Songspell

SongSpell-8

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.

8 I Will Find Where Truth Is Hid

Polonius: I will find where truth is hid,

Though it were hid indeed within the center.

Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2, Line 157

Familiar with most of the passages, Evendal organized the search. The undergrounds of the Palace began several centuries ago as both a storage area and a private hiding place in case of attack. During a number of long sieges, different leaders and rulers regularly expanded on what they had to deal with. Whenever the threat of treachery or assault seemed less commonplace, work on the undergrounds continued with an eye toward convenience. As a result, where it originally displayed only one entrance and a narrow escape-exit to the clifflands, several hidden entryways existed by Evendal's day. Polgern certainly knew of them, but Evendal doubted if Abduram had known all of them.

On that assumption, Evendal brought everyone to the original entrance, behind the Throne in the Council Chamber. Falrija, Mar-Depalai, Henhyroc, Drussilikh, Aldul, Bruddbana and Anlota insisted on accompanying their Prince. Ierwbae vowed to follow after he had seen to Robiliam's dissolution.

Evendal reached up to the trident hung on the stonewall over the Throne, brought it down, then slid it into braces set in the stone. Trident handle in place, the Prince pulled on what was now plainly a door. Everyone present held a light, either torch or lantern, as they walked down a flight of steps. After an alcove with a doorway, the stairs continued down, and down again several levels.

Evendal bade Henhyroc and Drussilikh search at the first sub-level. Once on the second sub-floor, Bruddbana and Falrija opted to search. The Prince acceded readily. The third level fell to Anlota and Mar-Depalai.

Reasoning that the Beast would have the more temporary residents on the upper levels, Evendal had deliberately made himself last. Through the door on the fourth level, Evendal found himself in a chill musty corridor extending both left and right. "Your choice." He said.

Aldul chose to go left. So Evendal chose right and grabbed the first door to his right. An unused closet, cramped and narrow. The next door stood to his left, wide and metal-bound and opened inward. A room the size of the Court Chamber greeted him, with a high ceiling and mildew-browned walls. Mounds of ash dotted the floor.

"Anyone within?"

His passage stirred the ash. He came upon a pile of rags, only to see a human face staring up from them, skin like the peels of an onion curving to the contours of bone. "Forgive me that I came too late for you." The Prince whispered. With angry determination, he made a complete circuit of the room, then left it to its lone occupant.

Evendal strode down a good distance, then followed the corridor on a right turn, only to face a single door of the same proportions and look as the previous door. A small wooden tray set outside the door, with a scrap of greasy green cheese and a swarm of roaches scurrying about the tray and under the door.

"Bloody marvelous!" Evendal hissed, disgusted. He opened the door to a room as tall as the last, but longer, reminiscent of a barn. Peering around he caught movement at first, then sudden stillness when he tried to focus. The smell from the jakes-holes and the old straw fought with the acid stench of old food and mildew.

M'Alismogh had a vivid sensation of the room shifting, listing or swaying. He halted, as tarred wood replaced stone, and groans of effort from many throats replaced the quiet. His head and side twinged in phantom pain as a deep voice behind him rasped. "You just saved the whole damned crew. Don't you die on me now!"

Evendal whirled around to an empty doorway, and understood he had relived a memory. Think about it later, he told himself.

It was that sweet dream, this time. The man with glowing eyes prowled down a long ugly corridor, searching, sniffing at doors, looking for him. Next, he was in the searcher's arms, wrapped in a thick cloak that kept out the underground's cold, petted and gently rocked. He knew it was a dream, so he didn't mind the caresses against his head. The man with the shining eyes didn't know he was not a good boy, because the man held him carefully - and though he could not see the searcher's face for the glow, he knew the man smiled at him. A good smile. No, the searcher with the bright eyes didn't know.

He hurt. A new pain, though. Judging from the whisper-lightness in the rustling behind him, a mouse scurried to its shelter in the dung-hole, there to sit and wait out this new interruption in its routine. The noise alerted him to the reality behind his sudden pain: the door had opened! The light from the hallway hurt his eyes like the sword-tip they flicked across the skin of his eyelids. Awake as he had not been, he shifted forward and pulled at his damned burdens, trying to pry one from atop the other. They would not co-operate; almost numb from lengthy immobility, his legs remained dead weight. He had to hurry. If he were not clearly, visibly, grateful and obedient, his teacher yet again would not like him. His tugging and effort must have made him grunt, or shifted the mildewed rushes beneath him, because a voice called out.

"Anyone within?"

An intruder! Not his master? Not his master. Could his teacher have given up on him? It was not fair. He had tried, so many times. Really tried to please his master, his teacher. All he wanted was to be a good boy. The constant knot of emptiness in his shrunken stomach tightened, formed another loop composed of fear and despair. Please go away, he thought hard, and struggled against his contrary longing for company, for anyone. Even this intruder with the too-bright light. Please don't have given me to someone else!

He froze, eyes shut, listening, hoping the stranger thought his home empty. But what if his teacher sent this lord? This could be another test. The fury and pain over his last failed test came readily, too accessible and immediate to be called mere memory. He ignored his damned burdens, and their protests at his desperate shifting and maneuvering, and managed to sit up. He ignored his exhaustion, bone-deep, his only constant companion. He had to greet this lord as he would his teacher, and hope he did not cry out or whimper as the intruder put his body to the test. The bugs and sticky stems littering the floor hurt his tender ribs as he lay on his stomach and pulled himself forward.

The glare-nimbused intruder turned from a circuit at the far end of his home, and moved toward him. The light graduated from bearable sword-pricks to compete with the pain his teacher too often inflicted in his bum. His nerves overwhelmed obedience, and he pushed himself backwards, away from the approaching visitor. Terror once again filled him, allowing nothing else. Every muscle and bone ache his body had ever suffered returned in alarm. Fatigue conspired against him as well. Too late. The light paused right above him.

"I am sorry, my lord. I'm sorry!" He had to get his body into a respectful position, show the lord he wanted to be a good boy for him. Once again, his damned burdens slowed him down. He struggled to move them, too ready to cry except that would bring him more punishment. He panted, worn from exertion, and soundlessly commanded his body to relax, to not tense up; it hurt worse when he tensed. The intruder spoke. And he gave in to his tears over yet another failure, having been too anxious and focused to catch the man's words. He was nothing but one failure piled onto another, piled onto a pile of dung; his teacher was right.

He must have closed his eyes for too long, for when he looked up, the intruder had gotten closer. The stranger hunched over him, no doubt examining this new encumbrance. The light of a lantern sat on the damp floor. Another light shone down on him from where the intruder's face would be. He conquered the urge to pull back, forcing it into a shudder instead. The lantern on the floor shone the less brightly, so he kept his eyes lowered. The ache in his head ebbed.

"Kri-estaul? Is that you?" The visitant asked. The new master didn't know who he was. He was abandoned, again. And the lights were so painful, he could not tell anything! Whether this new teacher hated him like his old one did. Whether the stranger was angry at him. Or what the new master wanted from his visit right now.

