XXVIII
Karvalo set sail for Syorbak a week and a day later. He went with Thorreda, his keenest knower-of-things, and also Awldano, hoping he would chance upon some wealthy girl and promptly make a father of himself. He had hoped to bring Essero as well, for he was expected to one day succeed his father in the lordship, although he had refused to sail.
‘It is a fool indeed,’ he had said, ‘who would sail such a measly distance, challenge turbulent fate, and risk making of himself some sea beast’s lunch. No, a wise man would rather walk a week in safety, than sail a day to his doom.’
Karvalo was disheartened to hear this, though he would not begrudge his son’s prudence. Essero stayed at home.
The remainder of Karvalo’s party was filled with seventeen of his choicest thanes, those whom he trusted to be as fearsome in their battle-dress as they were beautiful in their finery. Last to be counted was Thalo, who brought their number to twenty-one. They all piled into Karvalo’s swiftest ship, and once the spirits of the wind and the sea were appeased, they set off. Conditions proved favourable enough that they came up the river to Syorbak late that evening, and with nary a hand on an oar.
After disembarking, Karvalo came up to the king’s first gate, and there he took off his travelling hat, puffed up his chest, and threw back his head.
‘Oy-oy!’ he bellowed. ‘Let me in, man!’
‘Who are you?’ said the man atop the gate.
‘Before you stands Karvalo, Lord of Pearmol. Let me in, man.’
The gate was opened, and Karvalo strode up the path to the hall. He had his booths set up as close to the hall as possible, claiming a space before the front door, where they put up five to house four each. Of course, that would make room for only twenty—Karvalo was to receive the king’s personal hospitality. Just so, he changed into a finer shirt, donned his meeting hat, and strode off to greet the king while the others built their bedsteads.
The king at that time was a man called Arkelo. He was the eldest son of the elder Arkelo, who had subjugated the earls of Norlonn, and who had so firmly established his renown (both by the glories of his warmongering, and by his ruthless command of the royal bureaucracy), that very much was said of him, and very little of it dispassionately. The younger Arkelo, however, was unlike his father, being a man of rather inconspicuous character. Even so, Karvalo wished to receive a royal welcome. Thus, when he came into the hall and found no king sat in his chair, he clapped his hands and stamped his feet.
‘Bring me the king!’ he shouted. ‘Bring him to me!’
Some of the king’s attendants asked Karvalo to cease his racket-making, but with each word they said to him, he let his voice grow louder and louder. Soon enough, four different servants had urged the king to attend his visitor. The king asked what sort of fellow would think himself important enough to demand the king’s urgent attention, and the attendants said he was Karvalo, Lord of Pearmol.
‘Alas,’ said the king, ‘that I should suffer this man once more, but such is my duty as his king. I will meet him.’
The king then made his way to the hall at a leisurely pace, sat in his chair, and stood again to welcome his guest.
‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘to Syorbak.’
‘At long last,’ said Karvalo, and then he spoke this verse:
‘Important days must these days be,
so slow’s my host to welcome me.
Or else does not the cock-head king
dare lift his beak from ‘neath his wing?’
The king said:
‘Why would this sack of sword-spat scum
disturb my house with his sword tongue?
Would he dare mock—and with such glee—
my heron’s hall, and mighty me?’
Karvalo said:
‘I need not waste my words to mock
a man whose own betray his stock.
Just how the cock became an erne
not even I can quite discern.’
The king said:
‘Of that, my friend, I have no doubt;
the word-worn lord was e’er without
the wit to recognise sound sense,
from his first breath, through each breath thence.’
Karvalo said:
‘The cock, it seems, has bollocks too,
both much too big and much too blue.
Has he been yearning all his life,
denied the warm touch of his wife?’
The king said:
‘The pig’s, it seems, are bigger still,
so clogged with cold and lovelorn swill.
Alas! It is an awful thing
to see how desp’rately they swing.’
As he and the king spoke their verses, Karvalo kept a close eye upon their audience, composed mostly of the king’s fellows, but also many folk from the other lordships. It was time to bring the matter to an end, and so Karvalo spoke the final verses:
‘What has become of this great hall
to be held by a heart so small?
