clemency, you return, rendering you t'bo. To many, a grievous enough fate."
"You cuckolded Our father. We have the documentation to prove that, should We even need it. It matters not, at this late hour, which of you first put horns on which. If it was Menam, then you hardly needed to imitate him. Children may be the property of their parents, and, should the parents die, property of their fostering parents. But both of Our parents lived, when you took Us to your bed. When you made it clear, in that cloying and indirect clue-dropping way of yours, what We had to do to remain in your good graces."
"What nonsense is this?" The Dowager protested. "Pohul-halik, have you ever heard such sour sewage as this? Surely you do not credit these ravings?"
The Mistress of Oak, older than Onkira in more than years, kept silence.
"We were eight years old at the first, and your assaults continued through Our thirteenth year. We were not your's to abuse. Menam may have suspected, but if so, he deemed his tensionless co-existence with you not worth sacrificing over a suspicion. So loving a family were we all!" The King stopped, overcome with bitterness. Wordless, Kri-estaul wrapped his bony arms as far around his father's chest as he could manage. The touch steadied Evendal. Aldul gripped his shoulder.
"In Our fourteenth year, as We recall, you snared your true love..." the sneer dripped like tallow in his voice. "With Our help!"
The Dowager, lightning swift, whipped her bound hands at the King. Evendal, swifter, restrained her readily. "Yes, foster-mother, We remember now. That which We could not remember while We felt We needed you. Though We admit that every confusing, frightening, shame-scalding moment is not utterly clear. It seems Time is more merciful than We are."
"We will not name him!" Evendal cried, voice cracking. "That corpulent, slime-filled, bag of self-serving platitudes! Constantly smiling and smiling, as if everything his eyes alighted upon served as food for his appetite. And you made certain he saw a lot of Us."
As each word rolled out of m'Alismogh's mouth, his eyes grew brighter and brighter, the walls of the Chamber held onto each tone in which every word was spoken. The guild-mistresses winced with the dissonance and the glare. More from empathy than wisdom, Kri-estaul reached up and tugged the Songmaster's head toward him. "Papa. You're safe, now. I'm here. Please!"
Evendal's mouth flapped open and closed; he drew in a deep, stabilizing breath. A second long breath, and then a third, followed with effort. The walls released their cacophony. Not quite able to smile, the King settled on kissing Kri on the head.
Onkira glanced at the bundle beside Evendal. "And who or what is this? Is the palace become a nursery?"
The King ignored her goading. "You flirted with each other, courted each other, confided secrets. You simpered over his every breath. When you learned how he lusted after young males more than women, you all but tied Us to his bed. Without Ourselves as an additional lure, you feared you would not net him. After We left for Mausna, We can only suppose, you were right."
It took Onkira a long, telling, moment to rally. "What delusions! Do any of you here not see why I feared for him?" Onkira pleaded. "He attacks me like a serpent. Me, his fosterer."
Aldul interrupted. "The Temple stands ready to attest to the accusations, Dowager Onkira. We know them as legitimate memories. Anlota can confirm this, as well. Your predation is unveiled."
Evendal continued, as if no one else had spoken. "Next. There are enough menials still resident to sing the song of the hatred you and Menam held each other in. The fence of deputized attendants with which he surrounded you, in order to safeguard the health of any courtier to whom you objected." Evendal lengthened sounds and shifted tones.
Tell Us, Onkira.
What did you intend,
How did you resolve
For Menam to die?
Cease your delusions.
Refuse all masks.
On battle's caprice,
You'd hardly rely.
Like grain through a mill, Onkira's answer grated through clenched jowls. "Beru-homek was his name, serpent! Eager to accomplish my widowed state, and wed me at its end, he thought to replace Menam's war-horse with some that were tortured and shadow-shy. Neither he nor his horses survived Mausna, you heartless, ungrateful whelp! Since you did survive, I had thought to mix jimson-seed powder into your food or drink, if you did not die in my... re-occupation." Faster than the others whom Evendal had englamoured, Onkira recovered. "What did you just do to me? What kind of revenant are you to afflict me into lies!"
