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Novel 2 Part 2 Chapter 7 - The Judge's Usual Morning Routine

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38 - High Hopes

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe 'hAkribastes's Travel Log

* * *

There is, on the floor in front of me, a bound Emperor.  My long-lost son is recovering from enduring servitude to that Emperor, and the complete list of acts he has had to endure or participate in has yet to be made apparent to me.  I worry more about Lyric's mental well-being than his guilt.  Gerald seems fine, but has his share of stories to tell me.  Cade has been bound similarly to the Peacock King, by Jhe Camden.  Who, incidentally, has a lot of talking to do.  There are freed slaves all around and I've no idea what to do with them.  There is a wronged, angry animism stalking about as if he were a housecat whose tail had just met the wrong end of a rocking chair.

Finally there's my bloody idiotic nephew Jax and his unfortunate choice in partners.  The Peacock King's younger daughter, whose name has been given to me as Rocsui.  I can tell as much as any trained Poet that's a false name, forced upon her.  She's no longer spellbound and frozen still, but is in quite a daze, and right now no one has any better idea of what to do with her than let Jax comfort her, which I can't say is that bad of an idea.  At least he's found a way to make himself useful that doesn't involve replacing paid maintenance crews.  His Father will be so proud.

There's dead guards strewn about, and every few minutes an Armed gets in a tussle with a few servants trying to run to the aid of their captured King.  Can I blame the servants?  No.  Is this arrangement going to work for thirty more minutes?  No.  But there's the problem of leaving a mess here just as much as there's the problem of staying here safely.

The Peacock King flails against his bonds, only to be slammed down against the floor by the forces that make up his cuffs and collar.  He writhes for a short while.  I can't knock him out.  The binding will hold, yes, but try as I might I can't knock him out here, in his own domain, and if I tried any harder I'd crush his skull like a watermelon.  The idea has its appeal but it would make his daughters sad, and cause some very unwanted complications in global politics.

That's the worst part of this - he could very well have earned himself a death sentence, but Radia needs him alive.  It is not possible for us to go on without a treaty with Audiva Rocale.  Without its monarch, Audiva Rocale will crumble into anarchy.

...I need help.

The measures are quick and I will not go into them in detail.  Best not to let it be known exactly how we accomplish it, lest others see through the tricks if we ever have to do it again.  In an emergency such as this, and with discovery by the King no longer an issue, transport over the border can now be rather swift.  They are teleported in.  The crew looks over the wards first.  Over the King.  Over the entire lay of the Palace.

I will go so far as saying we will find a way to make the King's absence less evident, and begin sneaking the freed slaves to Radia. Most of the freed spirits can find their own way, if they have a place they would rather go.  The ones that are injured or broken...

I turn to Faun.  He glares up at me, wearing his proper furs now.  The servant robes he was wearing before are in shreds at the base of the Peacock King's throne.  He tore them off and flung the furs onto himself right on that spot, for all to see.  Just as one should expect from one of the wild ones.  I raise an eyebrow at him. He only glares further.

"Jhe Faun.  Please tell me what I can do for your kind here."  I ignore his bristling hair and bared teeth.  He has been greatly wronged for quite some amount of time.  I fully understand why he is acting as he is.

I only hope I can forestall him from striking at anyone in here.

"Much needs to be done, but I do not know if your kind are sufficient to get it done, something I say out of honesty and not spite.  I can say who is required here to bring about the needed healing, but I have another suggestion instead."  I nod, and gesture for him to go on.  "Talk to the Dragon of this land.  You should know him well, I imagine.  I smell the blood on you."

I can't help but snort.  Animisms are so well known for seeing past what is obscured purposefully, sniffing out the true natures of things.  "Fine, then.  You are correct.  I do know him.  Thank you, I shall speak with him.  Do you suggest anything for the short term?"

He nods, expression clouding with worry.  "Don't let anyone come in and tamper with them.  Don't let anyone interact with them who is uneducated as to their natures.  I...would help, but I must accompany you to Radia for the King's Trial."

I raise an eyebrow.  How preemptive of him.  "So you shall.  Would you prefer I escort you directly, or will you travel alone?"

"Neither, unless you are escorting your son home."

My eyebrows shoot up.  He goes on.

"I am traveling with him, now.  I will claim him as my Poet if the Jhe 'hLogos grants me such."

I'm pretty confused by this, but don't want to spurn the animism his choice.  "...Has Gerald done a good job of it here, then?  That's...gratifying."

His eyes widen, and then he crooks a foxish grin.  "Nay, sire.  Your son by the haerphitl, your son who managed to ensnare even the Peacock King in his Poetry.  His skills are unsure, but he shall grow in time, blossom just as flowers do.  Lotus was a silly stage-name, but an appropriate one at that."  He laughs.  I can't school my expression right now, damnit.  "Oh, so you didn't know?  My, my.  You should have him trained as soon as he reaches Radia.  He'll be even more trouble if he's left to his own ends for any longer."  He turns, walking towards my son.  The tails hanging on the bottom of his fur robes sway, taunting me.

I can't help but growl.  I walk to my son as well, faster than the animism.  I'm much taller, after all.  And he may have his claim on the woods, but that is my son, damnit, and I haven't seen him in far, far too long.

Lyric is still small, even though he's obviously grown a bit older.  Strange, so much shorter than his twin brother Lute.  He's also tired, dazed, and hurt.  How long has he been here before his Uncle told me he found him here?  How long did I let him--

--No, I can't blame myself right now, even though I will anyway.  I take a knee and lean him back from Gerald, who still blanches at the possibility of me speaking with Lyric.  Lyric doesn't fight me, which is a relief, especially since I expect it.  He just looks at me, clear blue eyes wet with tears that trail through his makeup.

"Are you willing to come back with me to Radia, son?"  His eyes widen, and something in his shoulders untenses.  He was expecting me to scold him.  I look a little deeper than he knows, and I see the binds still hanging around his soul, the wounds that have been dealt to his mind and will, and the pain he's endured.

He swallows, makes a tiny nod, and then buries himself into my chest.  I'd like to hear very soon just what it is that he's so afraid of.  For now, I hold him until he stops shaking.  "I have to leave with the Peacock King, Lyric.  I'll be back for you after he's been arranged for.  ...So stay here while I'm away, please."

"I won't run off."  He sniffles.  "Are Ger and 'Rude staying?"

"They'll be with you.  It'll be alright."  I lean him away, and Gerude hunkers down beside him.  Lyric doesn't look too upset, all things taken into account.

I have no choice but to leave, then, to attend to my duty.  Faun watches as I walk away, then approaches my son.  I pin him with a glare.

The animism startles, then blinks.  "You'd dare impede me?"

"You of all creatures would know to permit a dragon his territory."  At that he draws back, instead walking off to one of the confused dryads that is wandering around.

I walk up to the Peacock King.  He stares up at me, his eyes half-fogged with the binds of collar and cuffs.  That even his gaze has to be bound speaks volumes for how much he's fighting the binding.  I twirl my Trident midair, then strike it down.  When it impacts with the floor, we simply cease to be in that room, and reappear where I will it, in Radia.

* * *

...I'm afraid to go.  I hear Gerude tsk.