Where’er has gone its kingly grace?
Where is thy gift of my bed-place?
‘The cause is clear: the king’s the wife,
his hall brought low by spouses’ strife,
his children by his woman born,
yet nonetheless another’s spawn.’
This verse struck such hurt in the king’s heart that his words failed him. His companions hung their heads in shame.
He said, ‘So be it. You will have your bed in my hall.’
‘As it should be,’ said Karvalo.
Then the king arranged a bed for him, and he took it gladly.
There was no further ceremony that evening. Everyone had small dinners by the booth and then got to bed. Karvalo ate with the king’s household, and only he enjoyed that.
There ended the first day of the lawmoot.
The fuss began on the following day. The preliminary meetings were many, be they about a table or wheresoever fate saw fit to cross two paths, though each was as delicate a discussion as any other, the lords all seeking to have their own way, by guile, gifts, or grace alone. Gossip ran rampant through it all, and one particular tidbit found its way to the tip of near enough every tongue: the matter of the murder of Osbago the sheriff.
‘It is damning indeed,’ some said, ‘that Karvalo could so coldly kill his own bondsman. Has he no respect for an oath?’
‘But no!’ said some others. ‘That there is a man who does what must be done. That there is true leadership.’
None could agree, and the matter remains unsettled.
So Karvalo came striding into the hall that evening with all eyes upon him. The doors swung wide, the chatter dampened, and in he came, decked in all the glittering jewels he had, his dress billowing behind him, and his head topped most daringly of all with his handsome home-dining hat. And how he postured! That jubilant man was thrilled indeed to be making such a show of himself, swaggering up the aisle, throwing out all manner of looks and poses, until he came before the firepit. Grimacing below the king, he took off his hat, clapped three times, and—if there was any yet within him—abandoned all subtlety and respect.
‘O king!’ he said. ‘Behold me, for I have arrived!’
The king was sat at his high table beside his wife. She was a woman called Yordhoa, and she was the daughter of a man called Thollayvo, the Reeve of Lagovol. She had two children by the king—a pair of daughters called Kara and Eyva—though she was at that time pregnant with a third, who would come to be a son named Olvero. There was no legitimate doubt about their paternity. The king also had an older son, named Arveno, sat on the other side of his father. He was born from an earlier fancy that was never fastened.
‘I behold you,’ said the king, and he bade Karvalo sit down.
Karvalo and his thanes elbowed their way into some seats near the front of the hall, very close to the platform, and it was there that they spent the evening hurling jeers and taunts at the king.
Awldano arrived a little while later, having taken some time beforehand to properly prepare Thalo. He had been instructed not to bring him into the hall until he was as pretty as he could be.
‘If I see but one hair out of place,’ Karvalo had said, ‘I will take it off, and the rest of his head with it, and also yours, Awldano, and then maybe my own for the indignity of it all.’
Filial Awldano had heeded his father’s words. He spent a good long while waging his war against Thalo’s hair, seeking to make himself the master of every strand, to impose his rule with a bone-toothed sword of tyranny. Then, when at last he was satisfied with his handiwork, he plopped Thalo’s hat upon his head and invited him to stand for inspection. He knew at once that it had all been for nought, for who could look upon such a finely fitted fellow and dare to find fault with but a misplaced lock?
So they came to the hall together, and even though Thalo was handsomer than ever he had been, it became quite clear that he remained underdressed. The hall was all hats and trousers, every fabric in every colour, gold and gems and jewels, and splendid swords slung on beautied belts, each with a name and a history stretching back generations, into the hands of the gods themselves. That was Karvalo’s world, and Awldano’s, and that of all important folk, but it was not Thalo’s. All the same, they tried to make it so. They sat Thalo with the rest of Karvalo’s troop on the front benches, and there he spent the meal doing all he could to keep himself steady.
As the meal was winding down and people started moving about, Karvalo had Thalo rise from his seat and set him to work.
‘Understand,’ he said, ‘Thalo is at home. The man before me is Thennelo, and Thennelo alone. Do not forget it.’
Thalo was thusly condemned to speaking with each of the lords in turn, and by the end of the evening’s end, he had met nearly the whole lot of them.