Standing through the benefits of adrenaline, indulging in the focus which anxiety so often begets, the King resumed. "Fourth. The Thronelands suffered nine years of your selfish indifference to it's ravaging, during which time you simply waited for one weasel to destroy the other. After We ended their rapine, you funded and directed your own mercenaries; human flotsam eager for loot and of no mind to give up their prize into your ignorant governance. All but eighty-five of them are now crow-food. You instigated an assassination of Our birth-mother, to keep Our true lineage, and the nature of your marriage, a secret."
Matron Drussilikh piped up. "Your agents among the Scriveners left evidence of their complicity and your written requests and instruction."
"I am being persecuted here!" The look of injured innocence on the Dowager's face battled, alternated, with fear. "You commissioned forgeries to support this fancy!"
"Not with your unique cere(42) and the primrose seal from the signet still on your hand. The same ensign, rather stupidly, on one of the mercenaries' tents. And not with your admission of patronage, just now, before witnesses." Evendal refuted.
"Onkira nier Menam, can you answer even one simple question honestly?"
"Of course I can." she declared, cow-eyed. "I have been nothing but honest with you, ever."
Evendal knew naught would come of it, but for the sake of his witnesses, he asked. "What did you think would result when your troops invaded?"
"I merely wanted to ensure your safety. You obviously came home so distressed you haven't been in your right mind. I had no other option, with you so immune to reason and common sense..."
"Enough! None of that is an answer. Cease your posturing, your apologia. You have already contradicted your own justification. We asked what you thought would result from this invasion?"
Apparently baffled, the Dowager sobered. "The people would see what I have always tried to be: their guide, their mother, protective and resolute. Once I was securely invested, I would seek the help of the Archate toward your healing and restoration."
"You imperil them in order to be seen as their rescuer? Your mind and heart have more twists than an anthill. Why would your cohort, once they had secured the City, give it over to you?"
"What do you mean? I am the Dowager Onkira olm'Aguandit a Mulhassoir, nier Menam. No one but you has ever refused me."
"Somehow, Onkira, I doubt your lineage or personality would convince mercenaries to give over a fought-for supply of women, children, food and drink. And all three names you cited are long dead, of no help to you."
Onkira listened to this with widening eyes, and sweat beading her forehead. "Silly child, the Heir of Arkedda himself would defend my rights, if it came to such a pass."
Momentarily at ease, Evendal gestured to Aldul, who handed him a parchment roll. "That is not what Murlesnad writes Us, dream-spinner. He says he refuses to harbour you further, as you imperil the concord and serenity of his Court. Cousin Murlesnad sent a few gifts of extraordinary craftsmanship. We will, of course, respond in kind. He also gives over to Us, unstinting, the sanction to deal with you as best suits the welfare of Our common estate and our two realms." With a smile hovering on his lips, the King added. "Arkedda likewise tells Us how you were banished within fourteen days of your arrival! His missive was remarkably brief and direct for a royal communication, as he feared you would head south, and he hoped to warn Us in a timely manner. By the state of your self and your finery, you have spent most of your absence from Us trapped aboard-ship."
Evendal stopped and smirked at the Dowager. "What did you conspire to? You were hardly there long enough to commission a modiste!"
Onkira's slab-like face turned impassive.
"No matter. As Our new ally, Murlesnad will no doubt provide particulars later, in as much as We intervened in the Most Un-Wise Counselor's assassination plot against him."
The Dowager flinched.
"Or was the plot his alone?" Evendal tendered. "Foster-mother, were you ambitious beyond your intelligence? Did Arkedda learn of your role in Ugly's plan? 'Ugly,' by-the-by, refers to the Most Un-Wise Counselor. Such a coup-de-etat would strain even a cousin's affections, I suppose."
Evendal reconsidered, and revised his conclusion. "No. You thought to take up where the Un-wise Counselor failed!" Onkira's cheeks grew visibly dark in the lamplight and Evendal's eyes. "Your waiting on an opportunity for Menam's death had produced such ruinous results, you felt speed would better serve with your dear cousin. You could hardly outlive him. And you had no advantage to offer Murlesnad by marriage."
"By the Five Thunders! Between you and Ugly, I would be surprised Arkedda dares step outside the royal bedchamber!"
Onkira, still flushed, warbled out. "Enough of this, Evendal. Either let me go clean up, or let me sit down."
The brow of the King plowed furrows in his forehead. The woman's blithe obtuseness, and continued indifference, stunned him. "By all our hopes! Do you not understand? You do not go from here into exile again! You have no advocate here! Not even Ourselves! This is not a moment's gossip in a tatting circle."
Onkira turned a startlingly cool eye toward her foster-son. "I am well aware that this... conclave, will be and do whatever Your Majesty wills. That being so, what use for me to thunder and roar my innocence? Or proclaim the love I bear you, still?"
Evendal rolled his eyes.
"None," he agreed. "You do not love Us... me. You do not know me. You never even wondered who I was. While Menam lived, I was the means to thwart and hurt him. On my return, I became an obstacle to your false sovereignty. Yet I feel ill at ease voicing the cantrips your deeds and nature call for: We could have you blinded, and let your body reflect the state of your heart. But that would give a weapon of pity into your hands. You would make yourself a rallying-point for those needing the delusion of gallantry, the illusion of rescuing and avenging an innocent. We cannot envision a restitution from you that befits the damage you have accomplished."
"Does anyone here refute or protest Our re-capitulation? Does everyone concur?"
Silence gave assent.
"Your Majesty," a voice from the door sounded. All, except Evendal, looked to see Ierwbae returned.
"What is your matter?"
"A proposal."
Evendal nodded.
"Make the Dowager's execution a public spectacle." Ierwbae demanded.
The King frowned and twisted about, his lambent eyes wide in disbelief. "Why?"
The Guard sighed. "When the usurpers took the Thronelands, the people waited, hoping the Dowager would speak out. They expected the widow of the King, the King that they had honoured through the lives of their children, to act. I can assure you that if she had shown herself anywhere on the city streets, she would have been greeted and adored... during the first two years of the duumvirate. By the fourth year, attitudes changed. Rarely, someone would voice excuses for her passivity, claiming her mindless with grief. Most simply felt betrayed. You return and accomplish, in less than a month, what she never considered in nine years. It is safe to say that she is cordially hated, and has been for some time."
"Don't be silly," Onkira interrupted hotly. "The good people of Osedys know I had no recourse but to wait those brutes out." Her soiled and besmeared attire belied her assertion.
Of all the feelings Evendal anticipated from this confrontation, amusement had not been one of them. "Foster-mother, how did you arrive in such a state? Testing out your delusions on the cockroaches in the midden?" He returned to Ierwbae's point. "So she would serve as another example? Why is death what We invariably offer Our people?"
In a waspish tone, Pohul-halik snapped. "Stop whining. If you don't feel strong enough, I will be more than happy to gut the wench right now. Or before an assembly. Enough of this vacillation and yapping!" Drussilikh nodded, as did Ierwbae.
Ierwbae interjected. "My Lord, when you first ordered Kernost's remains exhibited, I feared for the temper of the populus. But when the Militia Commander graced your father's icon, I saw the gruesome tokens serving a purpose."
"What purpose?"
"The corpses supplied visible evidence of wrongs righted. Some folks walked away with a smile, not of pleasure so much as... satisfaction. Occasionally, some would tear up. I tasked one about it. He said he had not believed he would survive to see justice done."
Evendal considered. "Yes. Though we do not want to be remembered for perpetuating the bloodiness of the interregnum. The citizens do see, in the fate of these... parasites, the turning of Fortune's Wheel." He asked the Dowager. "Do you recall the Militia General under Our father?"
"Of course," Onkira replied.
"He met the fate reserved for traitors to the realm. Having chosen to walk his path, you could have partaken his doom."
For a long, tense moment, Onkira held still. "I see. I would have hoped something more... genteel for the woman who raised you. Poison. A soporific. Aconite."
"Tatorea?" Evendal suggested sharply, then shook his head. "Did you think it was only for Our own peace of mind that We banished you? Exile was as much benevolence as We could unearth. You vowed to love and safeguard what Menam loved. And, however poorly he may have seemed to govern, he loved Osedys and the Thronelands. You endangered the City for the sake of vanity. That makes you a traitor."
"Onkira nier Menam, as a traitor to your wardship, to your families, and to the Thronelands, We would decree that the traditional penalty for traitors be your fate. We do not care how you face your death. However. In defiance of Our clemency, you return, rendering you t'bo. Were Our's the only life you endangered, We would merely label you enkengre. However, because you imperil the life and weal of both Arkedda and Osedys, We must declare you ingegn'Hramal(43)."
"Your witnesses shall be those who secure you to the coral, and those who wish the solace or unhealthy pleasure of viewing your demise. Honoured Matron?" Drussilikh looked from Onkira to Evendal. "Please meet with the Criers to post this invitation for all the citizenry, the bill of attainder, along with the word of Onkira's cuckoldry, hosting mercenaries in offense of the City, employing an assassin against... an honoured and honourable elder noblewoman. Onkira's execution to commence at the first ebb two mornings hence."
The Dowager merely raised her nose, the muscles in her jaw tight, tears trailing down to her thinned lip. "What holds your admiration, may I ask, that you cannot grace my last moments with the sun of your presence? That you cannot attend this travesty of a sentence you pronounced against me?"
"Well," Evendal m'Alismogh resumed his drawl. "Depending on her health, most likely nuncheoning with my mother and my son."
"That Altan whore is still breathing?" The Dowager shut her eyes tightly, and then froze as all of Evendal's words registered. Her eyes focused again on the attentive bundle at Evendal's side. "Your son? By whom?"
"No longer your concern."
"Are you raising the child to grow up as heartless and blood-crazed as you? How are you called, sweetling?"
Kri-estaul looked up at his father, who nodded. "Kri-estaul, Dowager..."
"You look to have five years. Is that so?"
Kri shook his head. "Eight."
"What do you think of a King who executes blameless women, child?"
Evendal exploded. "Manipulative bitch, do not..."
"Let the Prince speak to me for himself," Onkira whispered. "Since, by your will, he shall have no other chance."
Kri-estaul stared long at the Dowager. "You are bad." His voice shook like a poplar-tree. "You sent people here to die. You wanted others to die. You did to my Papa what the Beast did to me. My Papa is not wrong about you. When he is wrong, he admits it. Even to me. You can't."
Pohul-halik laughed. "Succinct, direct and true. You have much to learn from him, Your Majesty. Are we done here? My bones ache."
"Mulienhas? Have Dowager Onkira lavishly accommodated in one of our finer cells, below-stairs. She has an assignation soon."
Evendal kissed Kri on the head. "Go to your death, Onkira, in the comfort that my reign has a worthy successor. Until then, fare ye ill."
Well aware of the stench he exuded, of chyme, and urine and grass, Evendal gestured the four ladies and his entourage to retire, from an easy distance. He huddled briefly with Ierwbae, offering private directives and comfort, until Onkira and his supporters had all left the room.
Once they were alone but for the Guard, the King sat back on the Throne and breathed a sigh of release. "How is it with you, Kri?"
When he got no answer, Evendal looked down. Kri-estaul had stuffed his hand in his mouth to silence sobs. "No, Kri. Let it out. It is good that you do so."
The eight year old mumbled around his fist. "I am not a baby."
"Of course not. But you are a boy. You yourself said so. Boys can cry. As can men. You were prepared to go down to the Under-grounds! You faced a huge fear. You helped me from getting lost in my own pain and memory, just now. You confronted a very wily and nasty adult with some hard truths. That is not the action of a baby, my son."
Body heavy and every muscle in his face taut with restraint, the King absently rubbed Kri's hair. Ten years had aged Onkira, ten years that did not exist in his own reckoning. The mother he recalled, with fierce but conflicting emotion, had transformed into a much... simpler woman. He remembered, as yesterday, a woman of sharper tongue and wit. Had she always been so transparent, Evendal mused, or had time demanded her natal cunning as its wage? Suppressing the inclination to soften his judgment, the King yet wished Onkira had heeded better impulses. If only the woman had shown sense, or compassion, or simply admitted some measure of responsibility for her actions.
Evendal looked down on the haunted, watchful face of his charge, a boy he had claimed for the sake of the child's survival. A boy, with legitimate ties elsewhere, whom he ruthlessly commandeered for the sake of his own survival. Gifts and geas aside, he was a man, and needed to love a tangible, not merely the faceless assemblage of whims and quicksilver loyalties that were his people.
When the Guard returned from settling Onkira, Evendal got up from the Throne and thanked them, releasing them to their common duties.
"If I ever, ever, rant at you over things I want, or actions you failed at, people you did not impress or ways in which you disappointed me. If I ever command you, or expect you, to flirt, woo or marry someone you find no love for - I hereby grant you license to bite me in the arm, at least hard enough to draw blood and scar. Failing that, have Ierwbae hit me over the head with our Trident. And I will inform all our friends of this privilege. Do you understand what I am talking about?"
Kri-estaul nodded solemnly, then hesitated and shook his head. "I don't. Understand." He trembled badly and began hiccoughing.
Evendal replaced the Trident, then wrapped his arms around his light burden. "I want you to be my son. If I ever do anything that makes you feel weird, or scared, let me know. Or let Anlota or Ierwbae know. If you don't want to become Osedys, so be it. The High Priestess can choose and invest someone else. If you want to be my successor, so be it. You are my son. Not a toy. Not my puppet. But my son."
With that one noun, Kri-estaul gripped as much of his father as he could and started shaking and huffing. He let his feelings out, now that the crises had past.
"Thank you, my boy. Thank you for helping me, just now. My greatest fear was that I would act passive and obedient in front of her. Silly, no?"
"No. I... She reminded me of Nisakh. W...w...would grab me. Or my bad dreams were coming true!" Kri-estaul snuffled. "She scared me. Looked... like she wanted to drink my blood!"
"I think, now, she may have always been like that." Evendal mused. "Hey, we are both tired and grubby. How about we both have a bath and a nap."
"I'm hungry, too!" Kri-estaul complained. "I'm sorry," he added quickly on a hiccough.
"Do not be, Kri. Thank you. Thank you for letting me know. At this time of the morning, the Empress is sure to be up and cooking for the Palace. I need to say a word to Great-aunt Anlota, first. Then, let's go invade and do some pillaging ourselves."
His son relaxed, and Evendal, with a gimlet-eyed nod to Mulienhas, turned to confront the returned Mother of Midwives. "Mother Anlota."
"Your Majesty," Anlota murmured. Her head remained bowed, along with her shoulders. The woman's whole demeanor bespoke a deep sadness and weariness. And though well capable of manipulation, the King knew play-acting like Onkira's was not Anlota's way.
"Rest easy, nathlil of us all. The decisions you shared in, so many years ago, were the wisest anyone could make at that moment. We... Daily, I strive to make little of my past torments, since they brought forth such sweet rewards now. But a part of my griefs with you still abide."
Evendal took a long steadying breath. "Could you not trust your own knowledge of me, your awareness of my limits as the Left Hand, in addition to my clear affection and favour toward you? You came to me, prepared to fight for your life! And left, expecting some act of malice from me against the man who stands in my regard second only to Aldul! What had I done to make you distrust me so? What?"
The plea was heart-riven, and Anlota drew in her own deep breath against the force of it.
"Not a single cause, Your Majesty. You have been all I have hoped for. I... The folly I acted out before you had always been my first habit of defense, when the Wise Counselor sought me out. In my anxiety and the... the burden of fwyl-has(44) that I harboured, I panicked and abused you." Without drama or trepidation, Anlota looked up into m'Alismogh's bright eyes. "I knew and know you would not harm me, as I knew and know you would never exercise your temper on my nephews. Ever since I saw what that woman's fostering had done to you, your second day here, I have been slowly coming to a realization of how much I had indeed failed you. Abysmally. I did not know what she had been inflicting on you, all those years ago, because I did not want to know. Accepting that, I felt guilty and acted out of fear." Ierwbae, standing behind the midwife, showed no response to this confession.
Long Evendal pondered over Anlota's confession. "You felt, at the outset, accountable to Us? So, you judged yourself, Mother?" Startled at Evendal's odd assessment, Anlota realised its accuracy and nodded. "And having arrived at a judgment, what restitution do you advise?"
"Whatever seems good and right in your eyes."
Did she realise what she had just done? What she just said? Looking at Anlota's inquiring expression, the answer was plain. No. Abrogating responsibility, after the chaos of crises had passed, had become a habit. And Evendal, having suffered from it, was not about to let that ignorance continue. "Oh, no, Anlota." He braced himself for what he was about to initiate. "Tell Us, where abides Onkira's progeny?"
"On Ddronthys."
"And is she now a mother, or is she a maiden still?"
Anlota paused, suddenly uneasy. "She is yet unwed, Your Majesty."
"That is not what we asked."
"She... is mother to a boy. The boy has two years and is healthy."
"And is the young woman content?"
"She seems, Your Majesty."
"That is to change." Evendal declared. "We see no reason why the daughter of that rabid bitch should know a serenity denied Us. Anlota, here is our idea of amends: We announce to you here and now, that We will rescind the bill of attainder on Onkira. You will recover the toddler from the young lady and relinquish the babe into our foster-mother's care. You shall go with the understanding that if the young mother protests, the child would not survive her bringing grievance against Us. You shall go with the understanding that if you palm off the child of another, in his place, We can find the truth of a baby's lineage with but one melody; and then both your life and the life of Onkira's get would be forfeit. We are sure Alekrond will offer you safe and speedy passage there and back. Are Our wishes clear?"
"Crystalline, Your Majesty. Because you suffered, another innocent should suffer as well."
"There are no innocents, Anlota. You have shown Us that!" Evendal snapped. "Having heard Our words, retrieve the grand-child of Onkira from Ddronthys, and present him to Us here. By sunset. And now you have Our leave."
Clearly weary in body and mind, the Mother of Midwives shuffled out of the Throne room, leaving a shocked Ierwbae and a contemplative Kri-estaul.
"My lord..." The Guard could not credit the commission he had witnessed. After a moment, Ierwbae rallied. "My lord. You did love us once."
"And still do." Evendal replied blithely. "Ierwbae." He called. The man turned his gaze up from the ground, and bared a pain-filled countenance to his King. "Do you yet trust me?"
"My lord, I love you."
Evendal waved that argument away. "In all hearts, love ebbs and crests like a tide, good Ierwbae. Having given your pledge, do you yet trust me?"
"I would trust you, lord." The Guard locked eyes with his liege. "I do trust you, Evendal. I hope I am strong enough to always trust you."
Evendal fought hard to keep his own counsel. "Then, exercise constancy with Us and mayhap it will come easier for you with others as well." Saying this he held Ierwbae's suddenly wild-eyed gaze.
"Come. We would see about those helpless victims awaiting our unhallowed appetites in the Cook's pantry." And Evendal suited action to words.
(37) Evendal m'Loema, m'Alismogh, ald'Menam a Wytthenroeg, sulen ureg Asadah. (38) Tullianum: That part of a prison which was under ground. Supposed to be so called from Servius Tullius, who built that part of the first prison in Rome. (39) bedeweri - Those we now call banditti; profligate and excommunicated persons. (40) Hramal idiosyncratic; "grasp with your eyes," "possess by seeing;" comprehend. (41) Nosotriel (noss-O-tree-L) - Unveiling, revelation, an uncovering of a truth. (42) Cere: a type of wax, often used to hide flaws in architecture; thus the word 'sin-cere' - without cere. (43) Ingegn'Hramal - (in-geg-ne-romaul) Enemy of the Trusting (44) Fwyl-has (fweel-hass) - Can mean "what-ifs" and "If-onlys."