"Hey, man, I can see it on your face, but we're not letting you run away again."  I nod.  He pats my shoulder.  "Here, it's gonna get boring if you just sit there in stone-stiff-terror.  Let's say we all play cards."  He fishes a beaten up deck from his pocket, then starts dealing to the three of us.

Gerald snorts.  "Like hell I'd play with you.  You always cheat."  He picks up his hand regardless, squinting as he considers what he's been dealt.

Gerude gives Gerald the death-eye for thirty solid seconds.  "You.  The notorious sneak-peeking Poet.  Accuse me of cheating."

"Damn right I am.  Lyric, look at your damn cards."  I jump, then pick through my hand.

"...What game are we playing?"  I hear a sigh from behind me, and then Jenny flops down to sit beside me.  She tosses a spare shirt into Gerald's lap, for which my brother looks absolutely grateful.  His current one has had enough with life, and it's time to put it down.

Jenny looks over her shoulder.  "Oy, Rachella!  Come on, we're playin' poker!  No, none of you horseasses are joinin' in, go back to work!  Hurry, Rachella!  I wanna place bets on who catches Gerald at cheating first!"

"HEY!"

I chuckle, which is really odd to do, because so much of me just wants to break down and cry right now.  It could really be alright, couldn't it?  Going back home, to Radia, after ten years away?  Facing all those old friends and relatives, explaining myself?  Accounting for everything I've done while I was away, and everything I've done and seen in this place?

The first game ends early when Jenny kicks Gerald in the eye for "cheating in a way so obvious that it ruined the betting odds."  Rachella deals the next hand with a sigh.  Time goes by, and somehow I enjoy just sitting here laughing.  I honestly can't remember when the last time was that I'd done anything like this.

Maybe it's what home is supposed to be.

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Resumed Mission Log

* * *

We go through ten games before my Father returns, looking much more tired than when he left us.  Lyric, bless him, goes white as a sheet and sits up rail-straight.  I laugh and slap him on the back.  "Here," I say, hauling myself to my feet, then lending him a hand, "get up.  Time for you to go home."

I feel my Father's hand on my shoulder, that weight just as ominous as it always has been, and my mind does that automatic thing where it runs through every possible misdeed I might have committed since I was three.  "You're not staying here, Gerald.  Come on.  You're dead on your feet."

I almost laugh, then realize the room's tilting a little not because of some freak decision by an avant-garde-obsessed architect, but because I'm leaning sideways from fatigue.  He puts his other hand on Lyric's shoulder, guiding him forward gingerly.

Faun steps behind Lyric, looking up at my Father.  The Judge looks back down at the animism.  "Yes, you are permitted to join us."  The animism simply shakes his head.

"I will come find him when I need him.  You have staked your claim.  I trust I shall be summoned for the Trial."  Then he turns and...just bloody disappears. Somewhere around a corner is the odd sound of fur and wings rustling together, and then a wind rushes out through the doors.  My Father just sighs heavily.

"Let's get you boys home before you get into any more trouble here."  And with that, my mission in Audiva Rocale ends.

I think I'd call it a success.

* * *

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37 - Swansong

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Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe 'hAkribastes's Travel Log

* * *

I only see one thing during this moment.  ...That's an error.  I can see many things at a time, as that is a function of being the Law.  There is only one thing that I am focused solely upon at this moment.  It is the Jhe o'Sul's face rushing towards me, eyes widening but still full of mad rage, still utterly convinced he'll have his way and take his vengeance.  I correct that assertion by driving my knee up into his nose.

He claws his way away from me, lurching to the side.  For some reason he doesn't let go of his whip.  I only grin.  He snaps the whip away from Diyn's teeth, dissipating the snared length and then rematerializing it after it's unsnared.  Oh, what a cute trick.  He looks down at me with disdain, which is impressive considering the blood trickling from his nose and the strange crooked angle the feature's been bent to.

"You dare assault me in my Court, Judge?  How shameful.  Perhaps I should teach you a lesson in decorum."

"Sometimes I wonder why I let criminals speak for so long instead of sealing their fool mouths, and then you go and say something like that.  Do you care to back up such a threat?  I should love to see you try."  I watch him grin, the marks on his face twisting more than the shift in expression can account for.  His eyes glisten with glee.  He's coveted a rare prize for so long, and now it's come to him.  He has apparently long awaited this opportunity.

That jewel in the middle of his crown winks and pulses as he gathers power.  I can feel his Will pressing against me, trying to force me, of all entities, to kneel before him.  Is this what he used against my son?  I'm proud of Lyric, then, for standing up under that weight.

I don't move.  I don't even show a sign that I feel what he's attempting.  He only gloats and tries harder, as if that trick is going to work.  For the rest of the room, this part of the battle must be very boring.  It is two men staring at each other, one looking progressively more snakeish and squinty as time passes.

"Is that all?  Or were you not done yet?"  I ask him in the same tone of voice that I order drinks with.  He starts.  I twirl my Trident in a lazy arc, looking up at him with a questioning eyebrow.

He glowers at me, wipes his nose, then makes a gesture of cutting and focusing forward.  Openly attacking me with his Will, now?  Nothing impacts.  He's making this boring for the audience, good Graces.  He hisses.  "You can't be immune.  You stand in my Court, on my land, in my domain."

"You cannot bend the Law."  I stop Diyn mid-swing, the middle tine of the Trident pausing right under Ebrellin-i's chin.  He glances down at it with such Xaillyndesse disdain that I almost gore his throat with it right then and there.  "You cannot make another hold responsibility for your transgressions against the Law. Do you not understand that I can hear the lies in that which you say, gauge the depths of your half-truths, pick out the tiny grain of deceit in a river of double-speak?  If you forced the boy to his knees it would only change his latitude, not the validity of his words.  It would only show you to be even more guilty of tyranny and oppression than you have already proven yourself to be.  Can you even say anything for yourself, or are you going to impress me with yet another mis-step?"

Ebrellin-i hisses and makes a gesture to silence me.  "Get out of my Court.  Your presence is not condoned here."

I chuckle.  "Oh, believe me, it rarely is."

"Your Armed have come here, used my land to ill intent, spied on me, soiled the purity of my daughter, assaulted me, and made a mess of my Palace.  You invade and search without warrant or cause.  Leave me be and leave in peace."

I snort.  "Are you trying to plead insanity with those words?  Do you even realize half of what you've been caught doing?"

"IF YOU DON'T LEAVE MY COURT IN PEACE I WILL DESTROY EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!"  He leaps forward, hand going for my throat.  I swing the Trident to the side a little, catching him in the head with one of the arms.  It should have knocked him out.

Whatever keeps him moving after that, I cannot say, but he screams out something incomprehensible, just a long, wretched shriek, as his body writhes on the floor. Then he begins to crawl towards Lyric.  "Traitor!  Foul cretin!  You dare seduce me and lead the Judge into my chambers where he can twist truth into lies at his own whim!  I should have collared you from the start!  I should have known better than to trust you!"  Lyric takes delicate steps backwards, keeping out of the King's range.  The King lunges forward, fingers barely grazing Lyric's slipper.  Then, something spills out of his mouth that I never, for all my instincts, expected to hear at that moment.

"My consort-King, free me from the grasp of those who would overtake and drag your Empire into nothing...flow your power into me and I promise I will carve with it a path to destruction and ruin over which only you will reign."

My Trident snaps down over his wrist so fast that it's not a matter of movement so much as manifesting in that one spot.  My power comes down upon him in the way that he'd earlier tried to assail me.  It doesn't so much knock him out as throttle him into incomprehension, his mouth still babbling speech in a language that I'd sooner forget I'd ever heard even once.

Nul-deh'le.  The un-tongue.

Lyric's shaking, having retreated into the shadow of a statue standing nearby.  He lets out a terrified whimper, and I realize with dawning horror that this isn't the first time he's heard that language spoken.

Cade.  The turning and enslaving of more people, creatures and spirits than anyone had guessed at.  The long-standing rumors and the air of pure oppression in this Kingdom.  There can be only one central source for them all, and foolish Ebrellin-i named that source with his own tongue, in its own tongue.  Nul.  He bows and pays tribute and beseeches to Nul.  This King, that we have kept the shakiest of treaties with, that we have so long clashed wills and wits with, that has caused the world so much blasted trouble, has made a pact with Nul.

I want Justice.  But to bring a case like this to Trial is almost as far from my desires as something can hope to get.

* * *

I know someone sits next to me, but I don't look up.  I'm a little frozen, I guess.  I keep my knees hunched up under my chin.  I'm cold.  Numb.  I know there must be a lot going on in the world around me right now, must be so much chaos in this room, but I don't hear any of it.  It's like being submerged in a pool that's surrounded by a large group of very loud people.  I can tell they're there, but what they're saying doesn't mean much to me or what I'm doing.

"--ric?  Here, turn and face me.  Lyric.  Lyric.  Don't zone out on me.  Here, do you see me?  Come on, focus.  Lyric?"

I cringe away.  I can't even tell who it is.  Everything's just a blur and I don't want to pay any attention to it.  For all I care the world can stay an incomprehensible blur.  Incomprehensible blurs probably didn't hurt too many people, in the history of things.

I think I'm being shaken by the shoulders.

"He's lookin' a little green there, Ger.  I think he's gonna puke."

"Oh shit 'Rude you're ri--"

The world heaves up.  Or maybe that's just my stomach.  When I can focus again, things come clear and I see I'm on my hands and knees.  I can hear someone else approaching, going on about needing napkins but she has a handkerchief or two on her for Gerald and me.  She starts wiping my face but I manage to do that on my own.  I check over my clothes.  Just a few bits of filth here and there.  It's a uniform, anyway.  The Peacock King can worry about getting it cleaned.

The Peacock King--

My eyes widen, I turn to the side, and Gerude has time to curse and step back before I manage to puke on his boots.

"He's a damn cannon," Gerald groans.  I look up at him.  He's trying to clean his shirt off, but it's a losing battle.  Wow, I got him good.  Then I gag a little, and there's a scurry of footsteps away from me as I turn and hurk up a little more of whatever I've eaten over the past five days.

Gerude snorts from a few paces away.  "Not much different than before he left home, then."  He sighs.  "I wonder if the cleaning staff here has all run off yet?"

Gerald sighs.  "They probably sharpened their mops and fought to the death or something.  ...Oh shit, Lyric, don't start puking again."

"Ger, I think he's out of ammo.  Look, stop trying to save your shirt, it's a goner.  Help me sit him up.  Here.  Lyric?  Come on.  Everything's going to be okay.  Oh shit, don't you start crying now--"

Gerude checks over me, laying a hand on my forehead, looking into my eyes as best as he can considering the tears.  "Rachella?  You have any more handkerchiefs left?"

"...No.  You can keep those, in fact."

"Oh, thanks."  Gerude runs a finger along the collar around my neck, then shudders.  "We need to get this off of him.  It's got to be making him sick."

"Here, let me look at him.  Lyric if you throw up on me again so help me..." Gerald doesn't bother and just trails off the threat.  He puts a hand on each cheek, looking into my eyes, his brow furrowing as he frowns.  "Gerude, hold him up.  He's having a trouble even sitting up."

"I am no-oof!"  Gerude yanks me to sit straight up, arms around me from behind my back.  I guess I was slouching.  It's a little hard to think.

"Okay," Gerald's voice is calm and even, a touch of lightness to it that I know is false.  "Lyric, stay still, alright?  Gerude is holding you, so just relax.  And trust me."  Dangerously calm, just like Father.  Cold metal slides over my neck, grating against the metal of the collar.  I startle a little bit, but I force myself to be calm and I close my eyes.

'Aye, I won't hit ye, but this might sting a wee bit.'

The rapport roars, heat blossoming at the side of my neck.  Something cuts me, probably the shrapnel from the thing.  There's the sense of a hand gripping me, then slipping away as the collar falls down and clatters on the floor.  Gerald leans me forward against him as a coughing fit overtakes me.  Wagner's smoky.

'Ooo, ye recognized me?'

'Did he pee 'imself?'

'Dunnae smell like it.  The boy's Father will be right proud.'

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Jennelcia Akribastes's Travel Log

* * *

The Judge looks down at the figure of the Peacock King, who now lies somewhat still, though amazingly remains conscious.  He's well-restrained, barely moving, but still continues to speak in that language that sent chills throughout the entire room, only now he speaks it so slowly that it takes about thirty seconds for an entire 'word' to get out.  That makes it even creepier somehow.

I wonder why Daddy's even letting him go on like this, just lying there without any restraints.  Silly me!  Daddy's already on it.  He's just concentrating.  He always gets a funny look on his face when he's in deep thought.  He looks very, very serious, and I just wanna honk his nose.  The air crackles around him, he's focusing so hard.  I know what he's going to do, too.  I've been trained in it.  I um...well, I've achieved what Camden would call a 'success', but the results weren't something that could really leave a prisoner able to testify.  I've been told, in rather wry tones, that it requires a lot of focus and restraint to do properly.

It's funny, the Peacock King might even be familiar with the technique.  It seems like something that would be right up his alley.

'Sy grips the Trident by its staff, which still stands upright in the air, the tines of the Arms embedded around the Peacock King's wrist.  The weapon warps, a ripple flowing down the pole and to the point where the tines fork out.  They bend and grip the King's wrist, then, snaring it like a cuff.  It's cute, he screams in the most genteel manner.  He tries to struggle, but the cuff forces his wrist to the ground as if the Trident were still pinning him.

'Sy swings the Trident over to the other wrist, then, pinning it down with a quick strike that the King can't evade.  He cuffs it, then raises Diyn once more, staring down at Ebrellin-i.

The King manages focus again, breaks off his creepy moon-language monolouge, and then has the audacity to glare up at the Judge and spit.  For the record, because he didn't aim it right, it falls back down and splats on his blood-crusted nose.

Daddy snorts.  "I should have gone ahead and done this when you were up against the wall."  He stabs the Trident downward.  I almost wish he'd gotten the bastard in the throat, but no.  Daddy's Aim is always precise, and he pins Ebrellin-i's neck between the tines yet again, the Trident flowing into a matching collar that I'm sure my brother would describe as tasteful as well as elegant.

Bound with the full power of the Law, Ebrellin-i stares up in confusion, utterly silent.  He turns his head, staring out at whatever's in his range of view.

It's Lyric, leaning against Gerald's shoulder while Gerude kicks at the remains of that cursed pet collar.  Then something catches the King's eye, and he looks back up.  Faun steps near him now.  Staring.

The animism looks sad, for some reason, and then levels a glare of accusation at the Judge before backing away and looking at Lyric.  He sniffs my brother over, then trots off to the throne to collect his furs.  I don't know, alright?  Animisms are fucking strange.

* * *

(Note from Irk: The next update will the the final chapter of In the Court of the Peacock King, Novel 1 in The Peacock King Trilogy!)

36 - In Flagrante Delicto

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Mission Log

* * *

Cade eases his way down the dark hall, angling Gerude's body so that his knees don't bump too much against the stone walls.  Can't have him getting too serious of an injury, after all.  He might need the boy to walk, later.  Or to do menial labor.  Who's to know what's ahead?  The Castle is falling and it's time to move on, as Cade always does, after collecting his souvenirs.  It's only a little ways farther, and then he can be out of here, on to the next Court, or gang of bandits, or future disaster site.  Who's to tell, with his life?  The Jherent Nul always makes it an interesting ride for him, and could he ask for more?

Of course not, not when he can always just take it for himself.

The Jherent o'Audiva Rocale was right about one thing - this Armed certainly looks just like his brother.  It's a shame he isn't his brother, but Cade will make do, just as he always does.  Looks close enough to pretend, at any rate.  Are we getting close, now?  He's growing impatient.  It's time to leave this empire.  The Judge is here already, and Cade's skirted the Law too many times to believe he'll always make out that lucky.  It would also be inconvenient to get caught and expose his master's involvement in the Peacock King's crimes.

So Cade thinks, and so he sneaks back into his so-called office, dropping my brother's body onto the bed I not too long ago occupied.  He locks the shackles around his wrists and ankles, then looks down, chuckling at how similar he looks to me.  Then he looks up at an unexpected noise and meets Wagner's barrel as it strikes him across the jaw.  Bruce goes for his nose.  I'd say the shot at the moment the barrel strikes his nose from the side was unintentional, but it wasn't.  Cade screams, grasping for the bloody stump where his nose used to be, which is enough of an opening for me to club him over the head and...kick him a lot while he's down.  I'm only paying him back for what he and his men gave me.

After awhile that gets boring and I decide to unchain my stupid brother.  Lazy sot.  Comes in at the end of things to save the day, and where is he?  Lying around in bed.  Well, he can have his nap.  Time to ransack Cade's desk.  There's Elric's poor quill, alright...and here's Cade's writings.  Oh, good.  He was fool enough to keep a journal.

Looks like I've found more useful things in here than just my brother.  I give Cade another kick in the head before trying to rouse Gerude.  It's probably going to take awhile - the dip's always had a habit of sleeping in.  I want the help when it comes to dragging Cade out of here.

* * *

I can't do much here but watch as Faun speaks to the dryads and nymphs.  The small ones he just brushes with his fingertips.  They blink, look around them with confusion, and then start to leave.

The larger ones, the ones that look like humans with strange features added...those take more time.  Faun looks like he's having trouble.  He'll reach up and touch their cheeks, or their foreheads, and concentrate.  For some, their eyes clear and focus after that, and they start to ask questions, look around them, or simply just disappear to who knows where.  A few, Faun has to take aside and sit down.  I realize why after a few moments.  One's missing an arm, another is blind...four more have no tongues.

"See, Lyric," he says low, as if he were speaking in church, "some didn't go willingly under his command.  There were some that he had to break for that to happen.  You see what happened to them, when he did?" I nod.  "What am I to do, to free them?  I'm as helpless to change them as I am to heal my own mother."  He glares down, looking at no one.  "Only the Peacock King could hope to free them.  Do you see what a mess this is?"  He sees me nod.  "Then what do you think?"

I look down, unable to meet his eyes.  "I think I'm not sure why you're asking me of such things.  I haven't been the most help to anyone lately.  I don't even know much about these spirits.  Why do you have me with you?"

He thinks, his expression blanking.  Finally, he produces an answer.  "You were allowed to be closer to him than many people ever have, Lyric.  The reason for that opportunity is irrelevant.  You can use that to help.        Who else do you think will help me?  How much help have you seen given to me while the Armed were posted right here?"  His hair stands on end, the cords in his neck standing out in sharp contrast against his skin.

I lay a hand on his shoulder.  His hair lies down a little, and his shoulders un-tense.

"I'll help, Faun, but I still don't know how I can."

He nods.  "Just...listen to me, as you have, and that will be enough.  I'll have to discuss the rest with the Judge.  There needs to be a guard posted - there are too many vulnerable creatures here who cannot leave of their own accord until something has been done for them."

"Right.  I'm sure the Judge can arrange that, Jhe Faun."  I jump and whirl to see who's found us.  Jenny laughs.  "I wonder if I'll get credit for finding you.  Aaaand...finally nobody I have to work with is around to watch..."  She grins, stands there a few moments, and then leaps at me for a hug that feels more like a pounce.  No, really, I scream.  I also...really didn't pee myself a little, I'm serious, I didn't!  "Lyric!  I missed you!  My big gay brother!  Mom blames my lack of prissy girlyness on you, you know.  It's so awesome!"  She looks up, letting me go, and thus granting me breathing privileges.  "Hey, did Jax come through here?  I smell his loser spray that he calls cologne."

"He, he um...he went through that door.  With the princess.  One of the Peacock King's daughters?  Her uh, name's Rocsui-ehellenae."

Faun flinches.  "You don't know what that name means, do you?" He sees me shake my head, though Jenny's brows draw together.  She looks like she might be able to puzzle it out.  "No Father would give that as his daughter's true name.  It's a bind-name, similar to a pet-name.  Calling her Rocsui isn't proper or the best thing but at least it's better than branding her with that.  Poor thing.  Just as bound as the dryads and nymphs, and jumping for freedom at her first sight of a willing man."

"WHA-"  Jenny boggles.  "Oh, shit Jax, you idiot--" She bolts for the door.  I look away.  I really don't want to see what she finds.

It takes a few moments, but the scream reaches us to confirm.  "JAX!  THAT'S NOT PART OF YOUR JOB!!!"

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Gerude Akribastes's Travel Log

* * *

Okay, for the record, I do feel fairly embarrassed that someone got the drop on me like that, especially someone like Cade.  Not my proudest moment.

Still, couldn't Gerald just shut up about it?  I'm about to do to his nose what he did to Cade's.  The only reaction he makes when I tell him that is to offer to let me carry Cade by myself.  I almost sock him, but he might actually be serious.

Funny enough, what I really want to do is sit aside, read through that diary of his, and see just what he's up to.  More the Poet reaction, I suppose.  Maybe I'm just catching it from Gerald.  Or maybe whatever's in that diary is just that interesting.

"Careful.  He's about to wake up."  Gerald glares down at our short, bald bit of luggage.  "Hey, you knock him out this time."

"Sure!  Thanks."  Caerig hits the sweet spot on the back of Cade's skull.  I wipe the butt of the pistol on the side of my jeans.

"No prob."  He shifts the load a little, and we continue walking.  I look at my brother out of the corner of my eye.  You know, that's just not his normal 'I busted out of jail again go team me' face.  He's too serious. And tense, geez.  "What are you wound up about?"

He closes his eyes and sighs.  "Our runaway brother, mostly."  Whoa.  He looks like the world's about to end or something.  "He's had it pretty bad.  I just hope someone's there with him when he meets up with Father again."  His eyes widen.  "Oh no."

"What?  What?"  I hate when people freak out all dramatic and then just leave you hanging.  Poets do it the most, man.  Come on, turn the next page of your brain already.

"He'd better not go and run off again.  Oh man, I bet he does."  He sucks in a breath.  "Let's drop off this trash as quick as possible and then try to find him, alright?"

I snort.  "Gerald, aren't you listening?  Aren't Poets supposed to be even better at that than Armed?" I roll my eyes.  "Jenny already reported him in.  She said she found Jax, too.  Sounded a little freaked out about that, actually."

"...Oh."  His shoulders sag with relief.  "Man, I just..."

"What?"  Next page, thanks.

"I guess I can't hope for Father to go easy on him, can I?  It's just...it's not his fault, man.  He was stuck and he even tried to help me."

"Well, I'll make a deal with you.  Move your ass instead of moping about it, and we can drop off this stinkape and then you can tell Dad all you want about Lyric's vacation adventures in Sul.  Alright?  Now, move."

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Peacekeeper Camden Briarseal's Travel Log

* * *

I've often heard it asked how it transpires that a certain Poet wound up recording a certain event.  Sometimes the querent is of the opinion that the Poet in question was not the appropriate match for the subject, or was simply an odd choice.  It is said that History is decided by the winners.  Poetry, though, is written by whoever was there.  The Poetry that lives on, though, that's a different story.  Sometimes it is a matter of intrigue.  Sometimes skill or luck.  Sometimes even just the humor of their voice.

For me, however, it is none of those.  I get to tell this part because out of all of the Poets in the audience room, I had the best view.  If it sounds like I am rather proud of my vantage, well, that is somewhat true and somewhat not.  In actuality, I am simply pleased that it all happened as it did because it saved me from having to explain myself to the Judge at that very moment.

The moment is when I am standing before the Judge, up on the Peacock King's dais, opening my mouth to answer his prudent question of 'just what is all this mess about, anyway, and why were you here for it?' with, of course, the 'why didn't you do anything about it earlier' unsaid.  Stealing the words right from my mouth, Gerude steps in alongside our long-lost Poet spy, Gerald.  And between the two, dangling like the strangest hunting trophy I've ever seen?  A bleeding, unconscious, noseless Cade.  I can only grin despite it all.  Some of the Armed in the room even give applause.  I can't admonish them for it, either.  If I weren't in this position, I'd be doing the same.

They bring him forward, then, Gerald's eyes never leaving his Father's.  The Judge, however, doesn't break his gaze from Cade.  It doesn't even need to be vocally commanded - our best warders and binders set to him immediately.

"Shame I didn't save that collar the Peacock King put round my neck.  Might have come in handy," Gerald grumbles, rubbing at a few scratches on his throat.  I hear his Arms gloat about that, and need no imagination to know how that went down.  Gerald's Father gestures for him to come forward.  Gerude follows closely.  I narrow my eyes, looking over the second brother.  It appears Jhe Gerude has taken an injury recently.  His failure to meet anyone's gaze further incriminates him.  Perhaps he has his own story to tell, then, though Gerude's stories are often cripplingly short and interspersed with crudeness.  ...Appropriate for a story involving Cade.

Gerald stands before his Father, below the dais.  The Judge looks him over very closely.  "Someone with a healer's touch have a look at him, especially his clarity of mind," he says softly.  Then his eyes flick to Gerude.  He snorts.  "As well as Gerude's clarity of skull."

There's a strange hush, then, and I see 'Sy's face before I see what he's looking up at.  Shock and long-endured waiting manages to slip through before his expression stiffens.  So guarded, always - but there was just that moment.

Gerald knows without looking behind him just who has walked into the room.  "Father!  Please, don't be harsh with him, he was brave enough to save me several times over when it could have gotten him killed!"  Gerald sounds more afraid than Lyric might possibly be.

Lyric is stepping very slowly into the room, Jhe Jenny at his arm, leading him in with confidence.  If Lyric's feet shake as he steps, at least he carries himself with some amount of grace.  His eyes never leave his Father's face, and his lip is quivering a little, but I do give him this - he does not cry.

Faun follows him, giving side-glances to...what is Jhe Cruxradia doing with them?  Did he run across them while working at his chores?  Who is the girl on his arm?  Why does she look like-

"GET YOUR ACCURSED, FOULBLOODED, SOILED HANDS OFF OF MY DAUGHTER!"  I'm impressed at the roar the Peacock King lets out while the Trident is around his throat, and also by how he manages to make the chamber echo and amplify his words even as he's being restrained by the Judge.  But then, he's quite the imperiled one right now.  Hell, I'd do the same if Jax had so much as winked at any of my get.  ...No, my way involves less speech and more blood.  Still, the principle is there.

Suddenly the dais under us shakes as Ebrellin-i struggles to stand up fully.  There's a rush of energy and then he's simply not there.  I'm not sure how he got out, though something tells me the Judge let him out.  There's something about Jax taking anyone's daughter to bed that's simply unjust, and that would do it.  There's also simple comeuppance for those that have ventured where they shouldn't trespass.

[Note added by Jhe Katherine Cruxradia after reading Peacekeeper Briarseal's report: Jhe Camden has received more than one punch in the mouth for the previous sentence's overbearing pompous male assumptive attitude.  When next you meet him, please feel free to give him another.]

That's when everything comes apart, or weaves together, depending on your vantage.  From my vantage, I see the energy that rushed from out of the reach of the Trident coalesce in front of Jax into a very tall, looming, angry figure.  I don't know if Jax has ever had to crane his neck that high to look anyone in the face, but the gesture is soon rewarded with a backhand that audibly swooshes through the air.  Jax goes flying backwards, sprawled on the floor, still sliding even as the Peacock King takes another step forward, mouth open as he draws in a breath.  Perhaps to speak a curse, or simply scream at the boy to high heaven.  Who knows?  We won't, because just then something to the very side of him catches the King's eye and makes him turn.  There, right in front of him now, only a pace or two away.  He levels his arm down to point at the youth, Lyric shrinking back from the gesture.  It looks like more of an attack than a gesture, at that.

"You miserable, backstabbing servant!  How dare you drag accusations to my door and tie me up in your little machinations!  I didn't hire you on for that!  Furs found in your quarters that belong to a distinguished animism!  Guns squirreled away that belonged to a spy!  Lotus isn't even your real name, is it?!  Confess!  Confess to these crimes you've committed in my Palace!"  That accusing finger bends, then, Ebrellin-i's hand clenching into a fist right as a wave of power comes from him.  Faun hisses.  Lyric lurches.

Then the boy stands up, with some effort, shakes himself, and glares right back up at the King.  He steps forward, planting his foot down with a stomp.  "I never signed any contract to speak as you command, and I sure as hell won't do it for you now.  Your crimes are your own."

The Peacock King's eyes narrow.  "Oh?  Is that so?  I think not.  You're a liar, Lyric, if that's even your real name.  Confess!  Confess in front of the Judge!  Did you not take a knife to the animism's throat and force him to his knees?  Did you not strip him of his clothing and keep it as a trophy?  Did you not mislead me about your true Radian origins?  You can't hide it!  It shall all come out in the end!  So confess now and spare us the time and the trouble!  You did all of that, didn't you?"  There's so much power coming from him that Faun falls to the ground.  Rachella manages to pull him away from the King.  His daughter merely stands transfixed, as if someone's holding her there in obedience.  Lyric...he's managing, somehow, to stand up with his chin high.  He's shaking like a leaf in the wind, but he's standing up under what are obviously commands to capitulate.

"Yes."  The Peacock King grins, triumphant.  Lyric goes on.  "Perhaps you expect all that to wash away the fact that you bought the animism, had him collared, chained him, locked him up, and commanded me to train him?  That you locked away the Armed Poet so that you could make him write his Poetry onto a collar for that animism?  That you threatened Jennelcia Akribastes, who you thought was his wife, so that he'd serve you for the rest of his life?"

"His WHAT?!"  Someone has to stop Jenny from attacking then.  I almost fall off the dais myself.

The Peacock King only narrows his eyes, watching Lyric as he levels his own accusations.  "Lies, all lies.  Try as you may to clear your blame, you only dig the hole deeper."  He draws himself up taller, something I wasn't sure was even possible.  "Kneel, J-lui-tiss."  My eyes widen.  He dared give Lyric a pet-name?  And he was stupid enough to speak it aloud in front of the Judge?  The slitted jewel in his crown flashes, something I can't explain away as just a glint of the light.  "On your knees before me, servant, and apologize.  Take the weight of the guilt which you have earned."  The power of command, the amount of force he's putting behind his will, makes my ears pop.  "Plead."  His hand lowers near his side, grasping something invisible.  I narrow my eyes.  I know that stance and that grip very well.  My Arms take the primary form of a whip, after all.

Lyric's legs almost move automatically.  I see his posture shift and his knees bend, as if someone hit him in the backs of his knees.  He staggers towards the King to keep standing, but there's an obvious weight on top of him. He lets out a single whimper, then clenches his hands into fists and bears up under it.  "NO.  I'm not yours!  I never was!  No matter what you tried to take or puppeted me into, I was never yours, and I won't dance for you!"

The King snarls, then raises his hand, the whip crackling through the air, the only visible part of it the occasional sparks of white energy.  Lyric ducks away, but not fast enough.  The King's arm comes down, the whip whistling through the air--

Only to hit the Judge's Trident, whirling around the staff in a tight corkscrew.  Ebrellin-i lurches to the side as the Judge yanks the Trident back, pulling him along by the whip.  Of all things, I don't understand why he didn't expect that.  'Sy was only going to let him go on with his charade for so long.  There are a lot of things we'll never understand about Ebrellin-i, I suppose.

35 - Pigs on the Wing

I've checked over the windows.  They're warded, and I even started poking at those wards.  There's guards outside the windows too, though.  And I think I could sneak out of here if I tried, but fighting isn't something I'm very confident about. I don't know why I want to get out, really.  I mean, look at what I have to face.  Daddy's here.  For some reason, the shivers aren't running down my spine at that thought anymore.

You know?  I think I'll just deal with that once I get out.  And I am getting out.  I'm tired of this place.  Of course, I have no clue how I'm breaking out--

Of course, once I go and think that, I hear a slam against my door, and a sound that I'd definitely equate with a guard expiring.  There's some scrabbling against the door, then.  "Lyric!  Get this door open!  Find a way!"

I blink.  "...Faun?"

"Yes, yes!  Now open the door, it's annoying having to kill all these people just because you're too slow about things!"

I grab my hairbrush and a few hairpins, and set to work on the lock.  It's wonderful what a few years on the road can teach you.  I'd given some thoughts to picking it before, but didn't want to piss anyone off or get in trouble.  I daresay it's a little late now to be worrying about those kinds of things, though.  The lock pops open and I pull the door open.

Faun's face is in enough of a blood-covered snarl that I almost dart back and slam the door in his face.  Before I can manage that, he grabs he and hauls me outside.

"Come on, Poet.  I need you to tell the Judge a few stories."  He levels his baleful gaze down the hall.  Nobody else, yet.  I squeak as I step over the body of the guard that was posted outside my down.  Faun tsks.  "Let's go."  He walks, his arm wrapped over my shoulders, hunching us both close together.

"...Faun?  Where are we going?"  I keep an eye out around us.  I'm waiting for someone to come up on us any moment.  Either the Peacock King's men or...my Father's.

"While your Father's sorely late arrival makes its own waves, I feel it prudent to dispense some justice in other areas."  He leads me toward a side corridor, peers in.  It's pitch black, but Faun doesn't seem to have a problem with this.  I'm glad we're so close together - I'd just stumble around in this.

"...Ah."  I feel for my own mental map of this place.  Headed back towards Faun's cage?  "...The zoo?"  He grunts an affirmative.  "...Faun, why'd you call me a Poet?"

"Because I'd call you a bird if you flew me out of here."  He pauses before the end of the corridor, right where a shaft of light falls in from the outer, torchlit hall.  I see his long ears twitch.  He's listening for anyone else.  "Hm.  They must have all cleared out and followed the commotion into the audience chamber.  Come on, let's finish what your Armed failed to."

I follow him out into the hall.  "What do you mean?"

He glares down the hall, looking at the rows and rows of cages.  Some strange things are in here.  Some...people, too.  I remember it well, but from times when I had to pretend to be the captor.  It's a new feeling, being the one who could let them all free.  "Is that...wise?  All at once?  Someone might get hurt."

"They deserve it.  Stop worrying.  I'll ensure the safety of all we free.  That's my proper job, you know.  Even outside my forest...someone has to do it."  He passes his fingers over the lock of a fine-wired cage.  It creaks and falls off, dust leaking out of the keyhole.  The door swings open.  With a sweep of his arm, Faun guides the birds out.  They're like flying, gliding jewels, darting through the air and skirting up through the corridor ahead.  "They'll find the nearest open door out.  There aren't enough open windows in this Palace, you know."  He goes on to the next cage.  "Lyric...you can pick locks.  Take care of the humans here.  I daresay you'll have more of a way with them than I would."

I set to that task.  What results is a huddle of people inside the corridor, too afraid to leave it and possibly emerge into captor's hands again.  Some people I can't even get to leave their cells.  And then there's the chain of children who hold hands behind me, the one in the lead hooking his fingers into my sash.  I'm not sure what they expect me to do, here.

I guess I should say something.  "It's going to be okay.  There are people who are outside who will listen to what's happened to you.  You can bring your story to the Law.  You won't be put in chains again."  There are some hopeful faces from that, and a lot of disbelieving eyes.

"Hey, are you a girl?" chirps a tiny voice from the line of kids behind me.  I sigh.  Faun goes on letting the animals out.  I guess it's when the moose trots into the audience chamber that someone decides to look in and see just what the hell is happening.  Her eyes widen.  It's Rachella.

"...Lyric!"

It would be a nice greeting , but I can feel my Father's attention on me from wherever he is in the audience chamber while I stand here searching for something to say.  "I...can you give me some help, Rachella?  They're all way more scared than the animals are."  She hustles in to do just that.

"Are you all right?  How'd you get here?  Oh dear look at you you poor thing..." Her attention goes to the people in the corridor with me.  "I...Lyric, I'm going to go get some help, this is a lot of people.  Can you stay here while I-"

"Sure!"  Sure I'll stay here out of the way of my Father, I'm totally fine with that.  Faun watches her leave the corridor, then looks over the cages.  The animals are out, and the people are looking more hopeful and generally composed.

"Come on, let's go."  He grabs me by the wrist and yanks me down back the way we came.  "These aren't the only cages in the Palace."

"But--" Well I can't very well stop him, he'll cut me or something.

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Gerude Akribastes's Travel Log

* * *

Yeah, so, when Dad- err, the Judge...when he said for everyone to go out and look for Lyric, that order included me.  So, off I went, lookin' for my brother.  Feels like old times, since I've been out on missions to do just that since years ago.  Nice to know I'll hit jackpot this time.  He's pretty easy to search for, you know, since I know who to home in on.

I don't quite know my way around the palace, mind you, so I decide to take a shortcut.  Well, you see, I figured it was a shortcut.  It's got all the right hallmarks for one, accrued through my years of experience with the subject.  It's low-lit, creepy-looking, and obviously not oft-used.  The fact that it's warded marks it for a dead-ringer.  Disconnecting a ward is a piece of cake, you know, if you just want to slip through a door.  I can even silence my pistols.  I'm also much more discreet about it than Jenny is, but you know, I've got the experience on her there.  My little sister'll have to train up a long time to match up to my expertise in that!  So, I'm going through this hallway.  It's like weaving my way through catacombs, with the creepy low lighting.  There's a lot of tunnels but I just keep going.  They have to come out on the other side somewhere, after all, and--

Okay, so, I'll admit.  Somebody knocked me out right as I got to the circular room where all the cells were. I know it's where the King kept Gerald.  Shame I got konked out, because that would have been a pertinent find to report in right then.  I get dragged off, though, before it's a real possibility.

I'll give you two guesses as to who it was.  If it took your second one to get to Cade, then the first one better have been a really funny joke, because otherwise that's just pitiful, man.

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Jax Cruxradia's Travel Log

* * *

I have the best job.  Now, I know what you're thinking.  How could Jax Cruxradia, future Poet and Armed extroardinaire, proud member of a distinguished royal line, ever have fun doing chores?  Well, you see, I just like an honest day's work.  And, well, if that honest day just happens to be a long one out of the reach and gaze of one Jhe Camden Briarseal, then all the better, I say.  So, the stables are stinky.  I think a good stench is manly.  Well, I still make it a point to shower pretty often and put on some deodorant before I'm anywhere I'll meet the ladies, because you know.  It might very well happen.  I even splash on a little cologne, but not too much.  And I try to look my best, even for work clothes, because-[paragraph from this point on excised for reason of being excessive drabble]

After I'm done with the stables I get to do landscaping and maintenance.  Digging in the dirt is good for a man!  Gets me close to the soil.  That's honest work!  Also, get this- dryads.  Audiva Rocale has tons of them, and they're all cute.  And, uh, they don't usually wear clothes.  It's more like tastefully trimmed foliage. 

So, yeah, I'd have to say that gardening is awesome.  Since I liked it so much, I started asking the attendants if there was any more work for me, even when the extra work the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale assigned me was all done with early.  I figured a few more hours wouldn't hurt, especially with all of the lovely scenery this country has to offer.  Now, it's been awhile since I started up this extra work, so they started running out of it.  Eventually one of the girls decided to have me work in one of the inner palace gardens, and then one thing lead to another, and then I'm in this beautiful place.

I'm not sure if I can really call it a garden.  It's more like an earthly paradise.  You know, I can imagine heaven like this.

Okay, nuff said: there are girls everywhere.  Some more dryads and some nymphs and some types of things I've never even heard of.  They're all around and they're gorgeous and, get this - they all like me.  I guess I'm a nice, charming guy.  Girls back home don't treat me like this, though.  I don't really know what it is.  I guess the Peacock King just knows something that we don't.

So anyway, that's work for me.  It's hard work, but oh the fringe benefits.  Especially since, by now, the stables are pretty clean, the other gardens are all maintained, and so I get everything done pretty early and end up here for the rest of the day!

And, so, as always, there's this one girl.  Everyone else is pretty but she's different.  She's...a little shy.  Blonde.  Cute as a button.  And...feathered, and I'm not sure what that means.  Today, I finally do what I've been too afraid to, all this time.  I talk to her.

She's not too sure how to react, at first, but she opens up to me pretty quickly.  She's pretty used to me by now, I think.  That helps.  I wonder just what she is, but I don't really have a smooth way of asking, so I just let it rest for now.

"Cruxradia, you say?"  Her eyes twinkle.  Her voice is so soft and quiet.  It's precious.  "You're far from home.  Are you here for long?"

"Ah!  I...well, I don't know how long my mission here will be, Jhe Rocsui, but I'm quite sure I at least have a few more days."

"Oh, you might be leaving soon!  What a shame!"  She pouts.  "Perhaps I could write you a letter.  That would be alright, wouldn't it?"  Strange, she's almost asking it to herself.

"Hey!  I've got an even better idea.  You could come visit my Kingdom when I go back.  Wouldn't that be swell?"  The prospect seems to shock her, but she's thinking it over even so.  Of course, I don't get an answer out of her, because right then somebody decides to, yet again, ruin my prospects of romance.

There's a commotion right near the entrance, and a few spirits come running from it in a panic.  Hey, speaking of panic...doesn't the mood seem a little strange now?  I'm still learning to pick up on that.  What's going on in the Palace right now?  Did somebody break something?

I see Lyric walk in, then, with some strange guy that looks more like an animal than Rocsui, somehow.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  I think it's cute.  I mean, on a girl.  Anyway, this guy, he keeps sniffing the dryads and nymphs in here.  It's kind of creepy.  I stand in front of Rocsui just in case he's dangerous.  You know, that Lyric, he kinda has weird taste, so after the Peacock King this guy isn't too much of a surprise.

Lyric looks up to me and startles in surprise.  "Jax!  What are you doing here?"

I look at him with a deadpan.  "Lyric, I work here."  He seems awfully confused.  Rocsui peeks around my shoulder at him.

"Jhe...Lotus?"  Her voice lilts slightly at the end of the inquiry.  Lyric sweeps an automatic bow.  "Why are you here?  Father's been acting strange lately.  Is everything alright?"

His lips purse, while the other guy he's with seems to be gathering a few spirits around him.  They're curious about him for some reason.  Lyric...man, he looks worried.  "I...Jhe Rocsui-ehellenae...it's looking quite bad."  He bites his lip and looks away.  "The...the Judge is here."

It's like her skin turns dead-cold right after he says that.  I try to steady her.  I don't understand what the problem is.  I'm also surprised the Judge got here this early, but hey.  "What's he doing here?"

Lyric looks at me like I'm an idiot.  Even Rocsui has that same expression, to a lesser degree.  "What?  Who's in trouble?"

"My Father.  Come.  While he's distracted, I should get some things together."  She turns and walks off to a little-used door that I've only seen her come in and out of.  I look back at Lyric.  His eyes are wide, but he gestures for me to go.

Oh, well.  If she trusts me and all.  Nothing here for me but Lyric's weird new boyfriend sniffing at girls like they were trees and he were a dog.  Wait, they are trees, some of them.  ...Ew.

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Resumed Mission Log

* * *

It is a gloriously triumphant feeling, running down these halls, fully Armed, waiting at corners for what might be lurking around them, spotting for danger, feeling out the wards.  Something major is going down, I know.  Hell, I can even find out for myself, now.  Just a few mental nudges give me the information from my comrades on the status of what's going on with the Judge and the Peacock King.  There's a search party out looking for me and my brother.  Good.  I'm ready to finally see some familiar faces.  I've been isolated far too long with little good company.  So once I emerge from the labs and run down these hallways that cut through the Peacock King's private suites, I feel out the passages ahead of me to see if any of them are near.  No, not very - might be able to intersect with someone if I go down an upcoming branch...

Wait.  I feel a different aura, up ahead, if I take a branch that's pretty close.  Much different than one of my comrades, but I recognize him all the same.

I stop to cloak my own aura and put a silencing effect on my footfalls and Arms.  Then I proceed up the hallway with more caution, my revolvers waiting and ready, already cocked.

It's time for some vengeance.  It's gonna be just.

* * *

Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe 'hAkribastes's Travel Log

* * *

This audience chamber is absolute madness, and I can't help but feel I have my son to blame for it.  Possibly both of them.  I'm trying to avoid thinking on that just right now due to the regent pinned under my Trident, but considering everything that's happening in here...

...Is that a moose?

The birds and other assorted fauna flapping, squawking, trotting, scurrying, and elsewise being distracting in here aren't helping my concentration.  The Peacock King certainly isn't settling down any because of them, either.  He's still not worked up the gumption to speak, which is a small mercy on the world's part.  I can do less with prattle and begging right now.

At least Jhe Hawksgard is making herself useful giving counsel to the strange flood of freed captives from that side-corridor. That only makes me wonder where my daughter has gone off to now.  Probably up to no good yet again.  Just like the others.  What is this family coming to?

...Where is Camden?  He has a lot to answer for.  Ah.  Staying busy as well, I see, organizing the refugees and subtly keeping them from turning into a mob.  A fitting task considering his skills with armies.  A clever way to avoid me.  How intelligent. At least he's keeping out of my way.  It makes me wish I saw more of that intelligence in my ranks these days.

The git pinned under my Trident finally has the gall to wiggle.  I pin him down with a glare.  He glares back up at me.  "Take me under arrest?  ...Fine, if you seem to have the authority, but I'll unravel just what's behind that later, and you'll answer to my censure."  I only raise an eyebrow.  Words I've heard before, and they're less entertaining each time.  I'm polite enough to suppress a yawn.  "...But."  He looks away.  "If I'm to be under arrest I request the treatment due my station."  Well, at least he sounds reasonable.

"...I'll consider it."

He snorts.  "Let me put it in plain words for you, if you have such trouble grasping the meaning of my speech.  Unpin me from this wall.  I'm getting a cramp."  Indeed, I don't doubt he is.  When I pinned him by the neck, he hunched down a bit in a defensive crouch.  Considering how tall he is, the slight hunch, with his knees forced to bend under him as he stands, is likely growing very painful for him.

"Ah.  Is that what you meant?  My apologies.  I'll file the proper paperwork as soon as possible."  He makes an indignant squawk and sputters.  I turn and ignore him.  Diyn can keep an eye on him instead.  Some of my men are returning and I'd like a report.

I blink.  They're carrying something with them, and I recognize it.  "Jhe K'varek, Jhe Harpseal.  Where did you find that?"

Clark's black clump of bangs falls over his forehead as he makes a short bow.  Kevrin echoes the bow, his sandy hair almost completely obscuring his face.  It's strange to even see him, he usually keeps to the shadows with the more secretive operations.  Each of them holds an end of a cloak crudely sewn from many furs and animal skins.  It's too distinctive to not be Faun's - it's one of his distinguishing characteristics.  

Come to think of it, why was that animism in one of the servant robes associated with the Peacock King's Court?

"We found it in the quarters Jhe Lyric was occupying, Judge."  Ah.  Neither of them seem to be eager to give me details on that.  "He was no longer occupying them, but this looked like it might be of interest."

"Indeed."  I reach forward and take the cloak to examine it.  Hand-sewn, by whatever Faun might use for a needle, I suppose.  He prides himself in this cloak.  As he should - the animals themselves gave pelts to him for it.  It is a symbol of what he works for, fights for, and exists because of.  There can be no mistaking it.

"I wonder what that was doing in his room, where I found your son's guns."  Ebrellin-i's voice drips with intrigue from behind me.  I'll have none of it.  "Perhaps he's more involved with this than you think.  Maybe it's best to just leave it untried, untouched, and let everyone forget.  Spare your son the humiliation...and possible punishments..."

"Spare yourself the breath.  If my son's guilt hangs in this cloak's threads I can easily imagine who weaved it in.  You're too eager to squirm out of this."  I put the cloak aside for now, draping it across the throne the King addresses his visiting audiences from.  It was placed conveniently nearby.  I look back to my Armed, who await further questions or orders.  "Was there any other sign of Lyric?"

Clark shakes his head.  "Quite the opposite - by the look of the dead guards outside his door, someone very deadly already made the rounds there."

Kevrin holds up a long-fingered hand.  "It was the animism that killed those guards.  I of all people would recognize those marks, and how they were dealt."

My eyes cast over Kevrin's taloned fingers and feathered neck, and his strangely beaked face, for yet another appraisal of the boy.  Yes, he of all would.  "See if you can track them, then, without Faun killing you."  They turn and take off, then, Clark looking slightly perturbed at this new mission.  It's his first time partnering with Kevrin, isn't it?  Still, they're from the same unit, and they're both armed.  And if anybody has a problem with one of my Armed, they have a problem with me.

Speaking of which, I turn to address Ebrellin-i yet again, just in time to see him try to grip Diyn and pull him out of the wall.  Well, I certainly won't stop him from trying that, though I have to suppress the almost overwhelming urge to laugh before he manages it.

The scream makes everyone in the giant chamber pause.  "It BIT me your...your mongrel of a cheeky weapon bit me how dare it BITE me?!?"  He glares at me for it.  I don't see why, Diyn did it because he deserved it.

"...You tried to get out.  He did what any guard dog would, mongrel or not.  You're lucky to still have your fingers.  The last time someone was stupid enough to try that, there was nothing left past his bloody stump of a wrist."  My voice is level and calm.  As far as incidents go, this doesn't interest me much.  My children have been much more mature in their whining.  ...More convincing, for that matter.

"You cur, he ate my signet ring!"

"I don't see why you're so upset.  You might not need it anymore."  I ignore his screeching and look over the audience chamber.  Slightly less cacophonous now than it was a few minutes ago.  Perhaps things will resolve.  ...No, I can't lie to myself.  All of this spells out trouble that's more far-reaching than the perimeter of this Palace.

The best part is that I'm waiting for it to get even worse, as tends to happen in these situations.