Songspell

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.

14 Benetted Round With Villains

Hamlet: Being thus benetted round with villains,

Or I could make a prologue to my brains,

They had begun the play.

Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2, Line 29

"You have interesting friends, Your Majesty." Drussilikh remarked, then let out a tense breath. With Kul's disappearance, both Evendal's and Drussilikh's shoulders untensed, and the sense of impending peril and pressure dissipated. She watched as her students and masters wandered back into the manse.

"Now you know where my proclivity for surprise visits stems from." Evendal returned.

"Papa, do you have some cloths? I need the jakes."

"Yes, beloved. But I will have to be there with you, here. Your sister doesn't have the same seating we do."

Kri-estaul bowed his head, to hide his flush. To sit in his father's lap or be carried in his arms was the best, but to defecate with an audience, and force his father to clean his bum, humiliated. Evendal nodded for Drussilikh to precede him, which gave him opportunity to comfort his son.

"Kri, you know what?"

"What?" he mumbled.

"I love you. Do you know what that means?"

The question came back after long consideration. "What?'

"That I like being able to help you. Even something as basic as cleaning you. You won't need this for long. Soon enough that sore will be gone, and you'll be able to take care of cleaning yourself there."

"I know." That didn't help, clearly.

"Besides, I am not the least bit embarrassed to hold you up or clean you. You are a gift from Ir and who knows how many other Graces, and I am just happy you are here with me, son."

"You don't mind?"

"I don't mind. Its something you need right now. That's all."

"Oh. Thank you, Papa." But Kri-estaul did not look convinced.

After confirming the condition of the manor and accepting Drussilikh's relieved thanks, Evendal enquired as to her wearied countenance. "Family politicking." The Matron explained succinctly. "My cousins and uncles continue to insist I am poorly equipped to be Quill-master. But not to my face, nothing so honest or courageous."

"They seek to undermine you?" Evendal queried. "What do they focus on? Your youth? Your being the daughter of the past Quill-master, and complain of a dynasty? Your bluntness showing a lack of gentility and a lack of 'the delicate diplomacy required of a true Quill-master'? Your decisions being reckless and ill-considered?"

Drussilikh grinned mirthlessly. "All of that. Sounds like an old tune to you, I suppose?"

"It is," the King affirmed. "I hope Our association has helped rather than hindered you."

"It has quieted some of the most single-minded, for the moment."

"Would it help if We documented your status as sole embassy for the Scriveners to the Throne?"

Drussilikh shook her head. "Singling the Scriveners out could alarm those I need to calm."

"Oh, We mean a document that affixes your name as one of the many Guild-masters whom We accept as agents from their respective guilds. I doubt your's is the only uneasy head of a manor or guild, right now."

"That would halt one avenue of attack, yes."

"Then it shall be done." Evendal decided. "Who do you know would welcome Our morning's efforts with little in the way of questions or cosseting?"

"Seriously," the Matron replied. "Everyone along this walk."

"Truly?"

Drussilikh looked away, uncomfortable. "When... When you adopted Kri, every tongue in the manor started wagging, spreading word of his elevation to all with an ear. When he... died and lived again, you became the benefactor of the innocent, a worker of wonders. Capable of anything."

Evendal just caught himself from spitting his disgust. "I am not. At least you see that, don't you? I have limits."

Drussilikh nodded. "You do what is needed. As you can, not as you want. But the result of this spate of news is, you can knock on any door and your directives would be followed eagerly."

"Whose is in the worst state, in your opinion?"

"The Dyers'." Drussilikh tendered. "The dyes and vats burned long and hard. Some exploded."

"Then Kri and I shall pay a visit to Illandoigh. And offer some relief, and see what further help might be accepted."

"If you are still in the borough at the ninth bell, I should have news of Wytthenroeg by then."

"Until then, Matron, we will take our leave." Evendal declared formally, then paused to let Kri get the hug he wanted from his sister.

"Peace and health, Drussie." Kri bade her, mischievously. "Be good, now."

It took three bells for the Dyers and the Guard to remove the remaining raw materials, vats, kitchen items and foodstuffs, and precious personal objects from the building, and a bell for the Dyers themselves to recover from the accomplished song. During that last hour, Evendal felt hard-pressed to keep his composure in the face of Illandoigh's willingness to bankrupt an already floundering guild out of gratitude and fear.

"We do not need such an extravagance of purple, Illandoigh. What would we do with such? Listen carefully. It is enough that you are physically safe and secure again. This was simply restitution. Restitution." Evendal's Guard had already made it out the door. None sought to rescue their lord.

"But it is more!" Illandoigh insisted. "Our home is in better condition than it had been before the disaster. Surely the Prince would like something in his royal colour? Fabric, leather or stone or wood. We can stain most anything, and water will not harm the colour!"

"Not presently, but our gratitude for your generous offer. We must take Our leave. Health and prosperity, henceforth, Illandoigh."

"And to Your Majesty and Your Highness, as well, and all good things." Illandoigh called in the wake of their exit.

Once outside, Kri-estaul started giggling and snickering. "What is so funny, little man?"

"I don't think I would look good blue."

"You've worn Royal blue before, you look fine in it."

"No. If I were stained blue!"

Evendal smiled. "That would be a fearsome sight!" He stopped walking. "Well, Illandoigh was grateful." Evendal turned around and walked back toward the now impressive doorway to the Dyers Guild. "And they could stain anything."

Kri-estaul glared at Evendal in shock. "Papa?"

Evendal hurried Kri-estaul from the doorway, then started laughing. The King continued to chortle, despite an armful of boy pounding indignantly on his chest.

When they returned to the Scriveners, Drussilikh escorted them to a sizeable chamber on the first floor. A large table centered the room, on which a smoking teakettle and teacossie had just been placed, beside a platter of biscuits and cakes. A fire blazed unmolested in an ornately framed fireplace, and a young man stood upon their entry.

"Your Majesty Lord Evendal, Your Highness Kri-estaul, may I present Edrionwytt akh Rw-adruann y Wytthenroeg."

The man who knelt, with an aquiline nose and large, black eyes, looked to have twenty years, giving the lie to his professed parentage. He dressed simply, in woolen trews, tunic shirt, overtunic, and hide-topped shoes with wooden toes and heels.

"What nonsense is this?" Evendal demanded. "Wytthenroeg was past her generative years well before you could have been born!"

Whatever the man had been about to say, died stillborn. To Evendal's utter dismay, Edrionwytt's shoulders slumped and he crouched where he knelt, rested his face against his knees and wept as if his heart had broken. Drussilikh stared daggers at Evendal as she bent over the young man's unresponsive form.

"Such tact, such delicacy. We are fortunate you are not High Priest. No one would survive it!"

Not knowing what else to do, Evendal remained where he was. The fellow continued to sob for several moments, despite his own attempts to regain some dignity. Uncomfortable at having obviously reacted without thought or caution, the King approached the young man and, pulling him up with his free arm, helped the youth into a chair. "Matron Drussilikh is right to scold me. Forgive me, young squire. I have no excuse."

"No, Matron. Its.... Its just... I'm so scared. Oh my! What you must think of me."

"I think of you as a young man who has reached his limit emotionally. Is it Wytthenroeg?"

Edrionwytt nodded, struggling not to weep further. "Mama is dying! And there's nothing..."

"The High Priestess?"

"Priestess? What's a High Priestess?"

Evendal stared at Drussilikh, dumbfounded. The Matron returned a look of equal incredulity. "Edrionwytt, have you ever been in the City before?"

