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.

7 Foul Deeds Will Arise

Hamlet: Foul deeds will rise,

Though all earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2, Line 257

Despite the seemingly auspicious beginning, the days which followed proved chaotic and of ambiguous tenor. His sleep soured every night, either with images of blood and pain, or music that jarred his nerves, waking him up in a sweaty tangle of twisted bedclothes.

One bright moment came when Kinmeln reported back from escorting Onkira nier Menam, and her eight horse-drawn carriages of belongings, to retirement at her family home in Arkedda.

With Polgern confined and the Beast dead, all the courage and will the Court had lacked for nine years suddenly emerged to frustrate the Heir.

Aldul reported the Records Hall ransacked, with a number of documents water-damaged. Evendal learned that, over the past nine years, such sabotage had become a commonplace for the Royal Repository. Belatedly, he ordered a constant Guard and ledger for the interior entry, and the Archive doorway to the grounds blocked.

Evendal sent the traditional summons for a Court Critical; a summons directed to the clothiers, farmers, the maritime concerns, the mercantile stalwarts that he remembered, the smiths, the masons and engineers, the herbalist and apothecary guilds. He supoenaed according to the customary roster, as his father and his father's father had. Then, prompted by necessity, he sent for a number of groups previously unrecognized.

He got nearly identical responses, when he got a reply at all: For the past five years the Manorlords had met in separate clusters rather than in their habitual, and therefore vulnerable, single conclave. The Notaries - that organizational backbone of the kingdom, its clerks and archivists - had, like the Midwives, 'officially' disbanded. The Silversmiths were either dead or cautiously silent; likewise the Wagoneers, Carpenters, and the legitimated Stonecutters.

So, authoritative quorums for restitution or decisions never assembled. At first Evendal thought it all a perverse coincident. By the third week his second supoenae garnered him the same demurrage, or replies that any relevant agenda had already been dealt with in safer, private, gatherings.

Not trusting his failing temper, he called on members of the Guard: An informal diet, which included Ierwbae, Anlota, Bruddbana and Falrija, Heamon and Henhyroc. Aldul, having chaperoned the Priestess Sygkorryn to a task at the Palace, became an interested attendant as well.

"I wish I could say I am surprised, my lord." Anlota remarked. "And I wish I had a palliative, or reassuring wisdom."

"So do I. Some may be very genuinely in fear for their safety, but not all. Some no doubt feel that they have my measure simply through the river of gossip flowing over the manner of my return."

"More likely, from all that you have done." Bruddbana interjected.

Evendal nodded, his ears reddening. "And I don't foresee these people's behaviour changing with time or patience on my part. Any gesture by me will be presumed suspicious. Any show of force, any coercion to attend, merely proof of my despotic nature. Yet I dare not fail to respond to those refusals which are self-serving displays of bravado."

Anlota merely nodded.

Of the seven people attending only one stood, the rest sat on chairs, cushions or floor with differing degrees of comfort. Ierwbae stood, behind and to the left of Evendal. He would glance at his king, then look out the doorway of the chamber they were using; he fairly radiated anxiety. Anlota would simply smile or frown, depending on whom her eye fell. Falrija seemed the most pleased, having seated herself on the lap of a pink-faced, squirming Bruddbana; her intention clearly mischief, but with the sanction of both her king and the Archate priests. Heamon, stonefaced, gave away nothing of his mood or thoughts.

"So who has responded favourably?" Aldul asked.

"Anlota, of course. Melianth and Shenrowyn...."

"You mean Alekrond?" Ierwbae corrected absently.

"I said who I meant." Evendal retorted, craning his neck to glare at Ierwbae. "Shenrowyn insisted on seeing the upstart who claimed Menam's bloodline. Melianth could not dissuade him, so she and her husband accompanied him...." The King shook his head at the memory of that meeting. "With Polgern no longer 'Lord Protector', Alekrond, apparently, has tired of the game of statecraft. At least, that is what he said. Loudly and repeatedly."

"Alekrond?" Ierwbae interjected.

Anlota, who had been working on a hair wreath, paused in her plaiting. "Ierwbae."

The Guard glanced from the doorway.

"Either be honestly attentive, nephew, or go annoy the priestess tending him. But choose."

"My apologies, lord."

Evendal nodded toward the Mother of Midwives. "No, Ierwbae. In too many things she supersedes me, most certainly in kinship. Any apologies go to Anlota."

Anlota dimpled. "Silly boy." She gazed fixedly at Ierwbae. "Relax, dear. If the prognosis were anything but good I would be hovering over the priestess myself, regardless of her skill."

Though hidden behind him, Evendal could sense the shudder grip Ierwbae. In the next moment, Falrija sat level with Evendal as the sole tenant of her chair. Bruddbana, arms draped around a tearing Ierwbae, coaxed him onto a set of cushions and remained beside him until the eyes had dried.

"Who else has responded?"

"Niem Dir in the eastern wold. Through her, most of the Foresters. The Criers, or patterers. No one else."

Henhyroc cleared her throat in the quiet, all eyes turned to her. "Correct me if I am wrong, but... Ierwbae. Is that bracer new?"

"Yes." The Guard's voice still clotted with emotion. "Metthen's... Metthen's gift for our first five years."

"And it is silver?"

"Yes."

"The design is amazingly detailed. Obviously the work of a master crafter. Metthen had it commissioned?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I understood that the Office of Silversmiths claimed they had no one of Master-grade surviving, no one willing to take apprenticeship, and so no longer took commissions...."

"Oh, well.... he got this made by a friend we had helped, one of a horde of artisans and crafters under the auspices of the Archate."

"Is the Archate patronizing these artisans? Or merely sheltering them?" Henhyroc persisted.

Aldul spoke up. "I have met the people Ierwbae refers to, in acquainting myself with the Temple and its commitments. A rough mixture, referred to as 'the Orphanage.' They are large in number, most emigre, some citizenry. Unfortunates cast adrift, first by the Decimation of Mausna, and later by the persecutions of your leaders. We, the Archate, have simply been the only secure guarantors for their safety. Until now."

Evendal raised an eyebrow. "That seems terribly generous, and quite a strain on the finances of the Archate."

"It would be, if these fugitives chose to be idle. Heamon?"

"With normal contracts and patronage all but impossible, the flow of commerce between the 'Orphanage' and the Cinqet has been steady.... and gratifying."

Evendal smiled at the thought, imagining the frustration for Polgern that must have resulted from such mutual support.

"Well, my lord." Henhyroc stated, sharing the smile.

"Well, what?"

Henhyroc looked surprised at her lord's incomprehension.

Anlota clarified. "These Orders, Guilds, Cabals and Crafts profess to be so severely crippled as to be unable to send agents. Surely the only decent gesture is for the Throne to dissolve their charters. Rescind what is, no doubt, an onerous honour of Royal commission. Remove the clearly intolerable burden of Court responsibility. And in so doing, relieve the beleaguered Craft-halls of those buildings and lands they are too woefully understaffed to tend. It would be a kindness to place such hardships, and the care for such properties, on other shoulders better equipped to answer the needs of the Thronelands."

Delighted at the possibilities, Ierwbae added. "And with over four hundred Guard, our ties of obligation, blood and affection must include people of every ilk and vocation in the Thronelands. So we can find legitimate, solvent proxies for the stone-walling guilds or assemblies that 'the Orphanage' may not be able to replace."

"Brilliant, Henhyroc!"

Henhyroc's smile lit up her face. "Common sense, my lord. When you cannot have what you expect, you simply make do with what you have."

"That will certainly stir up the bee-hive!" Aldul commented.

Heamon nodded. "A gesture worthy of Polgern."

"Yes. About Polgern..."

Heamon froze.

"He obviously despised...the Beast. They did their best to confound each other's ambition for nine years. Am I right?"

All nodded.

"Why?"

Bruddbana opened his mouth to speak, then thought better. Aldul and Anlota simply waited, the midwife smirking at Falrija's occasional efforts in diverting her spouse. Eventually, Ierwbae tendered. "Why what, lord?"

"Why the interminable intrigues? Why did neither of them, as far as I am told, ever outright assassinate the other? Regardless of which one succeeded, the survivor would then be too feared to need worry over consequences."

Ierwbae and Bruddbana glanced at each other in surprise.

Evendal rubbed tired and smudge-rimmed eyes. "And another mystery. The Wall."

"What about the Wall?"

"Again, why? Why build a wall, when the nearest province has borders well over three weeks march from us? And has been a vital source of goods and....indentured labour. Or so you all conveyed."

"To divert attention and resources from whatever else he might have been plotting?" Aldul suggested.

"Perhaps, but not merely that. That wall was the focus of too much frustration and effort. If that were his only intent, he could have had Alekrond report a continued presence of non-existent Nikraan in the waters south. That would have amply served."

The silence lingered, disrupted only by the rustling of the Guard outside.

"You suspect?" Anlota prompted.

"I expect that Polgern saw no reason to discard the tactic which made him 'Lord Protector' so handily. He had a core of Guard emotionally coerced to his obedience, had even tried to house them in regimental fashion, to isolate them. He built up a wall about the city, an obvious defense effort, as if anticipating attack... or retaliation."

"And then what? Assassinate whom?"

Evendal shrugged. "Where, along the city's current limits, did the wall-building start?"

Anlota answered. "Near the Palace and Khanderif."

"Then, perhaps, Arkedda. As he would surely have begun defense for the direction foremost in his plans."

Falrija protested. "But all he would have accomplished is turmoil in another's realm. Not a coup."

Evendal smiled. "Arkedda is organized and ruled by and around one family, whose most direct male heir did die at Mausna."

"But Arkedda was the only province that did not send a major fighting force to Mausna!" Aldul protested.

"But the heir... I forget his name, wanted to witness 'the glories of battle.' So he evaded whatever guardians he had, and made right for the Osedys contingent. My father wanted to whip the boy when he saw him. Anyway... You may not remember, but father's mother had been ruler before him here. Mother could have been ruler here after him, she chose not. But Arkedda has never permitted a female of the line as regent or ruler."

"No surprise there, it being Arkedda." Bruddbana snorted.

"My point being...If this were what Polgern proposed, he could certainly have accomplished a coup in Arkedda with little loss of Guard. A timely visit by some ambassadorial contingent, in the midst of this unexpected tragedy.... offers of aid to this courtier, the quiet demise of that intransigent. And suddenly a budding visit to offer consolations blooms into a prolonged ruling presence. And, in doing so, he can offer the Beast a lair that is a goodly distance from him."

"That sounds too much like the dastard we know." Henhyroc affirmed. Heamon nodded.

"But that did not happen." Aldul reminded.

"No. First, he could not realise just how disruptive the Beast would be to his, doubtless privately held, plans. Second, any such plan from Polgern's mind would need a surety of success. Or at least a means of keeping the Beast either confined or threatened, from a distance."

Ierwbae smiled. "Alekrond."

It was Evendal's turn to nod.

To Evendal's surprise Ierwbae did not dispatch Robiliam immediately. The stitching on a muscle had given way, making Metthendoen's health more precarious. Feeling uncertain about killing without immediate provocation, and not wanting to stress his mate, he held off.

In order to address the difficulties of a recalcitrant Court, Evendal approached such people as his Guard singled out. Those both skillful enough, and solvent enough, to be willing to handle a royal charter or commission. When sufficient understanding had been established, he then insisted on an audience with the female representatives of each contingent. By the end of the fourth week of his residency, that tactic had roused a number of suddenly responsive guilds.

"We want to thank you again for your time and attention, Matron Drussilikh. It has been a pleasure to see what you and your family are capable of. If you do not mind instructing on the Palace grounds, We can provide a work-space, class area, supplies and meals for your apprentices."

The raven-haired young woman smiled automatically, but an uncertainty or ambivalence had oozed from her throughout the interview, demonstrated in odd pauses and furtive glances. Near Evendal's age, her carriage was that of a much older woman, assured, artlessly graceful, and comfortable in her body and authority. When she spoke it was in a decisive voice, every sentence or pause intentional and careful. She flicked her gaze up to Evendal's face and away to the side, a gesture that would have seemed charmingly demure, were her anxiety not so tangible.

"Were we to accept, our family would be thanking you, Your Majesty, for your Liberality at this commission. I only wish..."

"Yes?"

"Well, we. . . uh, fear your temper, Your Majesty."

Evendal's brow furrowed in confusion. "My temper? Over what?"

"You are not the first to approach us so. The Lord Protector had summoned my... my predecessor for just such an arrangement." Her words rushed, Matron Drussilikh paused for breath, only to remain silent.

"So she or he refused him, and he retaliated in anger? Matron Drussilikh, I am not so arbitrary. You are safe to accept or refuse without any other consequence than the loss of a royal commission. When I was a child here, my father's flaws aside, I loved the Osedys I knew. I simply want to restore her." In his sincerity, Evendal neglected the royal plurality.

Matron Drussilikh shook her head vigourously. "No, Your Majesty, you misunderstand me. She accepted the Lord Protector's offer, without realizing the manner of man she dealt with or the... unsafe conditions of the Palace. People would vanish, some forever, some later found dead. Those found were quickly cremated at the command of the Lord Protector; a gesture of sensitivity toward the bereaved, no doubt." The woman's tone said otherwise. "After six years of this, my mother stood forth in a Court Critical and set fire to her charter, her writ of commission. She then confessed how she had fostered out all her remaining charges, one at a time, to the safety of Scriveners in other provinces."

Knowing full well what would have followed such a gesture, Evendal looked away. "My apologies. That you dared to meet with me is... amazing."

Matron Drussilikh's laugh was short-lived, and tremulous. "You can lay that at Metthendoen's persuasiveness, Your Majesty."

Not aware he was doing so, Evendal smiled. "I have said it before, and will, no doubt, say it again... He is frightening in his intensity."

Matron Drussilikh shared the smile. "Very determined."

Hesitant, Evendal leaned forward in the chair he used. "Matron, I make a confession to you..."

Matron Drussilikh merely raised an eyebrow.

"Regarding your apprentices. I do not understand children. I do not know how to talk to them. To me they are little mysteries. Precious beyond words. To be protected, guided, disciplined - but by others, not me. All I can do is give you my word, in writing if you wish, that your family and students are free citizens - yet under royal protection. That should a child or student go missing from the Palace, or be attacked by a Guard or member of the Courts, the Prince shall pay blood-price."

Rather than be mollified, the woman regarded her Prince with a cold anger plain on her face. "Your Most Puissant Majesty... I cannot, and will not, barter the safety of my charges. The loss of a single child, however talentless, would be a devastation! There is no compensation. Neither money nor property would ever serve! It did not serve under the Protectorate!"

"Now it is you who misunderstand me, Matron Drussilikh. The blood-price I refer to is equal in measure. I refer to my own life. Whether the child or student is assaulted, killed or molested. The royal person will be guarantor for the safety of your family and students."

Matron Drussilikh stared long and hard at Evendal, trying to see beyond the amber eyes matching her, stare for determined stare. "You are mad!"

Evendal turned his gaze away with a low sigh. "No. As Quill-master you must have records going back a long time. Look, and you will find that what I have just offered is what the King has always hazarded. Justice enthroned, or the Enthroned One's life forfeit. It was what kept all the powerful families from destroying each other in their cold-blooded single-mindedness; they had one person who would see justice and equity done, since his life depended on it."

Matron Drussilikh opened her mouth, then quickly shut it. "This is a trick."

Shoulders slumping, Evendal drew a small tin cylinder from his belt and proffered it to the woman. Warily, she opened one end, extracted a roll of parchment, and read.

"Simply what I have promised: My pledge of safety, in writing. A copy of this offer has been posted at each gateway into the city, and at each Crier's station for people to read. Considering the predations that the people have endured, I think it safe to say that my life would not be worth the ink on that parchment should misadventure befall you or your's."

Drussilikh sat stunned. With unsteady fingers, she returned the writ to its case and sought to restore her demeanor and command. "You will hear from us within the next few days, Your Majesty. Provided these papers are indeed... Well, I expect we will be enjoying the glory of your favour for some time." She rose to depart.

"I have a request of you, in turn, Matron."

"Wh...What do you want?"

"As scriveners, I am sure you have lists of the students and kin who fell victim to the co-rulers."

Madame Drussilikh nodded.

"What was the range of ages in those students?"

"My brother was the youngest, having six years at the time of his... disappearance. The oldest had seventeen years. Someone found his body in the marble quarry."

Evendal took a deep breath, as if all the air had fled his body. "We want from you a set of lists: Those who died, those who were harmed or maimed, those whom you do not know the fate of. Where it is possible, a description of them."

"What will you do with such lists?"

Hard-faced, Evendal rasped. "I will bring Justice, Matron Drussilikh. Where I can, when I can. I wish, with all my heart, I could do more."

The Prince's continued night restlessness worried him, to where he consulted Anlota about sleeping-draughts. After talking with him about his dreams, she advised against their use. This decision coincided with Evendal's preferences but did nothing for his evil dreams.

Matron Drussilikh met with Lord Evendal within two days, formally accepting the Royal Commission with every sign of good will. The only surprise, for her, was the Prince's repeated request for the lists of those lost.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I did not come prepared..."

Evendal smiled bleakly. "What you mean is that you did not think my request a sincere one."

"I mean no such thing! They just had not been completed as..."

Angry, at the repeating of empty courtesies unmeant, Evendal interrupted. "Matron Drussilikh, look at me directly."

So commanded, in public display, the woman had no option. She gazed with a sickened stomach into twin whirlpools of gold-flecked amber. At first she doubted her ability to keep her gaze, soon she doubted her ability to look away. As she stared, almost mesmerized, the gold of his sclerae became brighter, swallowing the dun-shaded amber. Matron Drussilikh's breath caught in her throat and would not budge.

"What do you want, Matron Drussilikh?"

She found she could swallow. "To survive this."

Unnoticed by her, Evendal smiled. "What do you know of your brother's disappearance?"

Blinking normally, but unable to tear her gaze away, Matron Drussilikh answered. "He would come home at the twelfth bell every day that he had to study in the Palace. Then, one day he said he had accidentally run into a huge Guard while rushing through a corridor. My brother said he apologized to the man again and again. The fellow picked him up as if he were a feather, then smiled at him, asked his name, let him back down, and apologized for not seeing him running. The very next day, he went to the Palace for studies and never came home." Tears darkened her collar, yet her gaze never wavered. The vortex of Evendal's eyes seemed to churn faster as, heedless of the feeble lanterns about them, the gold began to glow.

"How long ago did this happen?"

"Two years past, Your Majesty." Matron Drussilikh could not stop shaking.

"Enough with that honorific! Do you grieve that he is gone?"

"He was the kindest, happiest little boy born! I miss him every day, and..." She took a deep, sodden breath. "And I despise this place! I loathe you people! Hypocrites! Murderers! I want my mother back! I want my brother back! I want my brother! Oh, Kri-estaul! You can't be dead! You can't be!" She wrenched her head away and collapsed of the floor in an agony of weeping. Soon Evendal sat right beside her, holding her up and handing her a linen; acting with dispatch even as he felt awkward and cruel.

When Matron Drussilikh had begun to recover, too exhausted by the resurgence of her pain to care much over her loss of composure or possible loss of the charter, Evendal lifted her shame-reddened face to look into his equally tear-streaked one.

"This I vow, Matron Drussilikh. Wherever he is, living or dead, I will find your brother and return him to you."

"But how can you find him if he is dead, and that... Beast is dead as well?" Matron Drussilikh's question came out frightened and despairing as any child's.

"Trust me," Evendal said grimly, his eyes still ablaze. "That will not be an impediment."

The very next morning, Evendal broke his morning fast with Metthendoen and Ierwbae, discussing his plans for the day. His face had paled, his eyelids looked bruised; images of wounded limbs seeping puss and feeding mites, and people weeping in pain, dogged his nights. Evendal's eyes still glowed, regardless of sun or shade, but the lovers, sensing their lord's temper, said nothing of it.

"What do you think? I feel I have to try. But..."

"I never thought any Guard could even want to hurt a child like that..." Ierwbae muttered. "Yes, you must."

Metthendoen said nothing to that, but his face looked worn and aged. Evendal could see, as if inside the man's mind, that Metthendoen did not share Ierwbae's innocence. The prone Guard refused to educate his partner, saying only. "If answers can come of it, then of course you must. And Robiliam has some of the answers, I am sure."

"I don't expect he will have all of them." Evendal stared at the papers in his grip. "But even some would help. Would ease a few hearts that don't know whether to grieve or hope."

Lord Evendal, Bruddbana, Aldul of Kwo-eda, Matron Drussilikh, Anlota and Ierwbae met and called for the return of Robiliam to the Palace proper. An hour later an unshod and bloody-footed Robiliam stood before a semi-circle of seated equals and one noble. His clothing studded with rips and dirt, showing signs of struggle, his hauteur remained intact.

"So what now? Do you expect me to dance for you?"

"You made yourself out to be the confidante of the Beast. Right?" Aldul asked. He sat holding a pencil and board.

Robiliam lifted his nose, sniffed, and replied. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Since you have been a Guard for over four years, you must have seen a lot of terrible things happen at the Palace." Bruddbana tendered.

"If you say so."

"You can tell us some of them, surely. Such as people suddenly missing."

"Why would I want to do that?" Robiliam smiled.

"Enough of this!" Evendal burst out. "There is only one way he is..."

"No! Silence him!" Robiliam shouted, his eyes suddenly starting out. "Please!"

Ierwbae drawled. "Why would we want to do that?"

Slowly, Evendal stood, every muscle in his face outlined in rage. Pointing his finger at Robiliam in accusation, m'Alismogh began to sing.