"Please, lord! I'm evil. I can't help it. But will never, ever, bother you or anyone again. Please, lord! Don't hurt me much! Please! I'm sorry. Don't hurt me much. Please!"

Obediently motionless, waiting for some hint to this lord's will, he continued to sob because what the intruder said made no sense, gave him no chance at amends. He waited for the blow, or the command to turn over onto his stomach. Neither came.

"Oh, Thunder and Lightning! Rest easy, lad. He won't hurt you ever again, Kri-estaul. Rest easy. He won't hurt you ever. I have come to take you out of here."

After several panted breaths, he understood the words 'he won't hurt you ever', but could only think He who? Who? His teacher? The Most Terrible Lord Abduram? His teacher's helper? This intruder tested him like his teacher first did - with hope. His heart sank into the jakes-hole. This intruder must be a new master and teacher, to start out the way Master Nisakh had. Before he could help himself, his confusion overruled all fear and sense, and he squinted up into the glaring light. His reward was green-tinted blindness and a headache. "What?"

Gods! Why couldn't he be a good boy? He knew better than to talk, to speak anything but his apology for fouling the earth and air that his teacher permitted him to have. "I'm sorry. I am evil. But I will never, ever, bother you or anyone again. I'm so sorry."

"Shhh. He won't hurt you ever. I have come to take you out of here."

Now he understood. He only dreamed this. He had not awakened as yet, he merely thought he had. Or his new teacher thought to test him, test how well he had learned obedience. "You can't!" What he meant as a brave-sounding declaration, came out half-choked with his confusion, and he could not stop his tremors.

Suddenly wanting to get it over with, he confessed his greatest hurt, the proof that he was the most bad of all boys. "My sister gave me up to the Most Terrible Lord Abduram, because I'm bad. He said I couldn't leave here. I have nowhere to go." And he waited, again willing his disobedient body to untense, so that when the switching began, it would not hurt so deep.

He heard the shifting far behind him, of bugs or mice testing their safety after so much time passed. And he still didn't know if he dreamed or if a new master visited him, since he heard such sounds in his dreaming as in his waking.

"Oh, child! That is not true. Here, can you put your arms around my neck?"

He knew what that meant, dream or not! "No! I'll be good. I know I can be good! Don't put me on that bed again! Please? Please?" There was no pain like being suspended in that weird bed, having his knees slashed and his butt stuck. With that threat, his bowels and bladder betrayed him, so fully had terror taken command. He had no recourse, but he also knew better than to interrupt his plea-bargaining. Sometimes his begging had pleased his former master; perhaps so with this man, as well. "Let me show you I can be good, please? But not that, please? Please?"

"Hush, dearling. No one will hurt you, ever again. No one. Do you hear what I am saying?"

Something in this master's voice, some tone or quality, demanded equal attention with his terror. He realised that the intruder's feelings had been plain from the first word spoken. He had just been too anxious, or too tired, to hear. The visitor sounded like he did; in pain and desperate. This distress from a stranger scared him also, but in a different way than anything he could remember since his life here started. There was something more in that voice, in those words, but he did not know what it was; he did not recognise it.

"I am not here to hurt you. Do you understand?" The intruder repeated.

Gods, the master had asked him a simple question and he had not responded! Now he couldn't contain his body at all. He lost what small control he had over his shivering, then, to further remind him of his powerlessness, his bladder let go again. The intruder must now know beyond any entreaty what manner of boy sat before him: bad, disobedient, dumb, lazy, inattentive, without control and so immature he pisses on himself without permission. Finally at the point where his humiliation felt complete, where it felt like the worst he could do had been done, he again looked up. Unlike before, he could see the nose and cheekbones of his master, a jaw tensed and solid. And the light, which had so blinded him before, now shone painless from this man's water-filled golden eyes.

Not believing, not knowing what else to do, he nodded his response to the visitant.

"What I want to do is take you out of here, for good. Give you something to eat."

So. His new master was not sane. No matter. He liked this dream better than almost any other he had had in forever. "You came for me. How do your eyes glow like that?"

The master's answer proved he dreamed, it had nothing to do with his unprompted question. Also the man didn't punish him for speaking without consent. "Now I am going to shift you onto my lap, okay?"

"But... But I just shat and... I'll get you all dirty and nasty."

The dream-figure hardly paused. "From the other rooms, and the one occupant I found on this floor, I know no one left you anything to clean with. Right?"

"I have... I use the reeds, when I can, then drop them down the hole."

"Do you want to do that now?"

He understood. The intruder wanted his bum dirty and wanted him to act surprised, and maybe scared. But the visitor had glowing eyes, like in his sweetest dreams. "I don't understand, lord. Whatever you want, I'll do. Just tell me, please? I want to be good."

The new master got a strange look on his face. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. I cut my hand earlier, and the priest gave me some extra cloth. In case it bled more. Why don't you use that? And I will go back to the door and wait. Then, you let me know when you are done. Does that sound fair?"

He had forgotten the man was unhinged. He nodded when his new master handed him some linen then walked back to the door, leaving him the lantern. With a reckless heave on one of the chains binding his damned burdens, he positioned himself half on his side, half on his stomach, and pulled down his hole-dappled breeches. That done, he pushed the soiled half-pants past his feet, then dragged himself away from the soupy pool he had created. With his bottom lip clamped between his aching teeth, he grabbed a handful of rushes, unshorn leaves and all, and, positioning them against his crease, curled the cluster like a rolling-pin, then moved his hands further down and repeated the motion. Despite his best intention and effort, a sob of pain burst from his chest. He panted in aftershock, and relief when he saw the new master still at the doorway, then unrolled the cloth he had been given and wrapped it around his waist.

The strange man had yet to demand or discipline. This terrified him more than a caning would have. And the worst curiosity was that the new master moved and glowed like the searcher in his dreams, the phantasm who loved him and always made him feel safe. "I'm done!" he shouted. And the glow-lit face returned.

His butt hurt so much and the man's eyes glowed just as he had dreamed the last dozen times that he had had a nice dream; all he wanted to do was pull himself up to the new master's chest and cry and cry. He wanted to! He didn't dare. His throbbing backside told him this was no dream. Not really.

"I cleaned up, master. But I will still soil you." What he couldn't say was that he would bleed on the man. He hoped the linen would soak most of it.

"I'm a big boy, I can take a bit of dirt. Especially when I am with a good boy like you. Now, where is that chain?"

He almost sighed with relief. Was his new master going to pull the chain across and around his arms and his damned burdens? If he had to endure fractures and welts and scrapes, he could. Those were better than not knowing what to expect, or what was expected of him. One of his former-master's helpers liked to wrap a chain one time around his arm, and force it back and forth across the skin of his arm like a saw-blade, like a sash. Nisakh insisted if the helper was going to do that, to do it to his damned burdens, since they weren't good for much else.