The man shook his head. "No. Mother refused to let me go. She said they would kill me, and her, if I ever came here. But Matron sent some people to fetch Mama; they said they could help her. She has been sleeping so much, so I asked one of them to watch over her and I came. Because... because I don't care if they kill me if someone could make her well again!"

And Evendal saw that this youth, against all logic, could very well be Wytthenroeg's son of her old age. A child's mind and heart in a man's body. Startling blue eyes, red-rimmed and tired, bore into Evendal's heart. "Did I do right?"

"Yes, Edrionwytt. You did well."

"Can you help my mother?"

"I will do all I can."

"Thank you. Are you my king?" Edrionwytt sat up properly, and struggled to put on a calmer facade.

"Yes."

"And you're my prince?"

Kri-estaul blinked, startled out of his drug-haze. "Yes."

"Greetings and health to you." The young man's mimicked Wytthenroeg for cadence and inflection. Evendal's chest suddenly tightened.

"And to you, Edrionwytt." Kri responded. "I'm hungry. Are you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then let us all sit for a tea and I will enquire of the Priestess or her staff." Drussilikh suggested.

Evendal did all he could to hurry through the tea, but Drussilikh was not to be bullied. Her purpose became clear, when, after his fourth biscuit, Edrionwytt's head dropped and he dozed in his seat. Finger to her lips, Drussilikh motioned toward the door. No one spoke until the Matron had carefully shut the door behind her.

"Forgive my boorishness, Matron. So that is the son of Wytthenroeg? I did not know she had any progeny."

"No one knew. She came from Alta, a widow. She never spoke of her home, her family. No one ever thought of her except as the solitary exemplar of courtesy, intelligence and gentilesse in Osedys. Who would have imagined such a woman husbanded? Or a mother? Apparently Edrionwytt is the youngest of three sons. Whether through paranoia or prescience, she sent the two to cousins in Alta when they were of an age to think of their own households."

"He's nice," Kri-estaul offered. "A bit silly, but sweet."

"Yes," Drussilikh agreed. "As soon as my niece, his escort here, told me, I had someone run to the Temple. They await you."

"Are you not joining us?"

"No, the poor boy would be confused and panic-stricken if all of us abandoned him. But I cannot see him being of help if the lady is as bad off as my niece indicated."

A bell's journey beyond the wall, with a watchful Sygkorrin, brought the company to a cottage of sorts. The roof, of weathered and treated wood, was the first thing visible. The walls were of some manner of white brick, and behind the home, stretching off for a distance, lay fenced-in acreage for grass and horses. A memory garden had been cultivated near the front entry. All looked to be in sterling condition. His Guard insisted they precede the King, but Evendal negated that as an insult to his mentor.

Inside, the foyer held shelves with scrolls and sheaves of foolscap draped beside wooden figurines of marvelous intricacy. The receiving room featured two long tables, one cluttered with food bowls, the other with paper, books, and writing materials. Beside one table, a rucksack rested, its contents a hodgepodge of scrolls, rare books, figurines and stray jewelry. Beyond the tables there were two over-upholstered chairs before an active fireplace. A young woman sat on the edge of one chair, the glass in her hand offered to the indistinct figure in the second chair.

"'Roeg?" Evendal whispered, heart pounding hard.

The young woman startled, dropping the glass, which hit the rug linking the two chairs and rolled. Sygkorrin, suddenly brusque and energized, grabbed a cloth from within her pockets and moved to soak up the spilled drink. Evendal moved to kneel in front of the second seat. Not wanting to disturb the elder, Evendal kept his eyes hooded. Crouched beside the guardian of his adolescence, Evendal felt the disparity Time had wrought; between the solid, authoritative stronghold she had been and the fragility he saw now.

Never one to turn down a challenge, Wytthenroeg had made it clear that she would attend the child heir, at Menam's request, only if given complete control - no parental guidance or fiats, and no undermining of her strictures in private. Evendal, gloomy, distrustful, and taciturn, discovered a person he could begin to understand. Someone who acted the same, treated him the same, played by the same set rules, every day. Someone who expected good of him, consistently; with a definition of 'good' that did not change with her mood. More important, someone who answered his questions with answers and not evasions or temper. She shared with him her enjoyment of birds and her passion for books and knowledge. Recognizing a precious personal gift, Evendal sought to discipline himself into what she saw as the character of a noble man. Because it would bring her joy.

Cotton-white hair tufted up and about a rash-reddened skull, and milky-blue eyes bulged sightlessly about. A reed-thin arm quivered up from an armrest, to jerk and meander, searching for the origin of the call. "Who's that?" The voice reached into him as it always had, but now with a heart-aching chill, not the remembered warmth.

Evendal opened his mouth to reply, when Sygkorrin shot upright and called out. "Guard, secure that guild-woman!"

The woman in question rushed to the door, but was grappled and soon restrained. "What required that?" the King asked. The Priestess, as answer, proffered the rag she had been using to mop up. Evendal took the cloth, sniffed it, then looked back at the struggling scrivener. "Sort of like almonds, but strong. Cyanide?"

"I see no almond-liqueur here. So, yes."

"But, why?"

"I do not know."

"Show some manners, whoever you are!" Wytthenroeg barked, fed up.

"My apologies, Mistress Must-do." Evendal responded with his favourite nickname.

"Evre? Evre-lindal?" The woman gripped her hands together and covered her mouth, eyebrows knitting in disbelief. "Is that you? How? How? It can't be! You... you died."

"I don't know how, Mistress. I just know I am very much alive. And I need you to help me, Mistress Must-do." The King swallowed hard and again, before he could continue.

"It must be you. That sounds just like you. Wait till the last moment, and then come to me with a problem!"

Evendal laughed as he cried. "Yes. I guess I do. I have been looking for you, Mistress. I... I am King now. You know."

"No, I did not know. What became of the fool and his jackal?"

"I killed one, and gave the other to the Cinqet."

"Oh, sharp boy! This is marvelous." Her voice came out as a rasp. "Please, let me sleep a while longer. I can say what I never dared awake. You know you were my son, you silly lout. Rw always said that he wished he had sired you. Letting you go was the hardest decision I made."

Evendal choked. "And you... the mother of my heart." He took three hard-won breaths, then continued. "Mistress, you are not dreaming. I have met Edrionwytt. He awaits you at the Scriveners Guild-house."

"No!" Wytthenroeg cried, then started hacking. "He mustn't be there. The fool might f... The jackal... might want him!"

Evendal gripped the elder's hand. "No. Mistress, he is safe. They are dead. It really is me, your stalwart bay tree, your evre-lindal. Would you come with us, to the Temple or the Palace? Please? Lady Sygkorrin..."

The Priestess knelt and grasped the hand Evendal had been holding. After a moment in silence, Sygkorrin nodded, impassive. "She is in worse shape in many ways than Kri was. Mother, you will need to be carried to the Temple, and I mean today. You are not ready for the Final Dream just yet."

"Her eyes?" Evendal asked.

"She is pleuritic, has been fighting a losing battle with the chill weather. Home, all that can be remedied. Her eyes may be the only things I cannot affect."

"All this fuss over a bout of catarrh!"

Kri-estaul had been oddly awake and attentive. "So she will be well?"

"Once we get her out of here."

"Who is that?" The woman demanded.

"Greetings and health, madam. I am called Kri-estaul. Evendal is my Papa. He adopted me. When did you know my Papa?"

"A long time ago, child. He was such a nuisance, you couldn't help but love him."