‘Tell me,’ they would say, ‘is this the man they call Thennelo?’ or some such words.
‘Yes,’ Thalo would say, and that was about as much as he could offer after a few goes round.
Towards the latter end of the evening, Thalo escaped the hall and fled into the privacy of his booth and the comfort of his bench. Awldano followed him out, and when they were alone, he said, ‘You bore yourself well today, Thalo.’
Thalo said, ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Only that I did not expect you to fare so well in such lofty company. You are a small man, after all. It fills me with such pride to see how well you handled yourself this evening.’
Thalo scoffed, and he said, ‘What need have I for a lordling’s pride?’
‘None, for your own is quite sufficient.’ Awldano took Thalo’s hand. ‘But need it or not, you have it.’
Now Thalo’s stomach grew grim—surely the wine welling within him—and he withdrew his hand. He lay on his bench, closed his eyes, and likewise closed the conversation. Awldano went to bed shortly thereafter.
Before his own bedtime, Karvalo came to the rede hall to meet with the king, for they had agreed to discuss certain important matters after the feast, but he did not find him waiting alone. At the king’s left sat Enlovo, the Reeve of Eylavol, who has already appeared in this tale, and at his right was a woman named Gefyona. She was the daughter of Arleno, Lord of Samnew, and was thereby the sister of his sons, Godmalo and Trewgeo. More importantly, she was married to the king’s brother, Arneo (he is not relevant now, but will be), and had thusly made herself one of the king’s closest counsellors.
When Karvalo entered the room, he sat down before anyone could greet him, and after all outstanding introductions had been made, he said, ‘Say then, O king, what is this about? Why is it that Enlovo, this off-cut slip of bad rock, is sitting here with us, such exceptional folk of exceptional stock?’
‘Tell me,’ said the king, ‘do you know what is afoot in Norlonn?’
‘That would depend on what it is to which you refer.’
‘The earls, I hear, are speaking harshly of the kingship.’
‘And cows, I hear, are mooing.’
‘Save your jests for one with the patience for them. The earls are becoming increasingly combative. Some are refusing to work with my reeves, scorning them, and denying them their jurisdiction. They speak of sovereignty, and of justice, and even in matters where there is no need for it. Such ill words breed ill manners, and ill manners breed ill deeds, and I do not wish for my judgement to fall upon those whom I had hoped to count among my allies.’
‘It is about time they demanded some respect from you,’ said Karvalo.
‘Do not speak to me of respect when you know so little of it.’
‘I give my respect only to the deserving. That I pay you none is your fault.’
‘My friends,’ said Enlovo. ‘Let us not distract ourselves.’
‘Yes. I have barely sat down, and yet I have already suffered enough of this conversation. Let us hasten to its end.’
The king grimaced, and he said, ‘Let us. The fact of the matter is that the earls believe themselves fit to govern not only their own domains, but mine and yours alike. They want seats in both my council and the rede. That, of course, is more than I am willing to give. You will understand that I must maintain my stature and my spine. Thus, I have devised a solution which I expect will best satisfy all parties.’
‘Let us hear it, then. How would you placate this threat?’
‘One of the reeves will become the earls’ representative, to be called the high-reeve, and they will speak on earls’ behalf on all important matters. They will be granted a seat in my council and on the rede, though they will hold neither a shire nor a lordship. They will, however, hold the right to vote in each, thus granting the earls the least of that for which they ask.’
‘That will not do.’
‘I understand your doubts, Karvalo, but do not forget this: with the right to vote comes the right to abstain.’
‘I see. And I suppose Enlovo here is the expectant high-reeve?’
‘Indeed. Enlovo has been granted that honour.’
‘Granted by whom, exactly?’
‘His peers have elected him from among themselves.’
‘Of course they have. I will say, though, that it is difficult not to notice that your chancellor’s son should by chance be elevated to this position.’
The royal chancellor at that time was a man named Rago. He happened to be Enlovo’s father, recently appointed, and also very well disposed towards the king and his allies.
‘It stands to reason,’ said the king, ‘that a son of excellent stock should himself be excellent, and such excellence is not easily passed over.’