The searcher found the chain and shackles for his damned burdens, found where they came together, and sang to the chain.

Do what is gracious,

Do what is just,

Good iron turn to rust,

Rust turn into dust.

"Will you permit me to pick you up, Kri-estaul?"

Afraid he would wake up he cautiously nodded. When the searcher's forearm squeezed his legs together, he whimpered. The man slowed, as if to reassure a frightened wildling. The intruder shifted his way to the lantern, picked it up, then vaulted himself to a standing position.

"Am I hurting you, Kri-estaul?" Still unnerved, the boy shook his head. If the man thought he was a burden... "Then let's get out of here. Your sister has been missing you."

His head ached again; he rested it on the new master's shoulder. His new master could not lie very well; Nisakh must not have trained him. "No she hasn't. My mother's dead. They both gave me up to the Most Terrible Lord Abduram." For the millionth time since the door opened, he wanted to go back to sleep, have a sweet dream, and never wake up again, ever. Why couldn't he just sleep and never wake up again?

They reached the open door. No lights shone but for the searcher's lantern and his eyes, but a draft of cold air swept through his shoulder blades and out his chest. Then they were out the door, and the searcher cocooned him in the folds of a cape.

"That was a lie. Your sister needs you, Kri-estaul. She has been crying rain-barrels over you."

Suddenly he hated his dream, hated this intruder. That the stranger's words might be true had to make them the meanest thing ever said to him.

"I can't leave. The Most Terrible Lord Abduram said." The boy mumbled. "And Drussie doesn't cry over anything." This guy was dreadful at lying!

Then the man gave out the strangest falsehood of all. "Lord Abduram is dead, dear child."

Looking up into those glowing eyes told him the crazy man believed his own words. In his dreams, the man with the shining eyes was all that was impossible: Sweet, straightforward, honest, comforting, gentle, never touching him unless he wanted to be held, giving him maple and peanut-paste sandwiches for dinner. But always his protector, and always truthful. He rested his head back again and thought about it.

If this were his dreams, the man would now be his new master, his friend, too. But he had learned not to trust his dreams anymore than to trust his masters. If the man who had put him down here however-long ago were dead... His old teacher had only come down to train him as a favour to the Most Terrible Abduram. If so, it would explain why he had not been visited or fed. If this were truth, was this man taking him away? To what, and where? Was he being thrown out? So now nobody wanted him? He felt no surprise, only sadness and weariness.

"Then who is going to teach me to be good?" He tried to not look his dream-rescuer in the face, tried to not show how important this question was to him.

His searcher made a noise that sounded almost like a sob, then answered. "Your sister will, from now on. And I will, too." His sister didn't want him, the Most Terrible Lord had told him so. In other words: You don't deserve an answer, evil boy.

Or you don't deserve a teacher.

As he closed his eyes against the motion of their walking and the brightness of the man's eyes, he thought, You needn't keep lying, I'm too tired to be bad.

"Oh. Okay." He acquiesced, and fell into the sleep of exhaustion, hoping the man's answer had been half truth.

Evendal found Aldul, who reported finding only dead bodies. They went up one flight and brought their burden to Anlota.

The midwife did the best she could to examine the child, given the impediment that Evendal refused to let him loose. "He needs some thin gruel first, I think. Then we'll get him more substantial stuff later. Looks like that pond-scum sucker sliced the tendons behind the boy's knees."

"I need to come to you for curse-words." Evendal decided. "Do you think it would be wiser to show him to his sister now? Or get him clean, de-loused, and in some comfort?"

"The shape he is in is not going to matter half as much to her as seeing him alive, silly."

"Then up we go."

"Mar-Depalai and I will see to the victims here." Anlota insisted.

"What have you found, so far?"

"One or two with intentionally botched amputations, infected piercings, one woman on a racking device, and a prior victim of it. Our most recent discovery was a man who apparently went after some woman the Beast had his eye on. We found him with a glass rod through his member, broken at mid-shaft. He is not going to survive. That is all so far."

"Gods! That is more than enough!"

Up two flights, through the doorway, and Evendal came upon Drussilikh, sitting out in the first sub-level corridor, wrapping linen strips around a wild-haired man with scald marks dotting his stomach.

"My Lady," Evendal hissed.

Drussilikh stood, hurried to Evendal and Aldul, her eyes fixed on the skeletal sleeper hunched against the Prince's shoulder. She said nothing, simply gripped her hands together and stuffed them against her mouth.

"Anlota says he'll recover. But it looks like he has been hamstrung. Also, he thinks he's is evil. He thought you gave him to the Beast because he was bad. Forgive my throwing this at you now, but I wanted you to know, before he awakes, what is going on in his mind. Better to hear the gist from a stranger than have him surprise you."

"Yes. I am afraid to touch him! There can't be any part of him that isn't bitten and hurting. Oh, his face!"

"He's too exhausted to care. With your permission, I would set him up in the Palace, at first. Get him clean, de-loused, and in soft bedding. Some thin oatmeal, and sleep, under the eye of a Temple priest or Anlota. After that, pending Anlota's sanction, take him home. Does that sound acceptable?"

Drussilikh's eyes hardened, then lowered. "You are the King."

Evendal felt as if he had been slapped. "That did not answer my question, Matron Drussilikh." He paused after each word.

She bit her lip. "I lost him here once..."

"Forgive me. I would not have you worried that way again. Anlota or Sygkorrin can direct someone to attend him in your home just as well. Would that suit?"

Drussilikh stared at her brother. Kri-estaul was hunched with his nose against Evendal's neck, the Prince's arm supporting him. No one had to tell her, she knew this frightening man came down to the under-grounds with the finding of Kri-estaul as his personal goal. He had treated the source of her grief and anger as a failing on his part, and was making what amends he could. Kri-estaul had one hand wedged against his chest, the other hand gripped two fingers of the Prince's supporting hand.

"That would be the most reassuring offer, Your Majesty. Provided you can likewise attend him."

Evendal opened his mouth, made a coughing sound, then shut it. "That would... I appreciate the offer, Matron. And I wholeheartedly accept." He started to bow, then, uncertain if she would accept it as honour or mockery, continued the motion to set his lantern on the floor.

The King nodded his head and turned away to go to the surface, but Drussilikh caught the glitter of tears in the glow of his eyes.

He felt his body fall backward, very briefly, as the stranger must have bowed. Suddenly, the man had the other hand free and, while holding him with one, began absently stroking his clammy back with the other. The warmth of the man's hand soothed. Enveloped in that rarest of sensations, physical warmth, and afraid it would be taken from him otherwise, he gave no protest or complaint. Rhythmic jarring and interrupted bouncing shot jolts of pain through his backside, but he pinched his lips over his teeth to keep from crying out and drawing attention to himself. Are we really going upstairs? Is he going to throw me out? The image of his body being hurled over the Palace wall, a very real fate in his mind, paralysed him utterly. But the man's hand had crept upward not downward; to caress and cup his head. The touch reassured where words would not have. The regular impact on his bones and muscles gentled, suggesting they had left the stairway, then the glowing man spoke again.

"Send someone to continue the search on the fourth level, I found the Matron's brother there. And gather more of the Guard. There will be more than we expected."

A worried-sounding tenor spoke. "How many do you want?"

"How many do we have?" The man's chest and shoulder vibrated when the man spoke; it went right through him, somehow combining with the man's warmth to calm him. If this master were always near him, he knew he would be able to sleep without bad dreams. He began to hope he was not dreaming now, and that this man truly wanted to teach him how to be good.

"Four hundred and twenty-four, my lord." The man continued to stroke his head. This felt so like his dreams, with him in his master's bed, warm, safe, loved. In those dreams his master kept watch over him, eyes glowing in that strange way that meant he was the man's own good boy, and loved in the way his Mama once loved him. Before they gave him up for being evil. And in those dreams his bum didn't hurt or bleed anymore, because this man kept him safe, but even in his sleep he still couldn't walk.

"Half." His master's response made no more sense to him than the other man's answer had. "Not for this. This is simply a section of the under-grounds that the Beast had most ready access to. Polgern knows just about every entrance and section that I know. And I am sure that the Beast learned a few of those." This new master was wise, the Most Terrible Lord Abduram knew every room in the undergrounds. The Most Terrible Lord Abduram had said as much.

"My lord, you can hardly go down every bolt-hole leading each group." Just as he thought, his new master was a powerful lord, unless he still dreamed.

"I know. But Polgern may have safeguarded some entries. Assemble what Guard you can, then I will detail the locations I recall. But I need to speak with them before they start. Also, beg all aid of the Lady Sygkorrin, for the succour of those we find. And I mean, all aid."

A third voice interrupted. "And the boy?"

He himself was the only boy he knew of who was still alive. Were they talking about him? The man's arms tightened about him. How to make sure?

"My name is Kri." He tendered, then realised that no one had asked him to speak. He held his breath, waiting for the man to throw him against a wall. He opened his eyes as the searcher maneuvered him around and held him out, away. His brief calm deserted him. "Don't, please. I'll be good." When he saw a thin, hungry-looking man reach out to take him, his heart did not slow back down. Their not tossing him to the ground for speaking, their not kicking him for being unable to walk, held no comfort. His protector had already found someone to give him away to! "Please! Don't leave me! Please?"

"Kri, listen to me. This is Aldul. He is my friend. When I was hurt he helped me and took care of me. He wants to help you."

"Don't leave me! Please? Don't give me away, please. I'll be good. Please!" He wanted to cry so bad, but he felt too tired. For the time going up the stairs, and his inexcusable nap before that, he had felt so safe, like his sweet dreams had become real. The threat of leaving his searcher, of losing the man who could love a bad, evil boy, made every ache and sore hurt worse.

"Of course you will." His master replied. He could hear the false cheer in the man's tone, poorly masking another emotion he could only assume was disgust.

"I have to help my friends find all the people that Abduram hurt. There are other people hurt like you were, and I am the only one who knows where to find them."

Though he desperately wanted some excuse to stay with his crazy master, the lord who stepped from his dreams, he knew he had no help to offer. He had not been anywhere else in the undergrounds in a long time. And since he hadn't heard any screams nearby, even after several naptimes, that meant there was no one else alive on the floor the Most Terrible Abduram had kept him in. The Most Terrible Lord Abduram had said he was a stupid, evil boy. His protector said he was good. The Most Terrible Lord Abduram's friend, Nisakh, had said he would never leave that room, nor that floor. And he knew he was now above the floor he had been trapped in for so long. Everything was turned upside-down! Suddenly very frightened at the possibilities, he clutched the man's fibula, and tried to hide the sweetness of his hope: Maybe it had all been a bad dream.

"Is my mother there?" he whispered. He didn't want to, but he had to ask. The look on the man's face gave him his answer. He clutched the silver circle harder, and stared at it avidly, to keep his face from betraying him. Nisakh and the Terrible Lord Abduram had learned what could make him cry. The Most Terrible Lord Abduram, being a lord, knew without asking or probing. Nisakh had had to pry and question and demand, and hurt him and throttle him, and...

The stranger removed the hand stroking him and tilted his face up to share stares. "No, Kri. I am sorry." And Kri could not doubt the honest sorrow in the man's words. It scared him all over again. If this was his protector, why did the man want to give him away so quickly? Was it all one big taunt or test?

"Its not your fault." he said calmly, then offered a sop. "My face hurts." If the man wanted to harm him, he could take physical pain better than the other kind.

The glowing eyes left him for a moment. "Look who has missed you."

He blinked several times, but the girl didn't go away. She grinned uncertainly at him, so it couldn't be his sister. Drussie was never unsure about anything! But he could not help cringing, revealing his fear. His master must have known how he would react, for the man's upper arm pushed out even as Kri pushed back, away from his once-sister. "Drussie," he could not keep the whine from his weepy voice. "I'm sorry, Drussie. I'm sorry." His heart hammered in his chest, wanting out. He couldn't breathe, all of a sudden. His stomach twisted, hurting and hurting.

"Shhh, Kri. I know. It is well, now. You were never bad. I'm not mad at you. And I would never give you away. Never."

She was talking to him! "I'm sorry, Drussie. I'll be good. I'll be good. I promise. Don't sell me again, please! I won't complain again."

His sister dropped to the ground for a moment and made some strange throaty sounds, then she surged right back up, shouting. "That white-livered, bloody, un-natural, dung-eating whelp of a bitch and a polecat!" He shrunk against his protector's warm shoulder and started to cry, until he realised she spoke to his protector, not to him. She wasn't angry at him? "Do you see why I trust you only so long as I can see what you are doing with my own eyes?"

To his continued confusion, his sister started crying. Hard. Then she leaned against his protector, even after shouting so at him. He didn't slap her around or punch her. He didn't even pull her dress up and hurt her that way. He simply held her. And still she tried to talk. "Oh, Kri!" she mumbled. "I love you, and I've missed you so much! Mama missed you so much! He just took you! We never sold you away! Never! We never knew what happened to you at all."

She still loved him? They hadn't given him away for being bad? Drussie had never lied to him, ever. The Most Terrible Lord Abduram had lied to him at every visit, with his offered chances for freedom. But not Drussie. Could she still love him, bad as he was? "You do love me? Still? Don't you cry, Drussie! You never cry!"

"I won't," His sister gasped, wiping her eyes. "I won't any more, if you'll come home. I'll have no reason to cry if my little brother is with me."

"I thought you didn't want me anymore." He buried his head back under the man's neck, sobbing despite his best will. His bum and his chest hurt so much when he cried, or when he took too deep a breath.

"Of course I want you. Without you around I'm just a grim old pruneface!" Drussilikh squinched up her face, and a laugh hiccoughed out of him. His heart hurt so much; he wanted to cry a fountain. He wanted to be held by her, to hug her, but knew if he moved he might start pissing again. Also, he didn't want to do anything to make his protector angry.

"Can he come, too?" He wasn't about to ignore his dream, or the searcher with the glowing eyes whom the dreams said loved him.

His sister looked up, then stepped away from his searcher, a strange look on her face. "Yes, later. Other people's little brothers are down there, needing his help. He has to help them, also."

Not where he had been, there weren't. Besides, this was his protector. "Oh. Okay," seemed the safest thing to say. He had learned not to contradict and never to complain. He had already complained once, though truthfully his face did not hurt as much as his bottom, and the lord had been gracious enough to let his comment pass.

Too quickly, the man pulled him away from the warmth. He looked back and up at his protector in a deliberate plea. "I'm scared." He ignored his bowel's threats, and the urge that the chill air elicited from his bladder.

"Easy, little man. Go with Aldul and your sister. Give Drussilikh the chance to prove her words to you. She does love you and has suffered every day you have been missing. I will be back with you as soon as I can." He nestled easily against the narrow, wide-eyed man's side. It didn't feel the same. He realised the man with the eyes glowing down on him now really was his protector. He hoped he could trust what the glowing man said to him.

"Promise?" Every ache and unnerving sight and sound disappeared as he stared and glared, finally wanting his rescuer to know how important this pledge was to him.

The man nodded, suddenly solemn. "I promise on my eyes."

"They still glow."

His finder's shining eyes widened; he looked almost frightened. "I know."

Ierwbae had all but thirty Guard assembled within a bell, which earned him a brief, proud, smile from Bruddbana. Evendal rejected any proposal to punish the absent. He merely had Ierwbae mark who they were, for later interviewing. When some measure of quiet reigned, the Prince addressed his company.

"We require your help to search the under-grounds of the Palace for abandoned victims of the Inter-regnum. If you find someone whom you feel is likely to die, give no mercy-stroke. It is not your place to make such a decision, in this instance. You share a great deal with the people you will find there. You are likewise victims. You were, at different times, forced against your better nature to harm rather than help, slander instead of uncover the truth; imprison innocents in place of the culpable. If you find one of your own victims in your search, do not act rashly. When We took your pledge, We understood some of what you had faced in Our absence, and absolved you. So if, later, a victim calls on Us for justice against you, We will tell you now what the limit of Our judgment will be: Such physical redress as the Throne can offer, and personal amends from the guilty party if guilt is adjudged. No more than that. The only exceptions to this liberality are willful acts of malice."

"Only a few days ago We took your pledge, winnowing out those who had sacrificed their wills to the co-rulers or to their own excesses. So here you stand, a Guard any monarch would be proud of, tried mightily, tested brutally, and in Our eyes most honourable. Maintain that honour, help me restore not just these citizens, but our home as well."

The under-grounds had eight entryways. Evendal directed groups to each of them, described what he recalled of their layout, and waited at each just long enough to be assured of no traps. Apparently both Polgern and the Beast relied, successfully, on their reputation to keep the curious away. As the survivors emerged, the Prince visited with each, whether they were lucid or not. And Ierwbae recorded their identities or the best guess as to their identities. The High Priestess had arrived by then, and oversaw the continued care of the victims, shuffling many off to the Temple as the Palace rooms filled.

Neither the Prince, nor his Guard, begged off when night fell. So by the fifth bell of night, all known passageways were clear of survivors and corpses.

"My lord?" Ierwbae called, wall-eyed with exhaustion.

"We have done all we can for the night. The priests and midwives will tend those wounded still needing attention. Go comfort Metthen, cousin. He must be worried what has become of you."

"But... he will ask me about the dead Guard. He will have heard."

"So? You but obeyed your King. Also, I think our work here will weigh more heavily on his heart once he learns of your part in it. Go, I know you need him after all this... horror."

"But what of you? Come, visit with us for a few moments."

Evendal shook his head. "My thanks, but no. I think I may be able to sleep well tonight. For once. I am going to my bed. And I may not emerge until the moon turns blue from cold. Give Metthendoen my love, along with your own."

Ierwbae chuckled, bowed, and walked away.

The next day, after breaking his night's fast, the Prince met with Aldul and Sygkorrin, at their request.

The High Priestess stood just shorter than Evendal, with hair an unusual auburn grown long, and indigo shadows to her eyes. Her features gave her about ten more years than Evendal, her presence gave her centuries. Evendal surprised them both by kneeling as she approached.

"Please, my lord!" she protested. "For what...?" Sygkorrin halted in mid-query, as she took in the Prince's amber glow. "You could have better warned me, Aldul."

"I told you about them."

Her laugh brought Evendal standing. "You simply said, 'His eyes glow.' I thought you were being poetic. Another way of reminding me that they are golden."

"Poetic? Me?"

"Silly of me, I know." She curtsied, and waited for Evendal to draw her up again. "Your Majesty."

"Aldul! Its interesting what you don't tell your Priestess, and what you do." Evendal remonstrated. "He knows I abhor some of the gestures and manners inherent in my station. And neglected to tell you. I know some gesture is needed, but a simple bow will serve, henceforth, from all."

"Then what of your own obeisance, just now?"

"Forgive me." He smiled ruefully. "When you walked in, I was a little boy again, confronted with the High Priestess."

"It is simply a vocation, as any other." Sygkorrin smiled.

Evendal did not smile. "So most people believe. You and I know better."

The light-hearted smile gained weight, of a sudden, but did not disappear. "Yes. I suppose we do. Shall we go?"

Evendal turned his head to one side, regarding the priestess. "Go? Go where?"

Sygkorrin glanced at Aldul. "You know where he is?" Aldul nodded. "We go to visit a casualty, my lord. That is one of the duties of a lord after a battle."

"But we are not at war!"

"What do you call the conflict between you, the Beast, and the Wise Counselor? You are found years and leagues away from anywhere and a genius, Ir, involves herself. What do you think the people you salvaged are, if they are not this war's casualties? Enough! Now, come!" With no further word, Sygkorrin walked to the Palace main entrance and out to the courtyard. Aldul raised an eyebrow in query, and he and Evendal rushed to catch up. Last to follow came the royal Guard assigned to the King.

Sygkorrin gave no clear answer to Evendal's questions of destination. "We go to comfort two innocents, caught in the internecine battling."

Sygkorrin walked swiftly without respite, as the old stone buildings gave way to structures less complete: walls of stone blocks with wooden roofing. And walls of ill-fitting stones or wood, rigged with old or repaired supports. Buildings whose insides had been gutted by fire, with stones cracked and untrustworthy, still tenanted. Funereal wreaths of varying age hung on many doorways.

"What happened here?" The Prince asked, huffing.

"Polgern and the Beast are what happened." Sygkorrin answered in a clipped, angry voice. "Purging the councils of old, uncooperative families and guilds. They set fire to the places and inhabitants, hoping to claim the property. But those buildings where a single family-member or guild-member survived, the survivor welcomed Temple representatives who just happened to need lodging outside of the Temple grounds proper. We made ourselves a presence which the duumvirate dared not threaten."

She halted in front of one building, its façade a patchwork of stone and wood. Above the main doorway hung a sign: The traditional blazon of Argent, a hand Ermine gripping a quill, crowned Or, had been replaced. Instead Sable, a hand Vert gripping a quill, crowned Gules, was the ensign that greeted the Prince as he pulled the herald-bell and got escorted into the House of the Scriveners.

Tallow candles darkened the antechamber sconces with their residue. Where Evendal would have expected linen or silk door-curtains, they pulled aside dyed burlap and reed. The approaching season threatened troubles in a building with gaping holes in its corners and warped sills; the wind whistling through the hall already chilled Evendal where he stood.

"Sygkorrin," Evendal whispered. "He won't survive the winter in this place."

The Priestess nodded. "And these people are better off than many I have assisted. Also more stubborn. But rest easy, my Prince."

'Rest easy,' he thought, rolling his eyes. Just then Drussilikh arrived to meet them, immaculate in appearance and rosy-cheeked in dismay.

"I was not expecting you so soon, Your Majesty. Greetings and health to you. And to you, Your Eminence. I had no word of your intent to visit at all."

"This is my liaison with the Palace, Aldul." Sygkorrin began. Aldul bowed. "As I explained to Lord Evendal, such visits are a vital aspect of my duty in such times as these. I know that the most Revered Anlota has done so, briefly, but I would like to examine your dear brother, and I knew the Lord Evendal had yet to formally pay his respects."

Drussilikh bowed her head, and kept her eyes lowered. "I regret you came so out of your way, but he is sleeping right now, and I would not disturb him."

Sygkorrin blinked twice in surprise. "Really, my dear. I see no reason for you to lie to us. Why not simply say you don't want anyone to see him except family."

Drussilikh's cheeks darkened further. "My apologies, Your Eminence. I do not want anyone to see him except family."

"I know," Sygkorrin returned, lightning fast. "But having talked to all living family-members, they advised me to remove him from this gusty death-trap." Drussilikh's head snapped up in alarm. "You really should not make these decisions without consulting the others, my dear. It makes for bad family feeling. Now, shall we?" The Priestess nodded toward the inner rooms.

With ill grace, Drussilikh led them within and up a flight of stairs. A post at the top and bottom were the only remaining evidence of a guardrail. The impediment of the stair to a paraplegic child, in and of itself, infuriated Evendal. All the sconces that were lit had intricately decorated reed chimneys to distract from the sooty smoke wafting from them. The manse seemed dark, depressing, deathly still, even with the chill wind striking everywhere.

The Matron pushed a drape aside and motioned within. On a huge bed, piled with cushions and pillows of every dimension, Kri-estaul lay on his back, a scarred, wide-eyed bit of flotsam in a sea of linen and silk. There was no other furniture in the room.

"You... You came!"

Not realizing, Evendal smiled wide, his eyes pooling sunlight. "Of course! I had to see my favourite little man."

"I am not a little man. I'm a boy." Kri protested, lips drawn back in what would have been a smile, but for the swelling.

"And a very strong boy, too, I hear." Sygkorrin commented.

"My manners are appalling." Evendal jested, taking the role of host that Drussilikh disdained in her pique. "Kri-estaul, Master of the Palace Under-grounds, may I present Lady Sygkorrin, High Priestess of the Archate." The boy giggled again, to Evendal's delight.

"Honoured," the lady demurred.

Kri-estaul turned a darker shade of pale. "Me too. Greetings and health to you." He mumbled.

They approached, and Evendal sat down on the bed. Drussilikh gave a sharp cry, then glowered at the Prince, who glared back. "I refuse to hover over him like some vulture."

The joy in Kri-estaul's face eclipsed any misgivings Evendal harboured about his intrusion. That pleasure did not mask the serious condition of his charge. Kri's limbs still trembled, his washed hair was the colour of slate and more brittle; his nails, even cut, were cracked and split. His head was a skull, with eyes and spirit alone animating it, sporting sores that would leave him with too many souvenirs of his imprisonment to expect kindness from his peers.

"When was the last time he was turned?" Sygkorrin interrupted Evendal's fugue.

"I moved him when we washed him for the third time, last night."

Sygkorrin said nothing, but Evendal stood and felt the room turn colder than the draft. With a quick step up to the side of the bed, the Priestess tugged all the covers off Kri-estaul. Crimson and brown semi-circles spread out about the child's thighs and knees.

With a gasp shared by Drussilikh, Evendal grabbed a cylindrical cushion, crouched beside Kri-estaul and whispered. "Do you want to go for a ride?"

Kri shied at the sudden movement, then nodded and curled his arms around the King's neck. Evendal set Kri so that the pillow rested under his knees. When Evendal lifted the child, more crimson stained the bedding where the buttocks had been. Sygkorrin separated a baby's blanket from the mass of bedding and wrapped it around the small passenger.

Evendal glanced at the Priestess. "The Palace? Or the Temple?"

"No!" Drussilikh protested. "He's mine."

"Silly brat." Sygkorrin snapped. "You don't own him. And as he is now, you cannot take care of him. Lord Evendal and I, both, have pledged our offices to his safety. Which is stronger, your love of him or your fear for him?"

Drussilikh gaped like a fish. "I can see him?"

"You could reside in the next apartment from him, if you wished." Evendal declared. "You are his family."

"No, I need to be here." She swallowed hard on her tears. "But he needs more than I know to give."

"Palace." Sygkorrin finally answered, and Evendal was down the stairs. The Guard ran to catch up.

"Am I going too fast, Kri?"

The child's giggle turned into a cough. "No such thing." He sputtered.

Once at the Palace, Evendal chose to go around to the kitchens. "Greetings Mistress Shulro. How is my premier cook?"

"Well as can be. You sure caused a lot of turmoil, my lord."

"Me? How?"

"Haha, oh you are the nis-ralur's(20) whiskers! Finding all those poor hearts struggling just underneath us all this time!" The cook focused on the boy in Evendal's arms, took a steadying breath, and forced a smile. "And who do you have here?"

"Mistress Shulro, Empress of the Palace Hearth and Heart, may I present Kri-estaul, Master of the Palace Under-grounds."

Kri laughed, still thrilled from the rushing about. The stout woman dimpled, and quickly turned away to dab her eyes.

"Do you know where Anlota might be?"

"Othanya," Shulro called out. "Go ask Mother to attend us a moment." A girl Evendal had not noticed, sitting in a corner, jumped up and out of the room.

"How about some oatmeal?" Evendal asked Kri-estaul.

"Okay. Will it have lots and lots of honey on it?"

"Naturally." Shulro chided.

Anlota came in and, with Evendal watching, wrapped anointed squares of moss on Kri-estaul's knees and heels. She then showed the Prince a large jar of ointment and insisted that it be applied twice a day.

"How often should my man turn or be turned?" the Prince asked. Anlota raised her eyebrows, but made no comment. "Blood. Probably from scrapes and bites from dragging himself on that damn bug-infested floor. Or pressure sores."

"Every bell-ring. That ointment should be perfect for his bum, as well."

" Thank you, ma'am." Kri mumbled.

Anlota smiled, turning from Evendal. "You are quite welcome, young man." She looked about to say more, but froze as she gazed at Kri.

"There you are!" Sygkorrin exclaimed from the doorway, Aldul behind her. Evendal made introductions, after which the Priestess noticed the bandages and the ointment container. Sygkorrin opened the jar, sniffed, and smiled. "Oh, excellent! Do you have more, Mother Anlota?"

"Of course, dear. I make as much of it as I can hoard. It stores well and long, too."

"I think I have been neglecting you." The Priestess said with a crafty smile. "We must talk later. And did you enjoy your trip, young man?"

"Yes, it was great, but..."

"But what, dear one?" Evendal asked.

"We're back at the Palace, aren't we?" Evendal felt the body in his arms tremble.

"Yes, we are. This is my new home. Are you afraid to be here?"

"No. I'm fine. You're here."

Evendal, keeping a gentle grip of the boy, sat down on a stool. "Yes. I may not be right beside you; I have a lot of people who need me. But if you need me, if the place gets too scary, ask for me and I will be there as fast as my legs will get me." Some instinct told Evendal not to avoid references to legs or walking. And not to pretend Kri was hale or would be.

The boy took a moment to get over his shyness, and decide whether or not to defend his courage. "What are you called?"

"Oh, I am called Rhostibombombf The Unsinkable! The most ferocious pirate and flower-seller in the world!"

Kri-estaul giggled.

Evendal swung about dramatically, imploring the aid of his makeshift audience. "The child doesn't believe me!"

Aldul huffed. "He probably guessed you couldn't swim. And you look to be fresh out of posies."

Evendal put on as pathetic a look as he knew. "No respect! I ought to have you all washing my decks... If I just knew where my ship went. I forgot to put down the anchor when I went ashore!"

Sygkorrin smiled, oddly intent on Kri-estaul's happy face as Evendal continued.

"And as for my City-wide, flower-selling business, famous all over Kelotta... Well,... er, well, I got so hungry! And I could not find anyone selling spiced worms. Let me tell you, thistles hurt going down the gullet! And those rose-thorns get stuck in the gums!"

"No. You know better, don't you, lad." The King turned quickly serious. Evendal rested the child's spine and head against his arm so they could look at each other. "I am called different names by different folk. I am called Lord, King, Left Hand of the Unalterable, the algae-eating-dastard-who-wouldn't-stay-dead..."

"You are the King?" Kri asked, his eyes grown big.

"Yes. Until I find someone better suited."

"And you came and found me?"

"Of course."

"Drussie said you were looking just for me?"

How to explain the inexplicable. "She told the truth. As soon as she told me about your being kidnapped, I knew I had to find you, and soon."

"But she said I was taken a long time ago. Two years? That she thought I had died already."

"Yes. The Terrible Lord Abduram..." Shulro spat, but Evendal continued. "He used to hurt everyone so badly, they died quickly. Why did Drussilikh tell you all this?"

"Well, she didn't tell me. She was arguing with Uncle Kiulen, outside my room. I heard her tell him." Kri paused, but held Evendal's gaze, letting him know he had more questions.

"Why did you come looking for me? Did you know I wasn't dead?"

"I hoped."

"But you came looking for me?"

Somehow Evendal had not understood the question, had not fully answered it. "I liked your sister, she's a brave person. She hurt so much over you. I felt angry that Abduram had punished you for running down a corridor, for doing what boys do!"

"But it was wrong."

"No. It wasn't." Evendal replied with some heat. "Don't ever think that. I wish the whole Palace could be filled with children laughing and running and being themselves!" His ambivalence toward children notwithstanding, at that moment he meant it.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Most Terrible Lord. I'm sorry."

"Shhh. Easy there, Kri-estaul. I am not a 'Most Terrible Lord.' And you have no reason to apologise, ever again. My name is Evendal."

"So you came looking for me?"

Evendal felt he understood. "Yes, Kri-estaul. I don't know how I knew. I just knew that, if you were alive, I needed to find you. That I needed you. That I needed you very much."

"But I am just a boy. You are the King."

"That name kind of scares me. Evendal is the one I like, so far." He hesitated, wishing he did not have so much of an audience. "'Your friend' would be the best name of all. Is that alright with you?"

"Do you mean it?"

"With all my heart." With a start, Evendal saw the boy's eyes fill. "Why do you cry, little one?" he murmured, alarmed.

Kri-estaul just shook his head and tried to burrow it into Evendal's chest. After a long moment of shudders and shaking, the boy spoke out. "I waited for you. Even when I thought no one was ever going to let me out. It was dark and... Scary, and lonely. And The Terr... He scared me. He smiled when he pulled my hair... hung me up by my legs. He laughed and laughed when he... And I begged him to let me go. But... But, I just knew I was never going to leave! I was never going to be a good boy."

Evendal wrapped both arms around Kri-estaul and rocked him slowly. "Take a deep breath. Good. Again. Tell me more, little man. Your safe, now."

"Promise? Do you promise? The Terrible Lord, he said... he said Drussie gave me to him. That nobody wanted me around anymore. That everyone forgot me. He said... if I were a good boy, I'd jump into the jakes... drown in the shit I am."

"I am glad you didn't." Evendal exclaimed. He heard Shulro choke up behind him.

"I waited for you. I waited and waited. You finally came."

For a long time all Evendal could do was hold the trembling survivor and rock him slowly, himself trembling with rage and pain. "What do you mean that you waited for me?"

"I dreamed you would find me." Kri-estaul explained, face rubbing the Prince's chest. "I used to dream of your eyes glowing down at me, your arm holding me... Safe. I wanted that so much. I waited for you to come and find me. And you came!" Kri-estaul stretched his arms as far as he could around Evendal and held tight as he cried his relief.

Stunned, Evendal continued rocking the child.

"Please don't ever leave me. I'll be good. I'll be good."

Feeling utterly lost, the Prince looked to Sygkorrin and Anlota. The Priestess just smiled and waved at him as if to say, 'You're on your own'. Anlota simply grabbed the jar of ointment and slid it over to where Evendal perched, then whispered in Aldul's ear. The Kwo-edan smiled and rushed through the doorway leading to the Palace interior. At that moment Evendal saw Drussilikh standing in the entrance, quiet, her eyes red and puffed.

"Matron. What do I do?"

Drussilikh scowled at him. "He trusts you, Lord Evendal. I don't like it, or understand it. But he's been hurt so much. I... I can't see him hurt again."

"I would tear my eyes and heart out first!"

"I believe you." Anger and sorrow rent her voice; Evendal knew those words came hard. "As ruler-returned you have a kingdom to restore. Instead here you are, healing my little brother." She sighed. "Just... Just let me see him sometimes."

With a jolt of alarm, Evendal realised what Drussilikh presumed. On the heels of that revelation, came the realisation that his only alternative was hurting an already traumatised child. Evendal was sure he turned a number of interesting shades, as Drussilikh's lip quirked.

"My offer still stands, Matron." Evendal tendered, grasping for any option. To his dismay, Drussilikh shook her head.

"I cannot. Or else I must leave the Office of Quill-master, our mother's legacy, to kin who have more dreams and greed than sense."

Still shaken, the Prince sat down. "Then... Know that you are welcome at all times. Whatever the hour. He will need you, desperately. Nevermind him. I will need you desperately!"

From Evendal's shoulder, Kri piped up. "I have to pee." Drussilikh barked a laugh through her tears.

Saying nothing, Evendal Lord of Osedys removed the blanket, carried Kri-estaul to the nearest jakes-closet, and pulled the boy's bedgown out of his way. The child took a long time, as embarrassment stymied his efforts. Evendal, uncertain what to do, petted Kri's head and whispered. "You are doing fine, little man. Rest easy." He resolved to build an armchair with a gap in the seat for each jakes in the Palace.

When they emerged, Aldul had returned. In place of the blanket, the Kwo-edan offered the Prince a different covering for the boy. Evendal looked searchingly at Drussilikh, who smiled uncertainly and nodded. Still hesitant, he turned to Anlota. "What of Ierwbae?"

"You really are a silly boy. And thoughtful. But as head of the family, I stand in witness, and remind you of my first word of advice."

"What are you all talking about?" Kri-estaul murmured, worried at his sister's weeping and confused with all the strange looks people exchanged.

"Kri-estaul. Would you like to live here?"

"No! Don't put me back there!" the child cried, terrified. "I'll be good!"

"No, no. Never! I swear it." When the boy calmed again, Evendal turned him to look eye to eye. "I mean here above ground in the Palace. With me. Would you like to be my family?"

"Why?" Before Evendal could recover from the blunt question, the child elaborated with frightening candor. "Why do you want me? Drussie didn't want me to know, but I know I can't walk. Ever! And I'm too ugly! Always will be." The boy stared up at Evendal, his need to know stronger than his need for the release of tears. "What do you want me for?"

"Oh, Kri!" Evendal drew in a ragged breath. He wanted to tell the boy that all his scars would go away, that he would magically make him walk again. The words were on the tip of his tongue. He did not speak them, knowing against all his inclinations that this survivor needed the truth.

"Yes. You will never be able to walk, ever. And yes. You have scars all over your face and body. Some will go away. Some won't, ever. But when I look at you I see a beautiful boy, smart and strong. I see someone good who survived the worst evil. You waited for me. For me! You stayed alive for me. How could I not want you?"

Kri-estaul blinked tears out of his eyes to see the King, his whole body tense and quivering with a dark uncertainty. "What would I be? Brother? Cousin?..." He swallowed.

"Bi... Bitch?" The word was whispered, rasped, with a world of fear and pain in it; uncapping the wellspring from which all the boy's questions flowed.

And Evendal suddenly wanted to set fire to the city that spawned Abduram. For a long moment he couldn't see, he thought his heart would burst from the pain. Thousands of pinpoints of light swarmed and whirled in his vision. The pressure in what might be his chest already burned, ready to start a cleansing conflagration. Then someone gripped his shoulder, hard, and he drew the breath his body had been screaming for.

When his eyes could focus again, Sygkorrin, Drussilikh, Anlota and Shulro were all huddled to one side of the kitchen. Kri-estaul still nested on his arm, the boy's eyes like saucers. Aldul stood beside him, keeping Evendal upright in his seat. The doorway to the outside had been widened by twice its width, the door gone, and rubble littering the ground beyond.

"Aldul?"

"Here, my lord. My friend."

"What... happened?"

"You shouted, 'No!'" he hesitated. "The walls shook with it. You twisted your head this way and that. When you faced the doorway, you shouted, 'Never!' And that part of the doorway... went. For a moment there were flames flickering around it."

"Around Kul-stone?"

"That is what we saw, my lord."

Evendal decided not to think about it. It was beyond him what he could do about it anyway. Nobody ran screaming from him, now that his moment of rage was ended. Indeed, he seemed to be the one most shaken by it. He looked down at the bundle in his arms, took a second deep breath, and strove to sound calm.

"Kri-estaul. I would never hurt you. I would never ask that of you. I do not want it. If you still want to be with me, you can be whatever you want to be. If I scare you, you can stay with your sister, who loves you, too."

Kri-estaul shook his head. "Will you be my papa?"

Evendal thought, he's turning me into a puddle of pudding. He glanced up at Drussilikh, who had moved to stand beside them. She nodded, but made a chopping motion in the space between her and the King. Evendal swallowed hard. "But how can you trust me?" he asked the Matron, flicking his eyes at the expanded doorway.

Drussilikh answered. "You love him."

At the same time Kri-estaul, thinking the question his, crowed. "You love me." He quickly nestled his head against Evendal's chest, suddenly shy.

But Drussilikh added. "More important to me, you can keep him safe. He could have no better protector."

"Legal fictions aside, you are still his sister."

Drussilikh nodded, not speaking.

"Here, my lord." Aldul proffered the cape he had retrieved from the Prince's apartment.

"Kri-estaul, with this We claim you kin: Our own son. With all the rights and responsibilities inherent in Our station. The right to Our love and care unstinting. The right to Our Presence without petition. The right to Our Name and all its privilege. All that We have and hold in trust, is your heritage henceforth - unless you will it otherwise."

With Aldul's help, Evendal set the cape about Kri's shoulders, clasped it, then folded the bottom half and tucked it under the arm supporting the boy. That done, the Prince turned his son about so that all could witness.

"Will you so honour Us, so honour me, as to accept Our petition, my petition? Will you be a good son to Us, to me? Now, and in all the days to come?"

Kri-estaul's smile dazzled Evendal's eyes for its glow. "I will. I will. I will be your son, Papa!"

Kri-estaul put his arms around the Prince, and Evendal felt he had finally found home.

---------------------------------------- (20)nis-ralur(near-ralur)lynx-sized cats

This seems as good a place to stop as any. This was only the beginning for Evendal at striving to heal his home and his son, and himself. And there is a reason why I chose Nifty to house this chronicle... I will rely on the few respondents I have gotten to tell me if they have had their fill.

a page with maps and pics for the curious can be found at http://www.homestead.com/evendal/Kelotta.html