"He's the best Papa. He adopted me after he found me in the under-grounds."

"The under-grounds?" Wytthenroeg looked alarmed, then bowed her head. "I am not dreaming, am I?"

"No, madam. I don't think so. I thought I was dreaming, too, when he found me, but I wasn't."

Startled, Evendal briefly wondered what else went on in that young head.

"Evendal? You are here?"

"Right here, sweet lady."

"They killed my Rw. I knew they would, but still... He did not know how to bend."

"I know. We need to get you in this carrier, Mistress Must-do."

"I may be a bit sickly, but I can still box your ears. Which is what I want to do right now. Stop talking down to me! Where in Thunder have you been these past nine years?"

"No one knows. The first thing I recall, after falling down a rift at Mausna, is waking up a few weeks ago about two days out of the Wastes. Here you go, my lady." Evendal guided Wytthenroeg from her chair down onto a makeshift carrier, basically a hammock bound securely along two poles.

Wytthenroeg chuckled, falling into a coughing spasm. "So, I am to play the She-King of Arkedda? And be lifted hither and thither like the fragile blossom I am?"

Evendal and Kri grinned. "A rare bloom, my dearest lady. One which age cannot wither, no matter its efforts."

"You are not too old for me to rap your knuckles, you impudent child."

"Is that a promise?"

Wytthenroeg giggled, briefly, like a young girl, and Evendal let go a breath he had not realised he had been holding. The trip back took two bells, and Wytthenroeg alternately coughed or slept through most of it. At one point Evendal, feeling bold, halted the procession and slowly transferred Kri-estaul from his carrier to the hammock. At first the sulky child held the King's hand in a death-grip. With the sway of the cot often contrary to the movement of a walking man, this proved untenable. Before a quarter-bell had past, Kri-estaul was curled up at Wytthenroeg's side. Kri-estaul slept part of the way, part of the way he simply watched wordlessly over their heavily bundled cargo. Once they reached the city, the King retrieved Kri-estaul, the scrivener, and five of the Guard, then took his leave of the Priestess and her burden, and headed for Drussilikh's.

The Matron met them at the door, anxiety etched in her face.

"She is being carried to the Temple, even now." Evendal announced, suddenly weary. "Once business is concluded here, We will have two Guard escort Edrionwytt to join her, for both their sakes."

"Business? What business do you speak of, Lord?"

Evendal motioned to the woman sandwiched between two Guard. "Do you know this woman, Matron Drussilikh?"

"Sylittreh. She just achieved journeyman status. Why? What is toward?"

"Can you tender a reason she would poison Our former governess?" Evendal did not wait for an answer, but swept past the Matron, walked down the Hall and sat in a padded chair by a fire.

"Poison? Thunders, no. She is not my student, though. So I know little about her."

Evendal gritted his teeth and grated out. "Then find out whose she was. Because the Scriveners are now her past, not her future."

Drussilikh scurried down the Hall, through a door, and came as quickly back. The King gestured the Guard to set Sylittreh down kneeling on the floor in front of him, and to seat themselves beside her. When Drussilikh stood behind them facing her lord, Evendal explained.

"When we arrived at the cottage and entered, this woman was sitting next Wytthenroeg and offering a glass of wine. Upon hearing our entry she dropped it on the floor. There being a throw-rug beneath, the glass simply rolled. Sygkorrin mopped the spill and in doing so noted the wine's classic bouquet: Prussic acid. Your 'student' tried to run."

"And is Wytthenroeg unharmed?"

Evendal warmed to the Matron in that very moment. "By the attempt? Yes. But she has been too long in the cold and damp, and her lungs are in desperate condition. Also, in many ways worse to her, she is blinded by cataracts."

Just then an old man entered the Hall and hobbled his way toward the small group. "Matron, you sent for me?"

"Yes, Krondonmars. Sylittreh is your student, is she not? And before you answer, pay your respects to your King."

The man started, peered shortsightedly at the figure sitting, and, gripping Drussilikh's arm, bent his knee and head.

Evendal quickly intervened. "No! No, good man. Rest your knees. It would not be seemly to inflict pain on you over an absurdity. But tell Us of this woman before We interrogate her."

"I am afraid I do not know what you would have me say. She is a good student. Skilled, if very sloppy in her thinking and too impetuous in her decisions. Impatient. She has oft-times chosen inferior tools or inks, simply because she cannot be bothered to wait on the shipping of supplies of better quality. As a result, her work lacks. And she tries to pass such efforts off as being as valuable, or of equal quality."

"That does not sound like someone who will make it past apprentice. Am I right?"

Krondonmars cast a rheumy eye Drussilikh's way. "Well, it is not quite my place to say. We have been so strapped for students and sponsors..." The man shifted about uncomfortably, unhappy at professing what was clearly a criticism.

"Sylittreh tried her hand at murder today, Master Krondonmars." Drussilikh interjected. "Does this come as a surprise to you?"

The Master's mouth flapped up and down for a moment, then settled into a grim line. "Not really."

Evendal raised an eyebrow in Drussilikh's direction while Kri-estaul gaped openly. "Explain, one of you."

Drussilikh bowed her head. "As you can now see, Your Majesty, our guild has so lowered its standards not only in terms of skill and temperament, but also in terms of character, in order to maintain numbers and patronage. I have, again and again, done what I can to stem the decline. But I am one voice, and my authority is not absolute."

"So Sylittreh is simply an example of the quality of your members?"

Drussilikh nodded. "So it is fast becoming, Your Majesty."

"Matron. We would hardly call your withholding of this intelligence 'acting in good faith.' Would you?"

The Matron gave no excuse. "No, Your Majesty."

"How many people comprise your Masters' Council?"

"Thirteen, Your Majesty."

The King raised an eyebrow. "Matron Drussilikh, are you intentionally striving to provoke Us?"

"No, Your... uh, my lord."

"Good. Now. You will assemble them all here, in this Hall, before the next bell. We would speak with them."

Drussilikh finally looked up at Evendal's blazing countenance, prepared to protest the impossibility. She swallowed her words, and backed out of the Hall. Once the door had closed, Evendal gestured for Krondonmars to retrieve a chair.

The Lord of the Thronelands looked down at the sniffling woman, dreading the nature of the confession he knew was forthcoming. "Untie her." He bade his Guard.

"Sylittreh," The woman glanced up. "It is remotely possible that what We perceived was misunderstood. If that is so, nothing more will be said outside of this room. Now. Tell us what you thought to do in giving that cup to Our old mentor?"

"To end her pain, my lord!" Sylittreh cried, with fierce sincerity. "She was dying slowly, anyone could see that. Her greatest joy now denied her. She can no longer see. She could barely keep breath in her body. I but sought to help her."

Evendal did not pursue that. "And how did you come to know of her?"

"Wytthenroeg instructed some of us for a season in some of the older fonts, those no longer used. She was urbane and sharp, a brilliant woman."

"As far as We know, journeyman, she still is." Evendal replied, dolphin-swift. "So you are no relation to Our beloved Wytthenroeg? Your decision was not based on great familiarity?"

"No, Your Majesty. It did not require long acquaintance to see her suffering and no easy remedy." Drussilikh entered and walked softly up to the fire, kneeling until Evendal gestured her up.

"Did nothing else motivate you, child? When we came in on you, you started like a guilty thing. Not like a woman forcing herself into a coup-de-grace."

"No, Your Majesty. I just hurt for her so."

Evendal knew the lie in his very bones. But he was surprised when Kri-estaul looked askance at him, too, as if to confirm his own intuition.

Speak only truth, woman.

Let no secret remain.

If you've hoarded, unveil.

If you plotted, make plain.

"I hurt over the fact that she continues to draw breath. What use is she? She cannot do anything but breathe, shit, eat, and demand attention. I had hoped to put not only the woman out of our misery, but her lard-headed son as well. I doubt he can even dress himself. Utterly useless to anyone, but he continues to live. I have not needed anyone. It has always been just myself, because people are too blinded by sentiment to see what a drain on our city these... degenerates are. And the Cinqet is rife with them! Well, 'do what you can where you can,' I guess. After I put Master Krondonmars and Mistress Leahurr away, and get my Mastership, I can work in earnest." Sylittreh stared pointedly at the figure nestled beside the King. "Why do you persist in this sentimental waste of time, attention and emotion? That's not a child it's a burden! A paperweight!"

"Enough!"

The elderly man sat stunned, uncertain what to make of the confession or the glamour that had elicited it. Then the revelation of his own intended death jolted Krondonmars out of his shock. "Stupid chit! I am, in my dotage, a lot more useful than you will ever be, now!"

Evendal nodded, his decision made for him. "And so do we judge. Sylittreh, you are t'bo. Without the right to work, to beg, to earn any monies or food in this kingdom. Nor do we grant you the right to receive such charities as even the disenfranchised are graced with. Do you understand Us?"

"Yes, lord. You wish me to die."

"More than that, Sylittreh."

So you have judged others,

Without heart or care.

As you've executed,

Your own judgment share.

Breaking into a sweat and weeping, Sylittreh stood, bowed to Lord Evendal, and headed toward the doorway. When his Guard moved to restrain her, Evendal waved them away. "Sylittreh!" he called.

In mid-flight, the woman stopped and turned her head back.

Evendal pierced Sylittreh with a stony look, reptilian in coldness. "Do not be gentle with yourself. You no longer serve any purpose and yet still breathe our air."

Sylittreh turned and ran out the door.

"What... what did you do, Papa?"

"What I could. If she had not already killed, she would have just knelt there. She judged herself and now executes herself."

A young girl approached and whispered in Drussilikh's ear, then beat a quick retreat. "The Masters await outside, Your Majesty."

"What do they wait for?"

Drussilikh's blush was visible even in the lantern-glow. "Usually someone announces them individually as they arrive."

Evendal signaled his Guard, four of them double-timed out the door and, three breaths later, returned pushing a gaggle of protesting robed figures in front of them. Restless, Evendal swung his leg to and fro as the assemblage continued to complain to Drussilikh of the imposition.

"Is this a convocation of sage Masters of an honourable craft? Or fish-wives at market?" Evendal shouted.

With but a few brief curses, the roomful of guild-masters fell silent in astonishment. Eventually, everyone but Drussilikh and the seated Krondonmars knelt and awaited permission to rise. No one received permission. No one moved or spoke. Evendal sat, rocking Kri-estaul and staring at the dozen or so adults in their penitent posture. Finally someone shifted their knees with a rustle of cloth, and another person took the opportunity to cough.

"Silence! And do not move a finger or a leg!" Evendal barked. The King sat impassive, unresponsive to the cluster before him.

When the Temple chimed the passing of a quarter of a bell, Evendal spoke again. "We are astonished. We are astonished that such as you could remain still and silent for so long. You show no such discipline in your Craft dealings. We have just sat in judgment on a journeyman of your guild, who, in a guild which actually bore any self-respect, would not have made novice."

"Lord, you interfere in Guild matters?"

"Your stature does not hide you. We saw who said that! Stand, sir." The wizened but middle-aged man stood, glowering.

"Yes, We do. A woman systematically poisoning those she deemed unworthy of living invites Our attention."

"What... what has become of Sylittreh?" the man asked, a clear demonstration that the woman's proclivity was tolerated.

Shock rendered Evendal speechless. Then, anger served to fill the quiet.

Remove from these fools their walls of deception,

For such as they, destroy all their protections.

Let them see the pattern of their fate,

Created by them, now its too late.

Whether by action or inaction, it matters not,

They must ever see their perfidy, yea, every blot.

In differing levels of volume, a chorus of "No!" rang out from the small assembly. One woman crouched and began to weep. Two people, the standing man and one woman, remained motionless, their faces immobile through the greatest of efforts; anger glittered from their eyes. Evendal looked up at Drussilikh, aware that she also had been an object for the song-spell. The Matron, to Evendal's relief and awe, stood relaxed but sad-faced.

A nod of the King's head, and Guard pulled the two remorseless guild-masters. "Matron Drussilikh, are these two people Masters in your guild?"

The sadness in the Matron's face disappeared. "Not from this moment, Your Majesty. They are strangers to our company. Without grace or wisdom."

"Yes. The rest of you... Understand that Matron Drussilikh, and Matron Drussilikh alone, has Our ready ear, and the right to Our Presence without delay or petition. If you wish to continue under royal charter, her continued health and well-being are paramount. Are you clear on this?"

No one said a word. Evendal snarled. "Silence signals assent. Grieve her and We are grieved."

"Matron Drussilikh, We shall remove these interlopers from your guild-house. Do you wish help with the corpse you will have come morning?"

"No, gracious lord. I think an object lesson might prove therapeutic to some of our number."

"Then, by your gracious good will, We would leave you to clean house. The hour is late. And Edrionwytt must be mad with worry."

"If it please Your Majesty, we could send your half-brother with an escort of our own. My kinsman, Kiulen, has kept him company most of the evening, and is anxious to help the man."

Evendal had been about to agree, but paused, startled, and smiled in wonder. "He is, isn't he? I have a half-brother! For now, that will serve, he needs to be near her. So, provided he reaches the Temple in safety, We have no objection." Evendal stood, gestured the Guard and their charges precede him, and held Drussilikh's arm up until they reached the entranceway. Kri hugged his sister and they departed for home.

Once in the Palace, the King wasted little time, pausing only long enough to settle in a vacant apartment and request a literate Guard with book and pencil. Surprisingly, Aldul also appeared, inquiring of Evendal's success with the building restoration. As clearly as he could, the King apprised his friend of all that the day had encompassed. Aldul, with Evendal's sanction, sat in his capacity as Temple liaison, as Evendal turned to the two prisoners.

"Our song in the guild-house would have had absolutely no effect on someone whose self-deceptions had already been confronted and amended. That you two were clearly affected by the song, but not in the manner of your contemporaries, signifies willful infamy of some order."

"You can confess freely to Us, without coercion, which would at least show some measure of ethical perception. Or We can compel you. Which shall it be?"

Silence, long and tense, cocooned the subjects.

"Very well." And Evendal m'Alismogh repeated his earlier melody.

Speak now, luckless schemers,

Let no secret fraud remain

What you hoarded unveil,

All you abetted make plain.

What followed proved an exploration into the power one guild could exercise over a realm.

The late Majesty of Osedys was wont to reward collaborators in his plans with benefices he accounted irrelevant or minor, titles long obsolete, baubles more troublesome for their personal associations, demands for time, and concessions to the relatives of his principals. Being cautious rather than miserly, often enough Menam parted with 'possessions' of moderate value or sensitivity where he counted the gain sufficient. 'Do ut des'(26) was Menam's watchword, to all appearances. Thus the court structure in Osedys, once Menam's most reliable strength, one of the two major fulcra to his authority, graduated into a collection of seemingly passive incompetents. Menam did not live long enough to reap the true benefits of his compromises; that pleasure fell to Evendal. What Menam made no provision for, and Polgern understood as part of human nature, was that the bribed and pensioned would see their elevation as fragile and under threat without constant watchfulness and self-serving action. And many of Menam's cronies, though they appeared guilty of incompetence or negligence, had advanced beyond nonfeasance to malfeasance. Pur-denli and Hren-hallekh, as adepts of a craft essential to the skeletal bureaucracy of Osedys, made themselves available to any and all.

Confessions of forgery, the rewriting of wills and grants for money, for later blackmail and influence. Inheritances lost or re-directed. Land re-apportioned or sold upon death. Battle orders, musters and discharges from Mausna re-created and 'corrected.' War pensions for non-existent widows and families. Lists of judges, saemends, praetors and tungreves, and other, more obscure titles, all invested by Menam, emerged. The names of men and women who had rationalized their comforts as a need, at the expense of the needy, m'Alismogh dredged up from scriveners' memories made unnaturally clear.

Kri-estaul had long since fallen asleep in Evendal's lap.

"Family?" Evendal inquired.

"I have a husband, Riol-harend, and two children, two girls."

"I have a son, Mar-kandeial, having eighteen years."

"And their connection to your... ambitious efforts?"

"My eldest serves me under the Palace Reeve. My husband has no idea in his head unless I provide it. He knows nothing. My younger... works as Drussilikh's aide and messenger."

"My son fled my roof when he turned fourteen. I have no word of his whereabouts."

The King turned to the Guard at his side. "Is it all recorded, names, alterations, the original arrangements they changed, the people affected?" The man nodded. "Very well. Pur-denli and Hren-hallekh, the extent of your deception, the amount of monies you have misappropriated, the grief you have created and lives you have ruined. All make your sentence inevitable: Death."

"Pur-denli, stand." The woman rose. "Come to this table and provide a writing sample using each hand, please."

Confused and trembling, Pur-denli obeyed.

"Now, you also, Hren-hallekh." The man eased up to stand, and sullenly obeyed. The woman's right hand dominated, the man proved ambidextrous.

"Very good. Pur-denli, We waive the sentence of death for you, on the provision that both your daughters be brought to us. With a Temple healer in attendance, your eldest daughter must, under supervision, cut off your right hand. Should she demonstrate any unwillingness to do this, you will be executed, along with both daughters."

Both grafters paled to parchment white, appalled. "How... How can you be so...cruel?"

"Cruel? Madame, no doubt you thought your crimes bloodless. Hardly on the order of murder, torture, rape? They destroyed faith, woman! They twisted the memories that people cherished of their loved ones. They made a mockery of justice. You sent people to the Cinqet, and enriched people who did not need more riches. You took food and comfort away from genuinely needy widows and orphans. And We've no doubt your daughter has been altering Court records and elaborating on written laws." Evendal glared at her, the stark face of golden-eyed fury.

"Cruel? We are being absurdly merciful and forbearing. As We shall not be with Hren-hallekh. For knowingly harbouring and directing a murderer, as well as recruiting thieves and roughnecks as guild-novices to form your own cadre. From you, Hren-hallekh, We require both hands."

"Blood-hungry, spineless, mealy-mouthed, unprincipled, usurper!" Hren-hallekh lashed out. "Siarwak will never cut off her mother's hand. And if you murder her children and her, everyone will see you as a butcher."

"Believe when We say that, one way or another, Pur-denli's sentence shall be executed." Evendal assured the two. "Guard, retrieve this Siarwak, and the youngest daughter from Drussilikh's house. Bring them here."

Two Guard moved with alacrity. Within a quarter of a bell a young woman having over twenty years had been escorted in, and Drussilikh herself arrived with a girl just having fourteen years.

"Matron! We just left you. What stirs you here?"

"Knowing what was behind your summons of Sialuon, I came to let you know more about her than you would glean with these scum."

"What would you?"

"That every item of news or information this young lady heard or shared with her kin, she spilled for my own ears as well. She has been one of the few members more concerned with the guild, and my hopes for it, than for her advancement."

"Come closer, young lady." Evendal bade.

With a face full of misgivings, the girl slid her feet forward. When Sialuon was close enough, the King took his free hand and held one of her's. "Rest easy, young one. Neither you nor your mother will die tonight. Not by Our word or hand."

"But she... she should. She will never change."

The girl surprised Evendal. "You would not grieve her death?"

Sialuon scowled. "Of course I would! But the mother I would grieve died years ago. When I realised she did not love me. She wanted me to poison the Matron. To incapacitate guests to her table. To open and alter missives, to blatantly alter the Death-tolls we kept! But leave the trail of improprieties right up to the Matron's door. And mine. Scripting me as an accomplice."

"Sounds as though you have indeed mourned her death some time past." Evendal observed.

"There is more, Your Majesty." Drussilikh interjected.

"More?"

Sialuon nodded, eyes downcast. "Two days ago, my mother and Master Hren-halleck got in a row. I was in the room next, cleaning it at mother's command. After some time I heard mother demanding Master Hren-halleck send the new journeyman to visit Wytthenroeg. She kept referring to 'our matron in exile' having requested it. He insisted he had no argument that would explain her visiting the old woman. It wasn't until tonight, and news of Sylittreh's evil, that I understood."

Evendal's first thought an irrelevancy: Why didn't Pur-denli speak of this, herself. The answer came that it was an uncompleted scheme, and his song put everything in the past perfect tense of completed action. Feeling as though his mind had ground to a halt, Evendal reiterated. "Her attempt to kill Wytthenroeg was ordered by a woman 'in exile'? And 'arranged' by these two? Why?"

"No one said, Your Majesty. I am sorry."

Evendal turned his amber glow on the girl. "Look at Us, Sialuon. Is what you have just told Us true and accurate?"

The young lady, wide-eyed under the King's scrutiny, whispered. "Yes. She demanded Wytthenroeg's death at the word of another, out of Arkedda."

"Anything else, child?"

"No. I don't... Yes!" the girl exclaimed. "Master Hren-halleck said something about how 'we have time, she's still settling in up there, she won't expect immediate action'."

Evendal's stomach lurched. "No..." He looked down. Into the smiling, satisfied face of Pur-denli.

Speak, you hapless game-piece,

Let honesty prevail.

How came you to this extremity?

Your lord's intent unveil.

"I do not know. She wrote nothing of why. You don't ask why of someone of her estate. Five days past I was accosted on the avenue, by a courier from Arkedda, given a packet with the primrose seal on it. The Dowager's aide-de-chambre requesting a small service, the removal of an enfeebled woman. It simply said that I would be serving the interests of the royal family in taking up such a commission."

Just then, a Guard arrived with a thin, angular young woman whose clothing looked the worse for wear. "Siarwak, Your Majesty. She led us on quite a chase."

Evendal m'Alismogh raised an eyebrow, accepting the warning before declaiming:

You shall not resist,

And you shall not run.

You shall here abide,

Till judgment is done.

"Siarwak, you are come before Us for judgment and truth. As We gave these two, We give you the option of speaking freely, or speaking under compulsion. Which would you have?"

"I fear I do not understand. For what have I come before you?"

"For forgery, extortion, for altering drafts, records and deeds."

Truth now, unfaithful wretch,

Let no falsehoods remain

What you altered unveil,

All you've hidden make plain.

"I only did as my mother desired... at first. But it was so easy, once I became a familiar presence in the records-keepers den, to make alterations in some of the land grants, in the annexation records, to provide for myself in the event the bitch fouled up and got caught. As a guild-sanctioned scribe I had access to all copies of deeds and records. And when someone who could afford me needed some assistance, I simply let them know how useful I could be, how invaluable to the smooth running of the kingdom's business."

Siarwak kept the recording Guard busy for a good half of a bell. Under Evendal's geas, Siarwak detailed alterations and fabrications she had perpetrated. When she seemed to have come to an end, Evendal introduced the concerns foremost in his mind.

"How long have you been altering these records in the Palace?"

"Ten years, Your Majesty. Since my fifteenth year."

"And what services have you provided our dear august mother?"

Siarwak blinked, her words pulled out of her. "None, Your Majesty."

"None? You provided no helps to the Dowager Onkira?"

Sweat beaded Siarwak's head and underarms. "Yes, Your Majesty."

The King thought he had misheard. "Yes, what?"

She spoke through a clenched jaw. "We performed a small service for the Dowager, early in our employment."

The answer first confused Evendal. Then, the implications of Siarwak's response brought an involuntary shudder. Dread sat like a lead ball in his stomach, a weight on his feet as he walked through a quicksand of old lies and spite and betrayals, but Evendal persisted. "What...was that small service?" He flashed on the memory of his parents greeting each other in a hall, cold civility in their words and hot passion in their eyes. He just had never thought to ask the nature of that passion.

"I removed two documents from the archive."

He suddenly felt very alone and very unsteady. It didn't matter, as he could hardly misstep; the questions asked themselves. But he could see the quagmire, the grim havoc that would proceed with his asking. "What were they?"

"Two midwife certificates, chronicling the health of a child at birth."

"What... What else is on such papers?" A safe question, surely.

"The parentage, the place of birth, and the presiding midwife."

None of this seemed quite real, which helped. But Evendal knew he was teetering, feet slipping into the loam, that abyss of the insane, of pain and uncertainty, of even greater vertigo, as he sought an answer. "And the children... involved?"

"Yourself and a stillbirth."

Evendal suddenly felt like laughing, the questions were easy; the answers must be lies since he heard them so clearly. He did laugh, even as he swayed. The quicksand grabbed at his heels, the maelstrom had him spinning giddily. Nobody's face looked lifelike, all masks hiding histories and secrets and chaos. Was he hearing the same responses everyone else heard? His questions and her answers seemed unrelated, somehow. He thought he must look like a man facing death as he asked. "And whose was the stillborn?"

"The Lady Onkira nier Menam."

Did no one see his danger, his terror? He knew that he could fall, was slipping now. His ears thrummed. No, they whined, shrill and gaining volume with each harsh, quick breath. Gasping for air before he went under. "And who birthed Ourself?"

"Wytthenroeg of Alta."

He was puffing like a bellows. He couldn't breathe. "And the sire?"

"Of which child, Your Majesty?"

Evendal could not speak. The room faded from his vision, graying into a soothing nothing. For a brief moment he was looking down on his body slumped in a chair, Kri asleep in his lap, Aldul kneeling beside him and speaking. Next moment, he felt a sharp pain and brushed the annoyance away. He opened his eyes. Aldul, pale with alarm, had slapped the King. Seeing their shadows approach, knowing they would lay hands on his friend before they did anything else, Evendal waved the Guard aside. "Thank you, Aldul." Awakened by Aldul, Kri-estaul looked about, but seeing nothing wrong, relaxed back against his father.

As if nothing untoward had occurred, the King asked. "Who was Our sire?"

"Menam ald'Mellanthar." The garrote around Evendal's heart loosened.

"And the listed sire of the stillborn?"

"Polgern ald'Morruth."

After his blackout, Evendal felt no surprise. "Mother... Or, rather, Onkira, never does things in half-measures."

He fixed Siarwak with a lambent gaze the colour of fool's-gold. "What other little assistances have you to reveal? At this moment, you breathe because of Our graciousness. What became of the original documents?"

Her gaze unwavering, Siarwak reached into her bodice and extracted an absurdly thick roll of papers, bound together and strung to a loophole in her petticoat. Again, accepting the packet, Evendal felt no surprise. If the woman suspected capture, seeking her valuables out of some hiding place would only slow her down.

"Though We gave you no choice, We thank you for your intelligence, and the 'safekeeping' of our paternity. Do you know what is required of you now?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Simply this. You will, with the healer in the corner attending, cut off your mother's right hand. Should you refuse, should you hesitate, Our Guard shall slay you both summarily. And your decision for you both is?"

"And what is to become of my hands, Your Majesty?"

"The same fate, only We have been observing you. Your left hand is forfeit. Your decision, mistress?"

"I would live. But how will you trust me with a blade?"

"We have Our own protections." Evendal looked down at the sleeping Kri-estaul.

Let none come near Us but to help,

None come near you, son, but to heal.

Malice and threats turn aside,

Weapons fail and enemies kneel.

"Henhyroc, the axe."

The Guard handed an axe to Evendal. "We are not so senseless as to give you a weapon without surety of others' safety."

Siarwak's face looked near to smiling. "What surety could I possibly give?"

"None. We provide."

Your aim be true,

The blow be clean,

Only if you strike

The target we deem.

By this woman's hand were lives and futures lost.

So this woman's hand shall pay the cost.

Handle first, Evendal proffered the axe. With a curt bow, Siarwak took the weapon and turned. A Guard held the Pur-denli's arm flat against a table, a large swath of bleached cotton underneath, and the healer's grafting tools off to the side. Quick as thought, Siarwak turned back and swung the ax with all her weight at the seated monarch. The ax halted in mid-air, while Siarwak's body followed through, twisting her around when she kept her grip, and causing her to fall first against the King's knee and then the floor. The ax fell against Siarwak's supine figure, gashing her leg.

Evendal m'Alismogh felt his own words echoing in his head. "Stupid chit! Are you really that suicidal? Very well."

Evendal stood, reawakening his son. He kneaded up his traveling cape into an oval, placed it on the seat he had occupied, settled Kri-estaul on it, and draped an edge over him. Kri kept his attention riveted on his father. Siarwak remained on the floor, dazed, sitting up to look at her leg. Evendal set his legs at shoulder width, slightly bent. In one smooth glide, the son of Menam got his sword out, swung it in an arc from over his shoulder and severed Siarwak's head from her neck. The jar of steel against bone coincided with the cacophony and shock that assailed Evendal for the space of ten fought-for breaths. Siarwak's head, with such a short distance to fall, simply dropped to the floor beside her body.

To Evendal's admiration, Henhyroc had held fast to Pur-denli's arm, undistracted by Siarwak's 'heroics'. Without hesitating, he decided against clemency. While the woman stood staring numbly at her daughter's carcass, Evendal stepped up, raised his sword once again, though at a different angle and with a lighter grip, and cut through the bone, the ligaments and muscle of Pur-denli's wrist. As the blood began to pump out in a syncopated rhythm, the healer suddenly realised Pur-denli was not going to be killed, and took a loop of leather to make a tourniquet. Henhyroc held the woman in place, motionless as stone. With a self-deprecating shudder, aware of the perversity that he could so easily cause such damage but not repair it, Evendal left the healer to her calling. Like a clockwork toy, shining eyes unfocused, he approached Hren-halleck.

"My lord," One of Evendal's Guard stood in his path and protested. "Please, stay your hand. Is it not our duty to be your main?"

The King shoved his Guard aside without even a glance, his mind mute, his focus a glassy-eyed Hren-hallekh.

"Papa?"

Evendal's entire body shuddered, halted by the thready voice. His sense restored, he turned back. "I am here, beloved."

"What were you doing? Where were you going?"

Out of breath more from the brief trauma he felt than from any exertion, Evendal panted out. "Not far. I was about to serve sentence on a criminal."

He turned to the anxious Guard. "Thank you for trying to intervene. We were, for the moment, unmanned. But to answer your question, you are not the royal executioners. We spend Our days dispensing judgments, saying 'that one lives' or 'that one dies.' What kind of justice do We truly provide if We always leave to others the burden of executing Our decisions?"

"Papa?"

"Yes, beloved?"

Kri-estaul pointed to the corpse beneath him. "What did she do? Try to kill you with that ax?"

"Yes, Kri."

The boy shook his head, unmoved. "Stupid."

"Yes." Henhyroc agreed from behind them. "Lord... You killed the Beast without our aid or presence. You disarmed the Counselor, again without us near to help you. You took control of a disorderly, self-serving Council, killed its treasonous spokesman, and returned your adopted son from death. You had a hand in executing the coward who had left so many of our fellow Guard to die at Mausna. No one, Guard, courtier, or citizen, sees you as arrogant, indifferent or unaware of your responsibilities! No one!"

Evendal was reminded of his chat with Sygkorrin. 'Bruddbana would lie down and thank you for walking on him, trusting you...' "I don't deserve that kind of trust. It's a burden."

"It's a tool, my lord. As we are. The duumvirate kept weapons hidden in their beds, and on their persons, every minute of their reign. We all know you don't. So, why haven't we strangled you in your bed? You see us as both your tool and..."

"Friends." Kri-estaul supplied.

The Guard in front of Evendal, Brualta, blinked. "Yes. I doubt seriously if any ruler before you ever, as naturally as breathing, thought of any of his subjects in that way. And you gave us our pride back, our honour. What would we not do for you!"

"Then... Then, would you please see to Hren-hallekh's sentence? I am undone. My apologies." Evendal waved in Hren-hallekh's direction. The man sat wide-eyed and chalk-faced, horribly fascinated by the headless body of Siarwak.

Brualta smiled. "It shall be done tonight, Your Majesty. What shall we do with the carcass?"

"Give it a proper burning. We see no reason to enact pointless dishonours on a corpse. Not anymore."

When the Guard moved away, Evendal saw Drussilikh and Sialuon, waiting uncertainly near the door. He beckoned them over.

"Forgive me for making you stand so beside your dead sister, Sialuon. We wanted to assure you most promptly that We shall not do as We had reported previously. You are not accountable for your sister's crimes in any way. Your life is in your own hands, not Ours. If there is no impediment, We would suggest that you communicate with your father. Merely a suggestion because, if he was as ignorant of his wife's perfidy as she said, he may need the comfort of the family left to him."

"But my mother still lives, he will want to tend her."

"She breathes, yes. But Pur-denli is no more. She is a t'bo, an erraticum, an unwelcome non-citizen. All doors closed to her, all privileges, including matrimony and generation, rescinded and removed. What personal property and grants she might have had are now Our's. After she has sufficiently recovered from the bloodletting, she will be so branded. Your father had best not harbour her, for Our Guard will be especially attentive of him, of whatever property he has, of his behaviours. To confirm his innocence or guilt."

"I understand, Your Majesty. He will find it all hard to credit. So I shall wait before I tender any gesture of reconciliation. I would thank Your Majesty for your wisdom. And I wish to thank the Matron, in the presence of Your Majesty, for continuing to trust me since I first approached her."

Drussilikh smiled, though it seemed strained. "Am I not well served, Your Majesty?"

"Excellently, Matron." Sialuon blushed and knelt her leave-taking, to which Evendal waved assent.

"What frets you, Matron?"

"The revelations this evening, Your Majesty."

Evendal sighed. "Well, at least I am not alone in that." Aldul approached and, unthinking, Evendal gripped his hand.

"My l... friend. How is it with you?"

"We need to have that inscribed on a plaque!" He joked, then turned back to Drussilikh and Sialuon. "Young lady, to you and Drussilikh alone We charge the collecting of both guild-masters' property. What you do with their personal items is your concern. What you find that is relevant to their perfidy - regardless if it touches on guild concerns - bring to Our attention in a private audience. Drussilikh has the right to such whenever the need. Now, if there is naught else," He waited, Drussilikh shook her head. "Then We grant you Our leave. Go in peace and health."

By this time the corpse had been removed, along with Hren-halleck, Pur-denli, and the healer. With no demands imminent, Evendal sagged against the back of his chair, suddenly dizzy. "You asked how I am? I am sure that I do not know. Oh, Aldul! What a mess! Wytthenroeg told me today that I was her son. But I thought she was speaking from sentiment. What...? This day has nearly overdone me. I would not be surprised to wake up tomorrow and suddenly have gills! I... for a moment I was afraid I might not have been Menam's son. That worried me, scared me. I keep underestimating how much he meant to me."

"And Wytthenroeg?"

Evendal took a deep, calming breath. "It is easy to think of her as my mother. I used to wish it, as a child. In fact I said to her..." Evendal looked down into his son's puzzled face. Kri-estaul looked up at his father, frowning in his concentration. "You don't understand, do you, Kri?"

"I'm not sure. Is the sick lady we walked with today your mother?"

"Yes, she is."

"You talked like you didn't know, before."

"You are a sharp lad. That is exactly right."

"Oh. I'm glad we helped her today."

Evendal lambent eyes began to glaze. "Thunder and lightning! It just now hit me that I saved the life of my mother! What with everything else happening, I didn't see it that way." He closed his eyes, but saw the twig-thin hand of Wytthenroeg, reaching for a soothing glass of wine. Not wanting to contemplate that image any further, he stared down at the worried face of his son again. "You have a grandmother, Kri. And I know she will just adore you."

Kri-estaul looked up at his father; and Evendal wondered if he had indeed grown gills, the disbelief on his child's face was so plain. "You think so?"

"Absolutely. Aldul, could you hand me the roll of documents?"

Evendal untied the coil of parchment and paper, and began to leaf through it. Halfway through the pile he stopped, holding two hand-sized sheaves of medium weight paper, still in good condition. Aldul put the remainder on the nearest table.

"According to these, Onkira miscarried late in the pregnancy, about the sixth month. The child was a girl. A month later, Wytthenroeg gave birth, to me, in her cottage. So mo... Onkira conceived after Wytthenroeg. What do you wager mot... Onkira bedded the Old Counselor out of spite!"

Evendal resumed his perusal, then stared at Aldul in shock. "Anlota attended my... Onkira's miscarriage! And my birth!"

Aldul clearly did not know what to say, but Evendal did. He pointed to one of his attending Guard. "Your name?"

"Luetral, my lord."

"Luetral, find Us Anlota. She is resident here, ask Shulro in the kitchens. Now." The Guard fled.

"Evendal. Be careful."

The King's eyes flashed. "What do you mean? Should I just smile and say 'Thank you for keeping my parentage a secret from me'? All those years, being played on and preyed on by that twisted joke of a woman, and agonizing 'That's my mother'. And Anlota abetted it all!"

Aldul shrugged. "But think first! Don't just react. Think. What could she do? Onkira obviously had her husband's sanction; he perpetuated the ruse also. Do you know what they, all four of them, were to each other? What moved them, pushed them? Think, lord." Kri-estaul watched this exchange; wide-eyed that anyone spoke so to his Papa, the man who had killed the Most Terrible Abduram.

Evendal breathed hard and heavily, as if he had run a race, but did not respond immediately. As he sat striving for calm, Brualta returned, with Ierwbae and Anlota in her wake. Anlota bustled in quietly and remained quiet, a sign that she was on alert. She said nothing, but knelt twenty paces from the King; Ierwbae stood behind her, looking apprehensive.

Anger at Anlota's tactics imbued Evendal's voice with sarcasm. "Good Ierwbae, dear brother. What brings you here?"

"Anlota's urging, my lord. She asked that I accompany her as she faced some unpleasantness with you. She would not elaborate."

Evendal stared at Anlota, who started to stand. "We have not given you leave to move." She resumed kneeling.

"My lord, " Ierwbae protested. "Please. Her knees ache constantly and her ankles swell."

"Hush, child." Anlota bade.

"You know what is toward, Anlota." Evendal's eyes blazed brighter than the lamps in the room.

"Yes, lord."

"We are the son of Menam."

"Yes, lord." Evendal noted the sweat darkening her hair.

"And We are the son of Wytthenroeg."

"Yes, child."

Ierwbae glanced back and forth between the two, not certain of what he was hearing. "Wytthenroeg? Of Alta?"

Anlota shrugged. "For an ancient city, Osedys can be so provincial. Wytthenroeg left Alta for Osedys as a child, but she is still identified with that place." Ierwbae took that for a non sequitur. When Anlota started throwing irrelevancies around, it signaled panic.

"You are under no compulsion at the moment, for which you can thank the tempering counsel of Aldul, here. You are an intelligent woman, so I do not need to bare my feelings toward you right now."

"No, my lord." Anlota whispered.

"Am I?" Evendal demanded. "Am I?" Unattended, tears leaked down his chin. Silent, cautious, Kri-estaul wiped them off. The King kissed the smaller hand and, feeling weary beyond words, huddled around his son. A hand touched his shoulder. Evendal flinched, then held still as Aldul draped an arm about him.

After a moment Evendal lifted his head. "I can understand not telling me before Mausna. It was not your secret to tell, and not to a stripling. But now, after my return... And after I fought with Onkira. You were willing to let me remain in ignorance. To agonize over feeling the way I did toward her, as you must have known I would. Over having to exile the woman I thought was my mother."

"Yes, lord."

"Go away. Unless you have something constructive to say which is not a platitude, go away. But understand, I know this as a betrayal. A personal betrayal. Compounded by your attempt to mitigate my anger using Ierwbae's presence."

Anlota, with Ierwbae's aid, stood up. "I don't understand." But her avoidance of his bright countenance said otherwise.

"I thought us allies, friends, and family. Yet you treat me like a stranger, someone you have to maneuver around and manipulate. No trust in my integrity. No belief in my love for you and your kin. No expectation of temperance or mansuetude. In that, you betrayed me worse than in the secret you abetted. Tell me I am wrong. Tell me different."

Anlota opened her mouth, but said nothing as she finally stared into Evendal's burning gaze. "I cannot. It would be another lie."

Evendal nodded. "It is that which We will not forget. And which I do not forgive. Now, go!"

Anlota and her nephew retreated. "Ierwbae! We did not give you leave." Ierwbae retraced his steps as Anlota turned to protest.

"Lord, don't punish..."

"You will not speak!" Heat radiated from his face, his cheeks and jaw hurt. All else faded from his sight as a thousand pinpricks of light swirled around his view of Anlota. Evendal felt Aldul's grip hard on his shoulder, somehow steadying him, helping him to not lash out as he so longed to do. "Again, you distrust. We are the Left Hand of the Unalterable, before all else, even Our own humanity. Scheming bitch. Go!"

Anlota, pale as milk, turned and hobbled out of the room.

Evendal saw nothing, was aware of nothing but pain and vertigo. Aldul rescued Kri-estaul when Evendal hugged his stomach and rocked himself as he wept. The observer in him felt surprise at his extreme reaction, till he considered how much a part of his life Anlota had been. At every sniffle from him that Onkira deigned to notice, Anlota got summoned, rather than a healer. When things or people confused him, before Wytthenroeg became his governess, he would invariably come across Anlota, like magic, somewhere in the Palace. When he started growing hair on his body, Menam summoned Anlota to explain things to him, rather than commissioning Wytthenroeg; everybody did. The one thing he never expected from this integral part of his world was tacit dishonesty and blatant distrust.

He gradually became aware of a tugging on his legs. Then a voice weeping "Papa!" As awareness returned, he felt Aldul's arm resting across his back from one side, and Ierwbae's arm stretching from the other. He tried for a deep breath, and coughed through his first attempt, succeeding with his subsequent.

"What the thunder did she think I was going to do? Hurt her? Hurt you? Did she really think that?"

"Of course not, my lord..." A red-eyed Ierwbae stopped in mid-placation. "I would guess so, lord. I don't know."

"Papa, are you well?" A puffy-eyed Kri-estaul had a hold on Evendal's leg and was trying to pull himself back into his father's lap. Hands unsteady, the King reached down and lifted his son.

"I will be, beloved. I am better. I am sorry if I scared you."

"You hurt and I couldn't reach you!" He kissed Evendal on the cheek and hugged him around the neck. "Don't be sad, Papa. Did she make you cry?"

"Oh, Kri. You help me just by loving your silly Papa. Your Aunt Anlota just disappointed me, is all. Added to that the shock of...finding my real mother. I just had to cry it all out."

"Oh, Ierwbae. I know where you want to be right now. You have Our leave, my friend."

The Guard shook his head. "Lord, I am where I want to be. Anlota is old enough to take care of herself." He hesitated, then added. "I hope you know I love you. Metthendoenn has said the same. We know your mettle, and we trust you, with our lives... and our failings. If you will permit, Metthendoenn and I would still name you our family. If you still accept what, right now, may not seem so fine a gift."

"It is a most precious gift." Evendal declaimed. "What I just said to Kri-estaul is the truth. I expected more of Anlota than she could be, I guess. The expectations were mine."

"But they were essential ones, lord. How can a ruler be anything but a despot if his people won't give him any other option? Won't allow him to be anything else? Won't respond to him any other way?"

However insistent, Ierwbae's words soothed. "Yes. Thank you, Ierwbae." He turned to Aldul. "Have you been giving him lessons in how to advise me?"

Aldul grinned. "I did not need to. He's a natural."

Evendal hugged Kri-estaul and butterfly kissed him until the child's body relaxed. "Ierwbae, assure Anlota that I wish her continued good health. And in truth I do, but I could not face her right now with any equanimity."

Ierwbae stared at the floor, his expression unreadable. "My lord... No. My friend, may I?" He held out his arms, beckoning.

Evendal lifted Kri-estaul up and whispered in his ear, "Bear with me for a moment." He set his son on his chair and swooped into a hard embrace.

Kri-estaul looked on, his face like a storm cloud. "Wasn't my hug any good?" he whispered, not expecting anyone to hear.

Aldul intervened. "Yes, Kri. You loving your Papa has been very good for him. Don't get mad. Do you like it when your father hugs you?"

"It's the best feeling in the world!"

"Then please let other people feel that, too. We sometimes need it badly."

Kri-estaul thought on that for a moment. "Oh. Okay, I guess. But he's my Papa."

"Yes. No question." Aldul confirmed solemnly.

26 I give that you may give. A formula in civil law. "Tit for tat."