‘Yes,’ said Enlovo, grinning. ‘I am truly humbled that my dear colleagues have entrusted me with this foremost responsibility. It is a burden I bear with pride. Be assured that I will not take it for granted.’
Karvalo scoffed. ‘A man is made of his stock, yes, but that does not make a son his father.’ He scowled at Enlovo. ‘He is not his. To my great relief, I am not mine. And you, Arkelo, most certainly are not yours.’
Now the king paused.
‘Pay him no mind,’ said Gefyona. ‘He is only blustering.’
But to her relief, the king held firm, and said, ‘No. Surprising though it may be, he is quite right. My father was certainly a man of particular repute, but a man of particular infamy likewise. We are nothing alike, and it need not be stated that he fell far short of my great virtue.’
‘Very much so,’ said Gefyona, eyeing Karvalo with contempt. ‘Now, for our agreement.’
‘Yes. Karvalo, as the appointment of the high-reeve is a matter pertaining strictly to the common realm and my governance thereof, I reserve the right to implement this appointment solely at my pleasure. Nonetheless, I have chosen to bring the matter before the rede and let it be subject to a vote. As a show of good faith, as it were.’
‘Very well,’ said Karvalo. ‘I will support you.’
‘I had not yet asked.’
‘There is no need. I know what you want, king. I will speak with my lot.’ Karvalo turned to Enlovo, his gaze unyielding. ‘We will back this, but know, Enlovo, that I am expecting abstentions, and abstentions alone. If even once you dare to rise from your seat, I urge you run. Run as fast as you bloody well can, for no strength of arms will spare you. Have your high-reeveship if you like, but I will not let you be the king’s puppet.’ His gaze at last loosened, only to fasten again on Gefyona. ‘He has enough of them already.’
Then Karvalo left the room and went to bed. He thought this was all very ill-advised, a compromise to best displease everyone, but one he might turn in his favour.
There ended the second day of the lawmoot.
On the following morning, Karvalo returned to the hall to find himself amid the growing throng of well-to-do folk, some making last-minute arrangements with their allies, others making last-minute adjustments to their hats, but all awaiting the lawmoot proper with a decided eagerness.
From the shadows, Thorreda emerged and said, ‘Karvalo, what exactly had the king to say?’
‘Patience,’ said Karvalo. ‘Muster for me my friends, and I will tell you all about it.’
‘Of course, though I will say that Arleno has not yet arrived, and all the more startlingly, Trewgeo has.’
‘So be it. If Arleno should appear, bring him to me. If not, leave Trewgeo out of it.’
Thorreda said it would be done and made away, but Karvalo swiftly called her back.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘where is Awldano?’
‘Asleep,’ said Thorreda, ‘or he was when I awoke. But that was a little while ago now, so he may have since stumbled from his bench.’
As Thorreda trotted away again, Karvalo took himself to Awldano’s booth. He found him asleep, still snoring with a sprightly vigour, and also Thalo, low-lidded and wan. They were two of the four put up there. Thorreda was the third, though she was more of an early riser. The fourth bench had been allotted to a woman called Soffena on account of her alleged friendship with Thorreda. That morning, however, it stood empty. Soffena had gotten herself so deplorably drunk during the prior evening’s meal that she never made it back to the booth. Instead, she stole vomiting into some traders’ ship in the morning twilight, and there she fell asleep amid the furs and fabrics, whereafter the ship set off with her yet aboard. Just so was she carried away down past Ayslonn to Syoldenn, and nothing more can be said of her, except that no one noticed any of it, and least of all Karvalo.
‘Awldano,’ he said, jostling him from his sleep. ‘Arise and honour me. Honour me with your promptness! Honour me with your presence!’
‘Of course,’ said Awldano, ‘but I was having a most lovely dream, and I dared not end it.’
‘Dream in your own time. Now it is my time, and I need you at my side. I will not let my esteem be jeopardised by your tardiness.’ He turned to Thalo, awake (he had not slept), though he was still in his bedclothes. ‘And I will say the same again. I expect better of my best. Deliver it.’
Then Karvalo went back inside, and after making themselves presentable, Thalo and Awldano followed him. Their task was onefold and simple, and it was to mingle. This they did, and it was not long before Awldano caught sight of Trewgeo whispering in the corner with his sister. He had only arrived at Syorbak earlier that morning, his departure from Samnew having been delayed by a sudden deterioration in his father’s health. Thalo had not yet met him.
Awldano seized Thalo’s shoulder and said, ‘Here. Come with me, and I will make you a friend of Samnew.’
‘No,’ said Thalo, but before he could further protest, Awldano put his hands on him and dragged him across the room.
‘Oy-oy, Trewgeo,’ he said, ‘and be well met.’
Trewgeo turned to him, and with a dull look in his eye, he slapped the top of his hat and said, ‘You would dare welcome me? I will have you know, I am my father’s lord-in-stead, and I am therefore your better. Take it back.’
‘Take it back?’
‘Take it back. Are you so thick you need everything repeated?’
‘No.’
‘Then take it back already!’
‘Oy-oy-not, then, and consider yourself unwelcomed.’
‘Now let us start again. Awldano, you are in my company. Why?’
‘To make an introduction, of course. Please, look upon this glamourful chap beside me.’ Awldano had Thalo step forwards. ‘This is Thalo, the man they call Thennelo, a man about whom you must surely have heard.’
When he heard this name, Trewgeo’s dark eyes grew bright. ‘Oh? This little fellow is Thennelo? I have heard about him—and very much—but I expected there to be as much to see of him as is said of him. I can only suppose it must have been a very small troll.’
Thalo put his hand on Sleme’s hilt, and he said, ‘There were two of them, and both were bigger than you.’
‘It would seem, Thalo Thennelo, that you are quick to clutch at your sword. I think you should take your hand away now and then, for none but voracious fate knows what might come of it. After all, one man’s murder may yield many victims. We should all be aware of that, and now more than ever.’
At this, Thalo’s hand clenched about the sword’s hilt, but Awldano took it in his own and gently lifted it away.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘we need none of this.’
Thalo stepped back and said nothing more, and neither did Trewgeo. He huffed quietly and moved along.
Before following him, Gefyona said, ‘Tell me, Thalo man, is it true? You slew two trolls?’
Awldano said, ‘He did.’
Then she went on her way.
Now Awldano said to Thalo, ‘Pay him no mind. Trewgeo has long been a scurrilous sort.’
Still, Thalo had nothing to say, well within his mind. Awldano put a hand on his shoulder, but Thalo took another step back, and another, and then he left the hall in quite the hurry. There was no time to follow him. After only a single step, Awldano had Karvalo’s hefty fingers bearing down on him, rooting him in place.
‘The king is calling,’ said Karvalo. ‘It is time to begin.’
Awldano looked once more to the doorway, but he turned away and went with his father. Outside the rede hall, two of their biggest thanes stood with their backs pressed up against the door to ensure Karvalo would be the first to enter. He bade them step aside, and at their parting, he brought his knuckles to bear, rapping thrice upon the door before letting loose his mightiest roar. With a chesty ‘Oy-oy!’ he stepped into the room, shoulders back, head held high, and said, ‘Let us begin!’
He took his seat (directly opposite the king), with Awldano at his right and Thorreda behind him. The rest of the lords shuffled in thereafter. Each was accompanied by a handful of their own trustiest companions, until the rede was fully gathered and supported.
Those in attendance are here listed in the conventional order: Arkelo, Lord of Syorbak, with his son, Arveno, his sister-in-law, Gefyona, the chancellor, Rago, and Enlovo, the expectant high-reeve; Sledha, Lord of Wolam, with her daughter, Asdea, and Asdea’s husband, Orrero; Seymodo, Lord of Owffek, with his grandson, Enrego, and Ommeo, a close friend of his; Karvalo, Lord of Pearmol, with his son, Awldano, and his chiefest advisor, Thorreda; Yarnaga, Lord of Syornes, with her daughter Yondea, her brother-in-law, Klavo, and the chiefest of her thanes, Fradmalo; Mesdea, Lord of Reykam, with her husband, Gonnalo, and her uncle, Reyfneo; Ewglena, Lord of Knessyar, with her two children, Ferrono and Gyola, and Gyola’s wife, Alfrela (who was also the sister of Karvalo); Reggeno, Lord of Awslad, with his wife, Ogdea, and his brother-in-law, Yalkeo (who was also the son of Reyfneo, in the party from Reykam); Arnalo, Lord of Arbak, with his mother and predecessor, Reflea; Afdea, Lord of Awlteyr, with her husband, Arbeyno, her daughter, Bawga, and Bawga’s husband, Bewko; Kona, Lord of Flatteyr, with her wife, Fena, and her brother, Addeo; Kadleyna, Lord of Wolsrok, with only her wife, Lota (who was also the king’s half-sister); Bremmero, Lord of Reygmol, with his daughter, Paldhera, her husband, Grevo, and Grevo’s twin brother, Brevo; Trewgeo, on behalf of his father, Arleno, Lord of Samnew, with his uncle, Kardano, and his chiefest thane, Yorvadho; Eyla, Lord of Gonnawl, who sat alone; Byordeo, Lord of Reygnawl, with a large and menacing fellow named Breygo; Fesdeo, Lord of Brognes, with his elderly father Errere; Rena, Lord of Yolbrog, with her two daughters, Rosswea and Awdbyoga; and Bodleo, Lord of Gwonvek, with his daughter, Syoma, and Syoma’s wife, Torvoa (who was also formerly betrothed to Addeo, in the party from Flatteyr).
There was also a twentieth party in attendance from Brogsrok, fronted by a woman called Yala, who had come hoping to be admitted to the rede. The rede voted in favour of her admission, albeit by one vote alone, and she became the Lord of Brogsrok. The rede also voted in favour of the establishment of the high-reeveship and Enlovo’s appointment, and this was ratified with a slightly larger majority.
Awldano found the whole affair most enjoyable. This was not the first time he had come to the lawmoot, though it was his first time sitting in the rede hall. Nonetheless, he could not fully enjoy the squabbling, for his mind yet dwelt elsewhere—on the swiftness with which Thalo had earlier fled.
Then, once the first session had ended, Awldano retired to his booth, hoping to find Thalo there, to speak with him and to hear him, and thus to put both their minds at ease. Yet when he came there, the booth stood empty. He ate quietly alone and went to bed. Thorreda soon came along to do the same, and he fell asleep shortly after that.
Thalo had spent the day wandering about, or otherwise making no use of himself at all. He went to sulk by the river for a while, and there he took from his belt-bag the golden acorn he had found in place of the trolls’ heads. And as he gazed upon its sheen, glinting in the sunlight, his thoughts moved back to the river before him, fearing a certain elf might spring from it and have at him with vitriol and curses.
‘No,’ he said, and then he clasped the acorn in his hand, intent upon casting it into the water, to be rid of it once and for all. But when he lifted his hand, he could not bring himself to release it. Within it was some unknowable power, and it clung to him. He could not part with it, much as he could not bear to lose the heads it once had replaced. He put the acorn back in his bag and returned to his wandering until it was long into the night, and well past time for bed.
When Thalo came back to the booth, Awldano and Thorreda were both fast asleep, and neither stirred upon his arrival.
There ended the third day of the lawmoot.
Awldano awoke the next morning to find Thalo’s bench empty once more. He set out to find him, but he was nowhere to be seen in the yard, and neither was he in the hall. Just as he was about to leave the hall and take his search further afield, he heard his father bellowing at the back of the room.
‘What dishonour!’ said Karvalo. ‘It is disgraceful beyond words.’
Awldano made his approach, and he found Karvalo holding Trewgeo tight against the wall.
‘You, Trewgeo, are my lotsman, mine alone, and yet you sit beside the king and applaud his every word?’
‘Unhand me!’ said Trewgeo. ‘I owe you nothing!’
‘How I wish it were so! If it were not for my fatheaded fool of a father, you would be nothing. Your hall would be mine, as it rightfully is, and I would be all the merrier. But that is not where we find ourselves. If things are as bad as you say, if your father is truly dying, and if you are to succeed him, you will honour the bonds between our halls, or I will be forced to act in a manner you may find disagreeable.’
‘What bonds are these? Nothing more than old Karvalo sticking his fingers in everyone else’s business, as it always has been.’
‘And what of the oaths of your fathers? Do they mean nothing to you? Would you squander all your dignity for but a quick whiff of the king’s shit?’
‘You have no right to speak of dignity! You murdered your own man, in your own hall. If you think there can be any respect for one who would dispense such injustice, then you are very much mistaken.’
Now Karvalo’s grip on Trewgeo tightened, and the matter nearly came to blows, but Gefyona prevented that.
‘Lord of Pearmol,’ she said, ‘release him, or I will make this matter judicial. I think we all know how the king would rule.’
‘He would certainly rule in my favour,’ said Karvalo, ‘if he has any concern for maintaining peace within his kingdom.’ He stepped away from Trewgeo. ‘Do not defy me. If you inherit your father’s lordship, I will invite you to make the proper oaths with me, and I urge you accept the invitation.’
Karvalo then left the hall, and as he passed Awldano, he seized his arm and took him outside.
‘What was that I heard?’ asked Awldano.
‘The same as ever. The ewe thinks herself a bull. Promise me you will never be so shameful a son. I could not bear to see my fatherhood so besmirched.’
‘But you spoke of the king’s concern for peace.’
‘And I will not do so again. As things stand, I need not fear him.’
Shortly thereafter, the second session of the lawmoot began. They joined the others in the rede hall, and it unfolded much as it had the day prior, though the matters discussed were all the pettier. Trewgeo remained stalwartly beside the king, such that he only voted the same way as Karvalo when the king did too, and even then, he was reluctant to do so. Despite his rising fury, Karvalo maintained his composure.
As for Thalo, he had not slept at all, and so he arose before dawn and stole out into the chill of the early morning darkness. Again, he spent his time just as he had the day before—wandering about, and brooding, and being generally useless. Around midday, the many sleepless nights of late set upon him at last. He sat down beneath a tree, and there he fell asleep. So he remained until a few hours later, when the sun had nearly set, and when he started from his sleep to find Awldano stood before him.
Awldano said, ‘Here you are, Asfoa’s son. What have you been up to?’
‘This is a hateful place,’ said Thalo, ‘a house of spears.’
‘Then let me be your shield, that you may stand proud beside me, and not cower away in fear.’
‘It will not end well. It never does.’
‘You cannot know what lies ahead. Fate is indeterminable, and we can only hope it rules in our favour.’ Awldano put out his hand. ‘And if not, then at least we shall falter together.’
After a moment’s hesitation, his mind caught on Knale, his dreadful words and the fate they had spelt, Thalo found the courage to lay it all aside. He took Awldano’s hand and said, ‘But it will not come to that.’
Awldano pulled him up onto his feet, put a kiss upon his fingers, and they went back to their booth together.
There ended the fourth day of the lawmoot.
The law games were played on the fifth day, and everyone had a grand enough time. Early in the morning, Karvalo paid a gang of the king’s boys to throw whatever they liked at Trewgeo’s thanes, and to say nothing of it. They started with only mild insults, though they were throwing stones by the end of the day, and it was not stopped until one of them knocked Trewgeo’s uncle, Kardano, unconscious during the wrestling. The king came along at once and made the lads compete against the men of Samnew, and sure enough, they all walked away bruised and bested, but still richer than they were that morning.
None of Karvalo’s companions covered themselves in sufficient glory to be recalled.
That evening, the king hosted the closing feast, and it unfolded just as the first had, though Thalo was slightly happier to have Awldano at his side.
Late in the evening, Karvalo and Trewgeo fell victim to their tempers once more. Their argument (about both everything and nothing at all) was fuelled by such enmity that again, it nearly came to blows, but this time, the king himself came to mediate.
‘Men,’ he said, ‘separate, or you will be separated.’ Turning to Trewgeo, he said, ‘If you are to cast your lot in with me, you must never let your dignity fall so short. Do not surrender control of your heart to another, and least of all one so eager to see it stopped.’ Then, turning to Karvalo, he said, ