XIV
The story will now dwell on a place called Pearmol, which was a fortified town in the north-east of Yaranweg, not far south of Fegennas. The hall there stood atop a cliff overlooking the sea, and it was walled off from the rest of the town. Pearmol had long stood as a stronghold of particular importance, though it no longer stands so proudly.
The first to hold the Lordship of Pearmol was a man named Thyomalo, who was also the last King of Yaranweg. He was known as Thyomalo the Bent, for he was forced to submit to Endelo Annaronnan, the first King of Mawon. After surrendering his kingdom, Thyomalo held the lordship for over thirty years, ruling well and proudly until his dying day.
Thyomalo was succeeded in the lordship by his only son, Rogwalo. He was known as Rogwalo Firebrand, so named after his sword, Gantewre, which he had also inherited from his father. Each time the sword was drawn—and Rogwalo drew it often—it flashed with a radiant light, like fire spewing from the blade itself. No one knew who could have made such a faultless thing, but many said it must have been the work of a wizard, or else have been wrought by something wholly inhuman, so transcendent was its sheen. That was a sword among swords! That was Gantewre!
Rogwalo married a woman called Gonwela, by whom he had three sons. They were called Yalmalo, Karvalo, and Enyalo. He also had two daughters by the names of Erlawga and Alfrela. Rogwalo’s sister was called Syolleda. Her husband was Nyolovo, and they had one son together, Kyale. Where Gantewre was Rogwalo’s inheritance, the shield Yamveke was Syolleda’s, broad and sturdy, and just as finely fashioned as her brother’s sword.
Rogwalo was the Lord of Pearmol at the time of the king’s expedition to Norlonn, and being a warlike man himself, he was keen to get involved in the matter. He mustered a company to lead northwards with the king, drawn from his thanes and his bondsfolk alike, and in this company went all three of his sons, his brother-in-law, Nyolovo, and his nephew, Kyale. Gantewre too went at Rogwalo’s hip, as ever it was, and Yamveke in the hands of young Kyale. Syolleda had forced the shield upon him and shooed him off to war, as proud as a mother could be.
In the early days of the fighting, Rogwalo led his troop away from the king’s army towards Fevalnawl in Eylavol. He intended to defeat two of the earls at once there, Threlbega of Eylavol and Rengleyva of Syagavol, while they were travelling together to Bealnew. He hid his troop in a thicket, and as the earls were passing by, he drew flame-throwing Gantewre and bade his company spring forth and press the attack.
But alas, Rogwalo was in those days past his peak, and his eagerness to fight far outstripped his fitness of both body and mind. Mere moments after battle was met, he cast his shield aside and leapt howling before the line.
‘Never to yield!’ he roared, and was immediately skewered.
With his fellows’ morale already low, the death of their yet undying lord proved to be a fatal stroke twice over. They routed, and a terrible slaughter unfolded as their foes gave chase.
Young Kyale had stood in the front line alongside his father, the shield Yamveke sparkling before him, and being a man of firmer judgement than pride, he was among the first to flee. But as he went, he spotted a miserable-looking chap crawling on the ground, his death but a few paces away, and found in himself some courage at last. His shield firmly braced, Kyale put himself before the faltered fellow, fended off his foe, and then helped him up and away. Both men survived the battle.
Of Rogwalo’s three sons, Enyalo alone fought at Fevalnawl, and he was among the first to bring news of the defeat to his father’s campsite. He rushed into his brother Yalmalo’s booth, fell woe-weary upon his knees, and there he wept. Yalmalo helped him back up to his feet and bade him tell his tale.
So Enyalo spoke: ‘My father slain, my family slain, my friends slain. Death itself strode among us.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Yalmalo, and not a word more as he strode out of the booth, stemming his tears.
Yalmalo swiftly took control of his father’s retinue and proclaimed himself Lord of Pearmol. He sent a messenger to Threlbega to request the return of Rogwalo’s body and glittering Gantewre, but they were her personal booty, so she refused. Yalmalo thereupon swore to keep up his father’s fight, intent upon reclaiming the honour and inheritance of his kin.
After affording him three days to grieve for his father and his friends, Yalmalo sent Enyalo home to Pearmol with news of Rogwalo’s death and their continued involvement in the king’s war. When she heard this news, Gonwela, once Rogwalo’s wife, now his widow, shed a single tear.
‘These are woeful tidings,’ she said, ‘not least because I must now pick up the pieces as Lord of Pearmol.’
To this, Enyalo said, ‘Yalmalo has named himself lord.’
‘And I am king of all the world. He can say whatever he likes, but it does not make it so. No worthy lawyer would find his claim firmer than mine.’
Gonwela summoned an assembly of the household’s foremost servants, and they accepted her as their lord. She proved to be a shrewd and canny politician, and she held the lordship until her death nearly twenty years later.
* * *
Kyale came back to Rogwalo’s camp late in the evening with many others who had fled the slaughter at Fevalnawl. He sought his father there, but many folk said they had seen Nyolovo killed at Rogwalo’s side. So did Kyale go weeping to Yalmalo, his closest cousin, seeking a generous ear. He found only dismissal.
‘There is much to be done,’ said Yalmalo. ‘I have no time for tears, yours and mine alike.’
Kyale went next to Karvalo, the second of Rogwalo’s sons.
‘Sobbing serves none of us,’ said Karvalo. ‘If you wish to weep, weep away from here, where I need not hear you.’
Dejected, Kyale went outside to cry, whereupon inscrutable fate saw fit to reunite him with the man he had earlier defended. Only then did they introduce themselves. The man named himself Yonnago, an orphan farmhand drafted into Rogwalo’s company by his local sheriff. He thanked Kyale once more for his help, and he said he owed him a great debt.
‘Sit with me now,’ said Kyale, ‘and we will call it settled.’
Yonnago took up this offer, and they sat together long into the night. Kyale spoke of the death of his father, and how his cousins had turned him away.
‘Yalmalo has ever been a favoured friend of mine,’ said Kyale, ‘but now he speaks in a lofty voice, as if he is another man entirely. I have not seen him mourn his father at all, as fast as their friendship was. Such change in a man bodes ill, I fear.’
‘No two eggs crack the same,’ said Yonnago. ‘It is best not to scry when the skies are overcast, let alone at night.’
So the night wore on, and they each came to count the other a worthy friend. For the rest of the campaign, Kyale and Yonnago stuck together until they had fashioned a friendship so firm that each was ever at the other’s side, both in battle and in bed.
Then, when the fighting was done and it was time to return home, Kyale and Yonnago went back to Pearmol together. But though Kyale welcomed Yonnago into his home, no one else did. His relatives looked upon Yonnago with scorn, accusing him of being lowborn and disreputable, and in every way unbefitting the preeminence of their hall.
So it was to their great dismay that Kyale stood during dinner one day and proclaimed his intention to marry Yonnago, and only half spitefully. His lordly aunt, Gonwela, was the first to decry this.
‘I will not allow it,’ she said. ‘If you are to marry, Kyale, you are to marry well, or you are to marry in the house of some other sap. There is no room for wretches on my benches.’
Karvalo, the lone survivor of Gonwela’s sons, was second to speak. His gaze fixed unmoving on Yonnago, he said, ‘With each passing day, it seems my cousin’s sound judgement grows ever cloudier. It pains me to see him so debase himself, to so spoil his honour, as the honour of this house is already spoiling. Enough of it.’
Karvalo sat down, and the protestations went on for some time as each of Kyale’s relatives stood in turn to abuse his cherished Yonnago. Last to stand was Syolleda, Kyale’s own mother.
Upon seeing her rise, Kyale’s eyes fell to the floor. He stood up himself, and before she could speak, he said, ‘I would deem this meal a revelatory one, if only your words were not so painfully predictable.’ He took up a lump of bread, tore it in twain, and cast the pieces on the floor. ‘I have no kinsfolk here.’
Then Kyale left the hall, and Yonnago hastened wordlessly behind him.
That evening, Gonwela summoned a council of her closest thanes, and they resolved to end the matter once and for all. At the first light of dawn, they would seize Kyale and Yonnago from their bed, force Yonnago out of the hall, and bid Kyale either forsake his love, or else be tossed out behind him.
Syolleda, however, overheard this discussion, having come to reason with her sister-in-law. She made to Kyale forthwith, knelt before him, and took her son’s soft hands in her own.
‘My son,’ she said, ‘this dispute has worn on too long, and it will now come to a tumultuous end. I wish you every happiness, but I beg you to consider your decision with utmost care. I have overheard Gonwela speaking with her friends. They mean to eject Yonnago from the hall, and if you do not forsake him, they will force you out likewise. My dear Kyale, you have my blessing either way, but you must be certain of your decision.’
‘I am,’ said Kyale, unthinking. ‘There is no joy for me here either way. I will not fetter my love. If this is the price I must pay, I will gladly pay it.’
To hear these words, Syolleda was moved to grief, and she wept for her son. ‘Very well.’ She kissed his hand and arose, wrapping him in her arms. ‘My Kyale. I envy your spirit. Do not let it wane.’
Kyale thanked her and went to bed.
Once dawn had broken, Gonwela’s bodyguards came along to bustle Kyale and Yonnago from their bed, just as Syolleda had warned. After dragging him outside, they pushed Yonnago down the steps, and Gonwela demanded that Kyale forsake him.
‘I will forsake my every bond of kinship,’ said Kyale, ‘before I forsake him. Never to yield!’
Gonwela did not ask him to reconsider, and so he went tumbling down the steps himself, but Yonnago was there to catch him.
Once Gonwela had gone inside and shut the door on them, Syolleda came out with all she could find of their belongings. She also brought the shield Yamveke, which Kyale had returned to her upon his homecoming. She gave it back to him, saying, ‘You will not be deprived of your every birthright.’
Kyale received this gift with gratitude, but Karvalo happened to be nearby, watching to ensure they left promptly. He witnessed the passing of Yamveke, the reckless relinquishment of the treasure of his kin, and at once, he came blustering down the steps.
‘I will not see such storied finery in the hands of nannies and sows!’ he said.
Karvalo grabbed Yamveke, and with all his might, he pushed Kyale down and tore the shield away from him.
‘Nicker!’ said Yonnago, and he walloped Karvalo in the face, knocking him to the floor, then reclaimed the shield and ran.
Kyale bid his mother a swift farewell and ran off behind him.
After spending some time drifting about, Kyale and Yonnago came into the company of a gang of pirates looking to set that sort of life aside. They all clubbed together and established for themselves a farmstead at Alvennawl, where Kyale made himself the householder. It was there that he and Yonnago held their wedding meal, joined only by their farmboys. There they remained until Kyale died a decade or so later. Yonnago mourned his husband ever after, but in the company of his friends, and in the home they had made together, every day proved easier than the last.