As darkness closes in around you, As your heart labours its last

With no reprieve in store,

The evils of your life await you, To crush you under their dread

Taunt you over and over.

Every blow meant mortal, Every betrayal so dear, Every child abducted, Stands plain before you, Clamours in your ear, Till Justice is served, And their loved ones healed.

Every kidnap detailed, Every graft confessed, Every secret illumined, Grants you something of comfort, Disbands the host before you, Aids your heart's redress.

A soft breeze wafted about the company, ruffling hair, chilling spines. It seemed to speed up, to whirl in a tighter and tighter circle of affect, leaving those seated, and converging on a now crouching Robiliam. His clothes flapped about him as he kept his arms tight against his face, every line of his body taut in anticipation. As all watched, one arm lowered slowly, its muscles protesting the move. Robiliam opened his eyes and gasped.

"What have you done?"

"You see them?" Evendal whispered.

Matron Drussilikh looked around, wild-eyed, but saw nothing untoward. "What is he babbling about? How did His Majesty...?"

Anlota patted Drussilikh's hand and whispered. "Hush, dear. Its best not to draw his attention when the King wields power."

Robiliam nodded. "They are staring at me. What have you done?"

"Brought your crimes and omissions in for an extended visit."

The wind continued to harass Robiliam as his eyes darted about the room, clearly focusing on figures invisible to the others. "You're dead, you bastard!" He shouted at one point. "Don't smirk at me! You're dead. I made sure of that. Oh, no. There's more coming in!"

Aldul glanced at Evendal, who nodded. "This is what I hoped for. The web of responsibility..."

Bruddbana had been instructed before the proceedings commenced to stay seated. And not to interrupt. But his confusion and anxiety overruled. "What have you done, my lord? What are you?"

Evendal turned his blazing eyes on Bruddbana, remotely pleased that the Guard did not waver or look away, and saw incomprehension but no outright fear. "Bruddbana, what do you think is meant by my honorifics? I am called the Left Hand of the Unalterable. My gifts, all of them, serve that purpose."

"Robiliam."

The former Guard turned his hysterical gaze to the Prince. "Do you like your current companions? They mean to stay with you, without surcease."

Robiliam shook his head in negation. "They have been trying to talk to me. All of them at once! So I can't... I can't understand what they want!" His tattered and twisted uniform now clutched his sweat-soaked body. The breeze continued around him.

"Oh, I can tell you that. It is very simple, really. They want what we want. The truth. If you want their company, keep silent about your treachery. If you want their absence, speak their names, what you did to them, and where their bodies - living or dead - can be found."

"I can barely hear you over their racket." He protested.

Evendal smiled, his eyes burning. "You can hear me just fine."

"Don't touch me!" the former Guard wailed to the air. "Very well. But send them away!"

"I can't do that, you might forget one. Only you can send them away."

"Byrtthonmiel, of the Dyer's guild." Robiliam whispered. "Killed. Buried in Khanderif, along its western edge." He stopped, clearly waiting. "He is still here!"

"I said 'what you did to them,' Robiliam. Simply saying 'killed' is insufficient. These are not counters crowding about you, they were people."

"I strangled him... from behind... and stabbed him." Robiliam sagged with a moment's relief. Aldul began to write.

"Mar-lametin, Guard. Poisoned. Also buried near the western part of Khanderif.. . She's not moving! Why isn't she going away?"

"If I were to guess, I would say because of your grammar."

"What?!"

"Robiliam, these people were not simply killed, maimed or ferreted to slavery by some invisible spirit. You killed them. You destroyed their lives. To say simply 'Poisoned' is a way of saying you were not responsible, that it just happened. We know this is not so. They know it best. They are not going to leave without you verbally claiming very personal responsibility."

"You are insane!"

"I am not the one visited, Robiliam."

"Mar-lametin, a Guard. I poisoned her. Soaked her uniforms and gear in a contact poison... I soaked her uniforms and gear in a contact poison."

"Rw-adruann, a courtier. I locked him in the under-grounds of the Palace to starve. The body is probably still there." Evendal gritted his teeth on that name. "Pendrwlag, a scribal student..."

Robiliam's recitation lasted several bells. At times he would balk at the chore, only to be prodded by Evendal's geas. After three bells of name-calling, Robiliam looked up from the floor he had been examining, and gazed about once more. "I've told you everything!" he rasped. "I have named all the people I was assigned to remove or re-place..."

"So?"

"So why are there so many still here? I can't see the door for the people!"

"What do they say?"

"They won't say! They just keep repeating names over and over."

"Do you recognize them at all?"

Robiliam peered at Evendal, suddenly alert and wary. "I might."

The Prince nodded. "Then you know what you must do."

"But I had nothing to do with these fools!"

"Exactly. You knew of their fate, knew enough to have been able to help, and did nothing. When you had foreknowledge of their peril, and did not even think of doing your avowed duty, they became your responsibility. They have the right to haunt you now. You know what you must do."

"But... there are so many!"

Aldul groaned. Evendal glanced at the Kwo-edan, smiled and said. "Matron Drussilikh?"

Startled, the young lady gasped out. "Yes? My lord?"

"Would you be so kind as to aid Our friend, Aldul of Kwo-eda?"

Drussilikh swallowed, stiffened her shoulders, and leaned down to grab a writing slate and pencil.

"Then the sooner you begin, the sooner you are left alone, Robiliam."

Tears of exhaustion and despair in his eyes, Robiliam began. "Mek-Rwathil, of the silversmith's. A courtier thought she priced her wares too steeply. That she had sold to a commoner, out of spite, a bracer they had wanted. Two Guard, Furill and Ke-Halarn, stuck a funnel up her vulva and poured in molten lead. I do not know what was done to her carcass... Sylberi, a scribal student. Sent... Sold to Dhinlokna of Arkedda, to work in the mines north. Stop staring at me, girl!" He shouted to the air yet again. "Oh, so what if you are dead. Why tell me that?"

Drussilikh voiced a sob, as Anlota gripped her shoulder in sympathy. Robiliam continued for over an hour, his voice now deeper and raspy with the effort. Drussilikh had two linens bunched and sodden in her lap as she scribbled furiously, unrelenting. At a moment's quiet, she looked up from her work to see what caused the silence.

Robiliam seemed to be staring directly at her, peering red-eyed and flushed. The attention, unwelcome in the extreme, made her heart pound. He smiled. When he spoke again, she jumped in surprise.

"What are you doing over there? I don't care who she is to you, I have enough company with the living around me. Oh, really? And you want me to tell them that? Why should I? So? Maybe I like having bad little boys following me around."

"Kri-estaul! He's talking to Kri-estaul!"

Robiliam's smile widened, clearly enjoying Drussilikh's turmoil. Sickened, Evendal thought furiously on how to put a stop to the ex-Guard's game.

Of her companion dear, Whether far or near, Confess all you know, Her grief's not for show.

With a gasp, Robiliam grated out. "The brat angered Abduram. My Lord deflowered him, is what I heard. If so, then he should be dead. But he says he's not."

"Where... Where is he?"

"I don't know!" Robiliam snarled. "And neither does the brat. Just that its dark, smelly and that he has a lot of vermin keeping him company."

"Always dark?" Evendal asked.

Robiliam glowered at him. "Always. Even when someone brings them his food."

"Them?"

Robiliam cocked an ear, and smiled again. "Yes. It seems the brat can't reach his meals before the crawlies and mice have gotten the lion's share."

"Someone's basement or abandoned food-cellar." Aldul guessed.

"Or a neglected part of the Palace under-grounds." Bruddbana muttered, into a silence that amplified.

"Who else is keeping you company, Robiliam?" The Prince asked, smiling mirthlessly, staring the former Guard full in the face.

The sun of Evendal's regard bleached Robiliam's face of all colour and expression. "My favourites, damn you! Will you leave me no trophies? Kohermarthen, Quill-master of the Scriveners. I blood-eagled her and burned the carcass to ash." Drussilikh gasped but said nothing. "Rom-chilnar, a Guard. My mother's brother. My sponsor in the Guard. I disabled him with a knife through the ribs... from behind. I burned the body... After I sacrificed him to Abduram." To everyone's amazement, Robiliam began to weep. "Oh, my Lord!"

Both Ierwbae and Bruddbana made noises of shock, but Evendal remained unmoved, unsurprised. "You worshipped the Beast."

"He was beautiful and terrible. He was all I wanted to be."

"Do any others await your naming?" The Prince asked. Ierwbae stood, bowed to Evendal, and moved behind Robiliam, toward the room's entrance.

"No. They are all gone."

The onlookers moved about in relief. Evendal continued to lock eyes with Robiliam.

"You know what awaits you?"

"My death."

"Any regrets?"

"Only that I was sloppy with Metthendoen."

"Any wishes?"

"That I had better served My Lord. And that I might die armed."

Unsummoned, Aldul stood.

Looking over Robiliam's shoulder, Evendal nodded, then motioned Bruddbana over. Shocked, Bruddbana approached. "Your sword, good Bruddbana, unsheathe it."

Eyes wide in surprise, Robiliam watched the flustered Guard, oblivious to the movement behind him until he looked down at a steel point emerging from his chest. In a burst of strength, Ierwbae corkscrewed the blade in the wound, and Robiliam toppled. As Evendal toppled, into Aldul's arms.

Matron Drussilikh, Ierwbae and Bruddbana rushed to Evendal's side and began asking questions and shouting advice, until Anlota shooed or slapped them away. After a tense moment, Evendal opened his eyes.

"Aldul?"

The Kwo-edan smiled, recalling these gestures in another setting. "How is it with you, my lord?"

"Actually, I am well. He was such a waste of a man. To have felt his death was strangely cleansing."

"After all I heard I can almost understand, my friend."

The Prince smiled. "Ierwbae?"

The Guardsman hovered, his face wet.

"I know you have killed before. So why the tears?"

"I feared whatever glamour you used caused your death when I executed Ro... the dead man."

"Silly boy," Evendal heard behind him and chuckled.

"No. What you all witnessed is an effect I have no control over. When anything that draws breath is killed near me, I feel its demise. I knew this would happen, but this execution needed my witness."

"Execution?" cried Bruddbana. "Ierwbae stabbed him in the back!"

"Have you not truly heard what we spent so many bells listening to, Bruddbana? How many times did the dead man admit to the same method?"

"Besides," hissed Ierwbae. "How do you think he succeeded against Metthendoen, the best blade-fighter we have? By pretending to leave in disgust and stabbing him in the back. I gave him more mercy than he warranted. I made his death quick."

"Yes." Evendal affirmed. "You were kinder than I could be, or would have been. Now. We have a hunt, Ierwbae. Bruddbana."

Ierwbae began cleaning his blade with a dry scrap of Robiliam's garment. Evendal stood.

"A hunt?"

"I suspect that somewhere in the Palace under-grounds is an eight-year old boy starving and suffering, no doubt forgotten with the death of the Beast. I expect he is not the only resident, either."

"Let us dispose of the carcass and then plan for a search."

"What? No!" The Prince screeched, suddenly animated. "You will set out in search. Now. Later, maybe, we will dispose of the body." He raised a fist to Bruddbana's face, tensing to swing. The royal gaze yet burned.

Everyone stood or sat motionless, waiting. Slowly, Evendal lowered his fist, opening it. "Aldul, a cloth please." He asked calmly. The Kwo-edan handed Evendal a strip of cloth out of a healer's pouch. "Ierwbae, extend your sword-tip, please." Silently, the Guard complied.

With cold deliberation, Evendal ran the flat of his hand over an edge of Ierwbae's blade. For a breath, the palm looked unscathed, then began to stain dark red. Awkward with his other hand, the Prince set about binding the cut. Once he had the cloth secure, he looked up to a stupefied assemblage.

"Forgive me, Bruddbana." He whispered. "All along I have strained your goodwill and trust. Now I almost struck you in my own guilt."

"Guilt? Guilt for what?" Bruddbana stared at the wrapped hand, aghast.

"Don't you see? I've dined and slept in blissful ignorance, while beneath my very feet innocents were lying imprisoned and forgotten! Forgotten!" The last, he shouted.

"Why... Why did you injure yourself, Lord? No one here would wish you to do such a thing."

"Because I raised my hand to you, one of my own, my most unreasonably loyal and stalwart man..."

Bruddbana tried to reply, his voice unsteady. "I know your heart, Lord. It was but a moment's humour. You are my good and noble Lord."

"As Left Hand of the Unalterable, I raise my hand to smite only those worthy of death! Or to bring comfort to the oppressed. I nearly violated the first injunction, and I have utterly failed the second! When my passions overrule my sense, I need to remind myself of the consequences. No one else dares remind me."

"You have but to ask." Aldul interjected.

Against his own mood, Evendal laughed. "That is true. I can rely on you, Aldul, to bring me sweet reason. Forgive my humours, all of you. It is simply that... I think of a child being in the Beast's power, and think how he had a cadre of predators and nine years free reign..."

Anlota whispered. "I did all I could. It was never enough."

Evendal turned to the Mother of Midwives, and shared sadness. "I am afraid that I may say the same, very soon."