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.
6 A King Of Infinite Space
Hamlet: O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and
count myself a king of infinite space, were it not
that I have bad dreams.
Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2, Line 258
Evendal woke apprehensive and in uncertain temper, as the Temple tolled the second bell of daylight. A thorough wash in lukewarm water and a light fast-breaking helped, but could not restore the vitality that two days and nights of exertion, tension, and emotional plummets and upsurges had depleted.
He sat in the apartment's single chair, brooding over the fealty of the King's Guard, when a misplaced odour distracted him. Fruit. Not apples, though. And strong. When a light alto by the doorway cleared its throat, Evendal turned to with no surprise. Until he saw his visitor.
Posed with right leg forward and foot delicately turned, a person of indeterminate gender awaited acknowledgement. The hair, under a pink lozenge-like cap, bore an oily gleam that made it difficult to be certain of its precise colour. A light green tabard clashed with a bright gold tunic-shirt sporting sleeves that ballooned out but cinched at the wrist, and an abundance of contrasting selvage. And what Evendal initially took for a sickly pallour, at second glance proved the product of artifice.
Dazed, Evendal's greeting sounded less than gracious. "Well met, and you are?"
"May it please my most gracious lord, I am addressed as Gwl-lethry aghd Gilbrahalnir elthra'ma Tinde'keb(15)."
Wearied simply from the sight, and his own expectations of what would follow, the Prince did not improve on his manners. "I imagine you are not addressed often." He assumed, for lack of telltales and by the emphasis in the name, that his visitor was a man.
"My gracious lord displays a rapier wit." the jackdaw enthused. "A difference hoped for in the liberator of our kingdom, but hardly expected." He doffed his cap and practically touched the floor with his head.
"A difference?" Evendal felt like he had missed some part of the fellow's speech.
"Yes. Neither the Beast nor the Protector offered any noteworthy levity. It was all passion and gravity. Perpetually, exhaustively intense! They cast a pall over a gala merely by attending."
He could not believe the conversation. "And you have attended for how many seasons?"
Evendal could see where the skin powder had not been applied, for the visitor's reddened complexion shone there. "Two, most astute majesty."
"And your warrant for this privilege is?"
"The felicitous union of my late forbearers, and of their property in the more southern ranges of the Thronelands."
"Does no warden or exemplar play shadow, to better direct your time?"
Gwlethry almost grimaced. "No, my most honoured lord. Not since old Wytthener retired to her small holding. She would harp incessantly on what passed in the Court and Council. As if such gatherings mattered."
The Prince's gaze had sharpened. "Wytthenroeg of Alta? She yet lives?"
"A wonder, indeed, dwelling in such a hovel. Poor silly. Why there is not a modisté for leagues!"
"I should imagine she serves as her own tailor."
"Oh, she does. So quaint. She was just so awkward! She could not watch such things for their entertainment."
"What things? Modistes?"
Gwlethry tittered. "Oh, no. The High Court and the Court Juridical. My coterie and I would be hard pressed to restrain our mirth, and old Wytthener would just sit and glower most unbecomingly. With looks of murder for practically everyone on the Council! Well, except for Rw-adruann, poor man. That was the one time I saw her cry. I. Was. Mortified. I can tell you I never sat near her again."
"What of Rw-adruann?" Evendal asked, reluctance riming his heart. His mind conjured the image of a tall thin man with snow-white hair and genteel manner and face.
"Oh, dear. And here I only wished to be the first to greet you, and offer my support if you proved the refreshing fellow you so obviously are. Lets stop this talk of such depressing subjects. You just have to meet my friends!"
"Not to be a bore, most welcome Gwlethry, but I do wish to know. What became of Rw-adruann? However rustic or obsolete his dress, he was a man of impeccable mansuetude and august bearing. Though there is a world of distinctions between you, he was, as yourself, an ornament to any Court." The effort at indirection made Evendal's headache.
In his effort to pout, the courtier's powder cracked. "Unprepared, he came between Abdur...the Beast and his sport, and without the sun of Polgern's favour, or the support of his own household's guard.... The Beast pounced and bore him to his lair. When Council reconvened, the Beast announced old Rw-adruann's demise, as justice for aiding the escape of some silly traitor to the Thronelands. Oh, it was high drama! Delicious. And such a demonstration of folly only proved my wisdom. The better part of valour lies in seeing it all for the mummery it is."
"How is it you brashly name one who was declared a traitor, and therefore to be left unnamed?"
"Oh, but you so clearly overturned such an assessment. And with such dexterity, too. Bagging old Polgern and skewering the Beast, all in the same day! So delightfully heroic, and efficient. We'll be reeling from your so forceful and virile entrance for weeks to come!"
"We?"
"My friends and I. Oh, you must meet them. They thought I was insane to approach you so brazenly, but I said that of course one can't enjoy the performance without knowing the personae."
"I am indeed speechless with admiration for your mettle, gracious Gwlethry. But defer your anticipation yet a while. For I must tender a special service to one who is less than rarefied company. I trust you passed a Guard by the door."
"Indeed, my lord. A most...capable looking woman."
"Ho, Guard!"
Two people appeared at the door, one male and one female.
"How does my lord this morning?"
"Well, Ierwbae. Well enough. And you?"
"Anxious, my lord. Lord Evendal, may I present Guard Frielh."
The lady bowed.
"I trust that your vigil proved uneventful, Guard Frielh."
"Except for the occasional delirious outburst. Yes, my lord."
"My thanks for accepting such a commission. I have another task, two actually, which should be less time consuming."
"My duty to your lordship."
"This waterfly requires, against his inclination, an undetermined period of solitude and reflection. As the Holder of the Tinde-lands, he is to receive every consideration in terms of comfortable, unpretentious, accommodation and healthy, if common, fare. But absolute privacy and solitude. No visitations of any duration from well-wishers or cronies. No reading matter but treatises and histories. No writing tools. No discussions with his Guard. No meanderings, except where he cannot accost someone. Can you set this up? It need not be accomplished in the Palace."
"Certainly, my lord. We have made such arrangements before for the dangerous, or churls of invidious influence."
Gwlethry turned more pale than his powder.
"The other task is to enquire of an aging landed governess. Wytthenroeg, formerly of Alta. This task is not a pressing one, but rather a personal concern."
Frielh nodded, then smiled grimly at Gwlethry. "Come little fledgling. It is time for your rest."
The linen-white courtier stammered his denial. "But whatever for? I am harmless! An innocent!"
"Balance." Evendal announced, stone-faced. "The well-favoured gentleman harbours gravity in equal measure with levity. You inflict your specious and shallow nature indiscriminately, with facile abandon. Bear your own company for a while and I'm sure you will either learn the lessons Witthenroeg sought to instill, or you will go mad. Either result will be an improvement. As for the reason.... Indifference is a greater evil than greed, malice, or any other motive you could name. I merely provide a sentence appropriate to it. One that may prove curative. Frielh."
"My duty to your grace." She smiled as she dragged Gwlethry out.
"Take care. That's raw silk!" he wailed, and was gone.
"You seemed most eager toward that simpleton, my lord." Ierwbae tendered cautiously.
"Yes. For the reason I gave. Also, if I ever waste someone's precious time and attention so, I hope it will not be so blatantly or unreflectively."
"A strange punishment for distressing you a few moments."
Evendal blinked, briefly bemused. "No, good Ierwbae. Not my time and attention. Wytthenroeg's. A woman with a wealth of experience, intelligence, and heart, who sought to guide that jackdaw into a manhood he disdained. A woman whose pain I have no doubt he mocked openly and repeatedly."
Very softly, Ierwbae confirmed. "Yes. By all accounts, he did. I understand. Are you prepared for a bit of a jaunt?"
"These boots saw me from the Kul to the Thronelands. They should suffice for this."
They heading out the back of the palace and through the yard of knee-tall grasses and ground-flocks, into the woods beyond. After a moment or two to reacquaint himself with the lay of the land, Evendal spoke again.
"Just so I don't get any surprises, Ierwbae. What changes have the two usurpers inflicted on the Councils? Aside from the death of Rw-adruann and the retirement of Wytthenroeg."
"I have not served there very often. And some of the major changes have been quiet. Those not involving... the Beast, that is. Polgern has sought to maintain his authority through graft and bribery where blackmail failed. The instance which burns in my memory clearest is the marriage of Shenrowyn's daughter."
"Shenrowyn agdh Rowylno, the old Maritime Counsel?"
"Aye, lord. His daughter was his youngest child, his only family to survive after Mausna. Polgern gave the man a choice: Give over all but ceremonial authority to the Protector of the Throne, or give his daughter in marriage to Polgern's good friend, Alekrond, a corsair captain. Which, in Polgern's assessment, would effectively accomplish the same thing."
"Alekrond, eh? Since when did the Throne arrange marriages? That has not been its responsibility since just after we settled here."
"Since the women outnumbered the men so drastically after Mausna. Shenrowyn acquiesced in both directions, on his daughter's suggestion. Requiring a period of courtship wherein the privateer and the ingénue could meet, chaperoned. And consolidating, regimenting, his authority, preliminary to abdication."
Ierwbae paused in his story. "Do you remember Shenrowyn's manner and appearance, lord?"
Evendal thought a moment. "Like some big bleached sea lion, wasn't he? And always said as little as he could get away with. But Melianth, the daughter, spoke enough for both of them."
Ierwbae nodded, and made a lurching step over some deadfall. "Shenrowyn was publicly outraged, as Alekrond was Shenrowyn's age. When Polgern pressed him for a decision. Shenrowyn broke out in a rant. He shouted and blustered, made a public scene. Unintentional or not, he guaranteed that this manipulation of Polgern's would be remarked. Then, an emotional wreck, he gave up with both hands. He would relinquish his station. And give his daughter over to the corsair's attentions, lest Polgern see her as a claimant to the position and a threat."
"Polgern has too much to answer for."
"I tell you this tale because this one was truly exceptional. Melianth took over arrangements in the face of her father's distress. And she agreed with Polgern and Alekrond to have the abdication follow the wedding on the same day. And so, Shenrowyn, shaking and tearful, gave his daughter over to a barbarically splendid Alekrond in a long and grand ceremony in the front courtyard of the Palace. Understandably, he could not stand to witness the entire painful event and retreated past the hawthorn gate to deal with his turmoil, away from the eyes of the Court. The bride and groom retired to a ship at the ritual's end. Less than half of a bell after Shenrowyn had scurried off the grounds, with Polgern and courtiers blithely granting him time to compose himself, a messenger intruded on the festivities with two missives. One, a copy of a letter of investiture, naming Alekrond as Maritime Counsel - or his bride in event of his absence. Signed by Shenrowyn and his subordinates. The second manuscript was a graciously worded acceptance of the post by Alekrond, with an incidental word about Shenrowyn attending him as advisor. This was appended to a warrant declaring Ddronthys Island, just south of our peninsula, his consulate."
Evendal smiled. "But what kept Polgern from simply seizing the corsair when he set foot on land, as the rogue, no doubt, had to at some point?"
"First. When the corsair first attended the Court, the gentry felt so threatened that Polgern had to force an official writ permitting Alekrond to be attended by as many of his cohort as Alekrond felt in keeping with his distrust. Second. Having made them initially welcome in Throneland waters, they knew their way around our shoals and reefs, and through them. So any threatening move on Polgern's part would bring an army of ruthless brigands, men and women, right into our port. Or he could stop Polgern's maritime supply of slave labour. And do not make the mistake Polgern made. The privateers are all unflinchingly loyal to Alekrond. As he, and his appointed successor, is to Melianth."
Evendal's smile remained. "I am not likely to. My mistake might have been seeing Alekrond as a Nikraan. A survivor of the cataclysm which submerged Mausna, and so his life forfeit."
"I would not have thought of that!" Ierwbae exclaimed. "It has been nine years, after all."
"For you, perhaps...." With that unfinished thought, Evendal quickened his pace, trying unsuccessfully to vent his frustration in vigourous effort.
"Ierwbae, I'll admit something to you right now. I'll answer a question people have either been too kind, too cowed, or too pre-occupied to ask me." He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a gust. "I have no clear memory of where I have been for these past nine years."
"None? None at all?"
"None. I harbour a suspicion. But I have no idea why it took me nine years to return."
"For you, then, it has not seemed as if nine years have passed?"
"Not even a month."
Ierwbae did not respond immediately, but trod distracted, mulling over his Prince's words. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sad. "You are either the student or the plaything of some greater power."
Wincing, Evendal confessed. "I have managed, up until now, to avoid thinking much about it. Again, it scares me. As best I can remember, twenty days ago I was at Mausna, with my father and the legions. Wanting to win his approval by slaughtering a bunch of half-naked strangers. Throwing up during practically every lull in the fighting...." Mouth open to continue, his face suddenly lost all expression, and his eyes tracked some intangible off to his left.
"My lord?"
I was just remembering... I remember! I had become near crippled with a slowly building headache and stomach cramps since we had passed the Kul. The closer we got to Mausna's defensive lines, and the engaged battle, the worse I felt. My distress could not have been food. Until we got there I ate as I always had. Nor could it have been nerves, for I was too stupid...naive to feel anything but proud and a bit uncertain. Morning or night, the pain never left me. And you would think that, with my mind focused on surviving, it would seem less important in the midst of fighting. But those were actually the most painful hours. For two weeks I endured, keeping food down only if I ate in the middle of the night, when the pain seemed weakest."
"At mid-day, just into our third week of supporting the native militia, the pain lanced into my back so fiercely that I blacked out. When I awoke, it was as if I were dreaming. Someone asked me where I had come from.... or some such. I looked around, and I was at least a league from where I had been before I blacked out, standing beside my father's war carriage. His dead body lay half in and half out of it. When what I saw registered I asked how it had happened. If I was answered I don't recall. But I saw by where the blood stained and pooled, that a coward had skewered him. Then I looked up, North. Toward where we had left our tents, rather than behind me where the battle proceeded. And one lone fellow, dressed in the Guard livery, riding at a calm, even pace away from the lines. This one man drew my attention like a lodestone draws iron. And I knew."
"The dead traitor?"
Evendal nodded. "The pain in my head blossomed, became a great roar mixed with a thunderous disordered booming. That and a shrilling cacophony overwhelmed me to where I was deaf and blind and feeling as if angry scorpions fought across every pore of my body. That is my last sensible memory before waking up three weeks ago beside the fire of... a priest traveling to Osedys from Kwo-eda."
"How? How did you become his companion?"
"He found me lying senseless in the Wastes. How I came to be there, I do not know."
"You sounded as if you had come to some realization, just now."
"Yes. When I am near a dying animal, a melody fills my head and I share their death-pains. I am thinking that the slaughter at Mausna, coupled with the treachery, forced this 'gift' to emerge."
Ierwbae nodded almost immediately after Evendal tendered this impression. "That is sensible. Losing my father in battle was difficult enough. To lose him to treachery would have been worse. But to face both! An uncontrollable.... sensitivity to all the death being dealt around you could emerge from the shock. Perhaps this talent, if it is inborn or essential, is also responsible for your surviving Mausna."
"Maybe. 'Gift', 'sensitivity'. The words used don't matter. It has been a burden, a scourge, and a help. When I try to think forward from that last memory at Mausna, my mind conjures up phantasms. Talking beasts of monstrous size. Delusions." He sounded uncertain, even to his own hearing.
"What animals? Do you remember?"
"A salamander, a shark, and a tree-dragon. And some odd patchwork creature, a combination of ralur(16) and eagle."
"Tree-dragons and ralur are legends." Ierwbae remarked.
"No. I have seen both. Dead. The Commonweal of Alta once sent an emissary with a carcass of each to my father, when vagrants that Menam had exiled were caught poaching between Forest-dweller territory and the Eastern Dark. The tree-dragon had been as tall as three men, with scales all the warm colours of fall leaves. The ralur looked like a black cat, but as long from head to hindquarters as a man is tall."
When Evendal did no more than frown, dull-eyed, Ierwbae asked what he scowled over. "The creatures I dreamed. That twinning of eagle and ralur. I can see it in my mind, but indifferently. As if I were seeing it only in a mirror or reflected in a pool. The others I remember without that shimmer or wavering." He shrugged, dismissing the topic.
Half of a bell at a brisk and steady pace saw them to a large clearing. The grasses here grew fitfully, meager and sere, and the trees all seemed to twist up and away from the open space the tower dominated. Blue-gray stone peppered with moss and fungi competed with the distant trees for height, and barely won. When the Hramal first arrived in the Thronelands, they made themselves the heirs to discards long abandoned by the natives. One such bit of jetsam, Hrioskunra Tower, served briefly and tragically as the royal residence and remained a neglected legacy of the kingship.
Thirty paces from the tower, Ierwbae and the Prince passed a Guard at post, another greeted them at the entrance.
Ierwbae introduced Henhyroc. "We have come to sound Robiliam." he announced.
The older woman raised a cynical eyebrow, snorted and gestured them inside. After a furtive glance toward the tower's embattlement, Evendal complied.
Despite the enclosed space, Hrioskunra felt larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The only stair zigzagged up against one interior wall of the building, and, as far as anyone living knew, it had but a single entrance. As he let his eyes adjust to the dim, Evendal's mind conjured the voice of Wytthenroeg, a soft and pleasant alto, reciting the romantic tragedy attached to the tower.
"Twenty-six births ago, before the Nikraan, one of your fathers served from the tower deep in your wood. Surn-meddil is how he is remembered. He loved, with good reason but beyond reason, a general of his legions. Ganil Adhinnon served his Prince with equal devotion, but with an integrity and craft which kept detractors impotent. Contrary to the disposition of the other Hramal provinces, Surn-meddil sought a pledge of peace with the native Forest-dweller clans. To this end he sent his belovéd, under the rose, to rendezvous with their selected emissaries. The Forest-dwellers, unaware of his purpose, overpowered and killed Ganil. Prince Surn-meddil was taking his exercise atop the tower when a messenger came bearing the news. In his grief and despair, Surn-meddil cast himself from the parapet."
"I saw a limning of him once, of Surn-meddil. It was very old, so the colours of the detailing were tarnished. But he looked like you, Evre-endal. Very much like you, and it was said he had golden eyes as well. Scowl all you want, silly. But he was a man of unusual perception and probity. And one of the few members of your royal herd who impressed me in my studies."
Caught in the round of remembrance, Evendal muttered. "I was more a millstone around her neck than I was a student."
"My lord?" Henhyroc looked puzzled at the non sequitur.
"Forgive me. I was thinking of Wytthenroeg. Once she caught me here when I ought to have been at studies with her."
"Here?" the accompanying Guard blurted out. "Why?" She had the grace to look embarrassed at the outburst. "Forgive me, my lord. But why would anyone want to waste their time in this dread place?"
"You find it a rough post?"
"Well, no. Not in the sense of difficult. A bit boring. But it unnerves me, lord. The quiet. The shadows."
"Shadows?"
"My lord, I come from farm-folk. I know that no bit of fertile land is ever truly as peaceful as most city-folk imagine. There are birds and bugs and earth-grubbers of some sort or another. But not here. Nothing makes a sound at all here. And rustling trees can make the shadows they cast sway as they do. But I've seen trees sway when their shadows refuse to. And obscure shapes move, at the corner of my eye, which aren't there when I turn my head."
Ierwbae smiled. "Boredom has prodded your imagination, Henhyroc. I never thought I'd see such a thing from you."
"Go bugger some sheep, Ierwbae."
Evendal shook his head at his kinsman, forestalling an argument. "No, Ierwbae. Your fellow Guard is not a victim of some fancy. She simply bears witness to the verity in this tower's reputation. Now, where is Robiliam ensconced?"
"Two storeys up, my lord."
As they ascended, Evendal noticed that the interior walls, the supporting walls, the floor, and the partitions consisted of ruddy-gray Kul-stone, not the blue-toned rock of the outer structure. Polgern must be happy with this, he thought.
Through a draped doorway and their escort pointed to her prisoner, an unassuming-looking man dressed in the same type of outfit as the Guard, even to the chevron across the tabard. But in Robiliam's uniform black predominated, not blue. He rested on his knees in the middle of the room, kept there by chains connecting his wrists to a block of iron. His feet were unshod, his face and clothing showed signs of a struggle. When the three entered, the accused stood.
"How did he come by the bruises?"
"When we brought him here he resisted, lord." She smiled as she spoke, not even trying to convince. "He tried to escape his escort. The rope we had used to bind him had too much length to it. He nearly strangled one of the Guard with it before we subdued him."
"Anlota has indeed had a busy time."
"Where is Lord Abduram?" the prisoner demanded.
"At dinner." Ierwbae snapped. "No doubt poisoning the guts of an unkindness or two. Or being the banquet for worms. Why? Anxious to join him?"
Robiliam, a youth having twenty years, actually raised his nose to the heights, an affected attempt at worldly disdain. "What nonsense do you babble now, Ierwbae? Has the loss of your catamite turned your brain? I thought you sturdier. Or is this, the chains and solitary, your idea? Finally throwing your lot in with Polgern."
The Thronelands' heir almost smiled at the bravado; what Robiliam no doubt thought sounded quelling, came out as a sulk. Ierwbae, oddly, gave no response. So Evendal supplied the lack.
"You wrong them both on many counts."
"Wrong whom? Has Ierwbae brought you here to take in the sights? Entertainment for ingénue to the Court? See a rival Guard, humiliated, debased. My lord will avenge this assault on one of his vassals"
Ierwbae smiled. "I doubt that."
"He must. Whatever his caprices, you defy his authority. He will not keep still for that."
"Yes. He will. He will keep very still. He is dead."
Robiliam paused only a heartbeat. "What a ridiculous lie. I would know if he were dead."
"He is dead!" Evendal repeated, seizing an opportunity. "Whether you would know it or not.
He is dead. The land did not quake.
No dragon sang lamentations to the skies.
Trees did not weep, dripping sap at his demise.
He just died. Quietly, and stupidly.
I am not here to argue.
You're not here as witness.
Regardless of your youth,
you will only speak the truth.
Tell me of the fight
you engaged in last night."
Swaying to the rhythm of Evendal's cant, Robiliam snarled. "Won! That I won last night! Our Beloved Beast commanded he be left alone with his prey." He gestured toward Ierwbae. "His cub wanted to commit suicide by ignoring Abduram's orders. I obliged him."
"So you knew the Beast intended mayhem?" Robiliam nodded once. "How long have you been a Guard?"
"Four years. One year as apprentice, then three years oathbound."
Evendal turned his head, including Ierwbae in the question. "And what did this oath bind you to?"
Robiliam tore at his answer like flesh. "To serve the Throne and its Guardians, to embody its honour and ruthlessness. To maintain or enforce its justice and peace, its traditions of liberality and largesse."
Ierwbae added. "The oath itself enumerated those traditions most specifically. The sanctity of guests and emissaries while in the Thronelands, the City proper, and the Palace, was one so affirmed."
"And what were the penalties for repudiation, the dangers of disavowal?" He held up a hand to silence Ierwbae.
"The oathbreaker forfeits the privileges of a citizen, whatever those are under Polgern's tyranny. And is consigned among the traitors."
Evendal stared at Robiliam. "Is the part, 'as the strength of the kingdom made manifest, so may my limbs fail me, my gifts natal and acquired', still part of it?"
Impatient, the prisoner nodded again.
"Attend me, Ierwbae, Henhyroc. Elsewhen, I may have to be careful how I dispense judgments involving the Throne, the Guard, and the Court. Not all former loyalties, nor all past cruelties done under the duumvirate's direction, qualify as treachery. In this instance, however, I have a considerable margin of freedom. You, Robiliam, willfully ignored both the letter and the spirit of your oath to the Throne. The safety of a guest under your lord's roof may seem minor compared to your lord's displeasure, but it is a basic, hoary, tradition every citizen, indeed every Hramal, grows up honouring. Were this Kwo-eda, or Alta, you would still be a traitor. Oath or no oath, you discarded a basic virtue, one which distinguishes Hramal from Nikraan or Forest-dweller. Added to this, you willfully sought the death of a fellow Guard and vassal to the Throne. Henhyroc?"
The guide stepped through.
"His fate is Ierwbae's. Whatever the decision. But Robiliam must face it outside of these walls. No more blood must stain Hrioskunra."
Puzzled at the proviso, Henhyroc nodded her assent.
Looking grim and feeling soiled, Evendal stalked out of the room and started down the steps. Ierwbae caught up when Evendal had reached the second storey.
"My lord, do not flee without a moment's counsel. My desire to be first in today's pledges of fealty abides." Ierwbae paused, suddenly awkward. "In truth it eclipses my thirst for restitution."
In Evendal's unyielding silence, Ierwbae surprised him further by blushing. "Metthendoen woke in the middle of the night insisting we talk. I refuse to take lessons from Heamon, certainly not over an honourless coward."
Evendal had not realised his own anxiety until Ierwbae spoke, and a tension that had nestled in his neck and shoulders dwindled. "You do not fool me so easily, Ierwbae. I know full well that retribution and anger were not all that drove your demand for justice. Our safeguards aside, you rightly feared for Metthendoen, and possible future reprisals should Robiliam thrive."
Ierwbae shrugged and grimaced.
"As for the Guard avowals, I have a few preparations I require and must attend to. I had not forgotten." He took a step down, then paused, a troubled expression emerging and submerging inconstantly on his face. "Ierwbae.... I wish to use the moment of your pledging. When I discern the probity of the Guard. Are you willing to kneel, a focus for my.... dwoemer(17)?"
The Guard thought about it. "Forgive the impertinence, my lord. But what will you do to secure those whose conscience condemns them?"
Evendal smiled fondly. "It would be a mistake to evoke their conscience. They may not have one. No. But the harm I intend, to those who betray themselves, will be only to their reputations and livelihood. Unless, upon a later search, I learn of willful infamy."
"Then, yes, lord."
"Do you wish to enact your justice now? Or to wait?"
Ierwbae glanced up the way he had come. "As he indirectly endangered the royal person, you must witness his execution. I will wait."
Evendal scowled at the thought. "No. I will enlist someone to stand in procuracy(18) for me. I must. Now, I need to hurry. Are you, then, returning to Metthendoen?" He proceeded further down the steps and stopped at the doorway.
"I think not. Not until I have settled with Robiliam. Metthendoen and I do not seek to rule each other. But if I spend much time with him before I've amerced his attacker, he will not be able to restrain.... his distress over my executing a fellow Guard. Might I be of some assistance in your preparations?"
The midday sun granted more light than warmth for the multitude gathered in the courtyard. Garbed in a sand coloured dalmatic under a gold-threaded purpure tabard, Evendal lounged in the mock throne, the intimidating visages of Polgern, Fortune, and the dead traitor poised above him. Bruddbana and Ierwbae flanked the tableau. Marking each quarter of the muster's periphery, Falrija had assigned two Guard and a clerk. Had any of the crowd dared approach, they might have concluded that the theatrically grim expressions of the three living figures stemmed from genuine emotion. The least troubled of the trio seemed to be Bruddbana; his face bore no hint of humour, yet he held himself with an atypical poise and dignity. No one spoke in regular tones or volume, yet the fitful waves of whispers, the murmured trivialities, hushed enquiries, facile judgments, and muttered passing barbs, made for a constant low-pitched roar.
As the Temple tolled the mid-day bell, Evendal softly sang the melody that had safeguarded his body after the Beast's attack, changing the words to suit:
Let none come near me but to pledge,
To pledge, to learn, or to appeal.
Oh, Fortune, favour my heartfelt wish,
My city and its people heal.
"Oyez!" Ierwbae shouted. "Oyez! Oyez!"
Though loud and forceful, Ierwbae's effort produced indifferent effects.
Scowling, Bruddbana thundered. "Quiet, you twittering tumble of jackdaws! Quit acting like a bunch of maids at a festival. We're Guards, not grannies." When he had the throng's attention, Bruddbana turned away from them.
"Most gracious Lord Evendal, Evendal me'Löema, ald'Menam a Onkira, Left Hand of the Unalterable, Sword-Brother of the Sea, I present for your sage regard, forty squadrons of this, your Guard."
Evendal nodded to Bruddbana, took a deep breath, and stood.
"A few hundred years ago, a father of Our's authorised his dearest friend and her husband to essay the royal bodyguards for the protection of the common weal. You have since become indispensable. Were this a safe and stable time, Our forbearer, the king, would invest Us with the trappings and baubles of a ruler's authority. After which, We would then receive the fealty of the Guard, and the fealty and homage of the Court. But this is not a safe time. The inevitably temporary sincerity of courtiers must wait for another day. But your bell tolls now."
"For those many who wonder, We have not returned merely to rule. Power, the imposing of Our will upon others for security, pleasure, or vengeance, is a cup We refuse to drink of anymore. Our goal is justice. Our father lies nine years dead in what is now a swamp. Dead by treachery." As when Bruddbana said "me'Löema," the mutter of the crowd forced a pause. "His betrayer is dead, slain by Our hand and power two days ago. His sponsor in regicide, Master Polgern, We have confined, to await the judgment and mercy of those he has most oppressed. These have not been stable times."
"And so, Our survival. Our victories over these two parasites. Our evoking loyalty in such dissimilar stalwarts as Guardsmen Ierwbae and Bruddbana, and Midwife Anlota. These must be Our rituals of investiture, and confirmation. They are more apt than any gesture from Our father."
Evendal sat.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" Ierwbae shouted. "Bruddbana megdh Borindurl."
Bruddbana knelt, offering his scabbarded sword to his king to briefly grasp. Face flushed, Bruddbana rebound his blade, then raised his right hand to be clasped in the king's two. He reiterated no oath.
Prince Evendal smiled. "Two days past We first stood before Bruddbana megdh Borindurl. In a moment of great confusion he tendered his oath, a surprising gesture of faith to Us. Since then, Bruddbana has repeatedly held Our honour, Our good name, Our very life in his keeping. Finding him a man of virtue and probity, We continue to offer him the shield of Our trust and the light of Our regard and deepest respect. Thus We pledge him Our comfort, support and counsel. Thus We offer what is Ours for his succour as the need arises."
When a brick-red Bruddbana stood Evendal changed the oath-takers clasp to a purely right-handed grasp, cordial without being familiar.
Losing his smile, Evendal stood again. "Bruddbana's loyalties became clear early on. The first citizen We met upon returning, his pledge was his own, freely given. We offer the same to you all. A choice. If you cannot in verity and good faith pledge to Us, then leave now. Your position forfeit, but your life and reputation intact. Should you remain, to pledge a false oath, We shall be free to treat with you as We wish - a criminal citizen, or a t'bo(19), a disenfranchised non-citizen. Choose now."
To ensure that all heard him, Evendal paced slowly around the stone spectacle as he spoke. He stopped and rested in the snug space between the Throne and the figure of Ir, Custode of Kelotta, and Icon of Fortune.
Whether from curiosity, indifference, or bravado, none of the attendants moved to leave. Instead, those that moved at all milled about, to form a haphazard set of presentation lines. Occasionally, someone would shout to him or a stiffly proud Bruddbana, asking confirmation of Evendal's identity, or of Polgern's imprisonment. The attitude of the crowd seemed of a neutral tension. Evendal could not decide if it displayed an indifference toward their leadership, an impartiality toward a power of still-unknown character, or the mindless obedience of the herd.
When the troops had quieted, Evendal nodded to Bruddbana, who in turn signaled the mass to kneel in place. As the accumulation of muttered queries, protests and theatrical groans of discomfort crested and ebbed, Ierwbae strode from beside his statue to face the Prince.
"Lord Evendal, if you would hear them, these, your Guard, would offer their pledge; as I, Ierwbae m'agdh Rhynlosedd, do offer mine."
Ignoring his nerves, Evendal m'Alismogh took a deep breath, smiled, nodded, and sang the evocation he had fashioned upon returning from Khanderif forest.
Oh, Ir awake! Have you slept
Through so much?" "Your children bite their own flesh in hunger,
In anger." "Yet, as stone you stand helpless, nay, senseless.
Your alibi." "Fools violated your form, your nature.
You let them." "Pledged to your same purpose I say, "Enough!"
"Awaken!" "Be, again, Guardian of your people.
These people." "Discern their hearts, their deeds, their master's voice;
Which master." "Grip those who yielded might and mind to fear,
Fear and lust." "Who made a gift of their wills to traitors,
Assassins." "Winnow the faithless, Ir. Cull them, gently.
Let them sleep."
"Ir, let them sleep, until I waken them.
Let them sleep."
He did not try to project, but sang at a steady volume, if with a shaky tone.
Quietly, unremarkably, Guard began to slump from their obeisances. Some fought the drowse for a few heartbeats, before sliding to the ground. In the space of three breaths, what looked to Evendal like one fourth of those gathered lay prone.
After a moment of sheer amazement, followed by random exclamations of disbelief, fear and uncertainty, Falrija's chosen set about carrying the sleepers away and recording their names. Those Guard unaffected either struggled to restore their brethren, or shied from them in alarm, until Bruddbana motioned them to stillness. None of the 'victims' awoke upon being jostled. Later that day, Evendal learned this effect had not confined itself to his assemblage, but had struck all the Guard to which the song-spell applied.
Unknotting his clenched hands, Evendal looked down past the mock throne to find Ierwbae staring back, glassy-eyed and ghastly white. Before he could tender a reassurance or ask for one, he detected motion behind him. He turned and, unthinking, accepted a chromatic glass ball being offered him. The fragile-looking bauble came from a girl of less than twelve years, with daubs of mud on her chin and arms and a world of mischief in ancient hazel eyes.
"You can play with this if you like. But I want it back." she said in an amused soprano, then disappeared utterly. As had the statue of Ir.
Unnerved, Evendal turned back to Ierwbae, who had neither moved nor recovered. He extended his free hand. And found that both hands were empty, though he could feel the ball's weight in his left palm. Bemused, he passed dexter hand just over the sinister, unimpeded.
"Ierwbae m'agdh Rhynlosedd." An oblivious Bruddbana intoned.
Jolted by the reminder, the Prince recovered his poise and gazed out at the throng. Only two or three upturned faces held that glazed, pole-axed look which reflected Evendal's own feelings. The sleep imposed upon their errant comrades pre-occupied the majority. Forcing his epiphany aside, Evendal stepped around to sit on the mock throne, and cupped Ierwbae's uplifted hand with a felt but fragile smile.
Ierwbae waited until he could trust his own voice. When he spoke, it was to recite the compact he and his Prince had worked.
"By the life which sustains me and the deeds which bespeak me, I will to Lord Evendal be true and faithful. To love all he loves, shun all he shuns. To be the arm to his will. To implement his judgments. To defend the weak of body against the weak of heart and will. To safeguard the stranger in our lands, the traveler within our walls, the guest in our houses, against all peril and mischance. To maintain the honesty of the homes, bodies, and goods of the citizenry."
"Nor shall I ever with will or action do anything to besmirch the honour and virtue of his reign, on condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it. As the strength of the kingdom made manifest, may my limbs fail me, and my gifts natal and acquired, should I prove false to this oath."
Squeaking on his first word, Evendal replied. "As the Left Hand of the Unalterable, We stand before Ierwbae m'agdh Rhynlosedd. We offer the shield of Our trust and the light of Our regard and deepest respect to you, a man of virtue and probity. Henceforth Ierwbae holds Our honour, Our good name, Our very life in his keeping. Even as We hold his. Thus do We pledge in return Our comfort, support and counsel. To offer what is Ours for his succour as the need arises."
Slowly, under the scowling visage of Bruddbana, the serious mien of Ierwbae, and the repeated promptings of Falrija's cadre, the pledged Guard reluctantly dispersed. When Falrija nodded that the last had disappeared, Evendal dropped into the mock-throne's hard comfort with a groan, rubbing the weighted fingers of the hand that had grasped Fortune's toy.
---------------------------------------------------- 15 Don't even try to pronounce it. 16 Ralur - Mountain lions with some degree of intelligence. 17 19th cen. allusion to nearly-numinous power, such as "second sight." 18 As compeer. 19 T'bo - A disenfranchised non-citizen, without the right to charity, shelter, food, health; to work, to beg, to earn any monies or food.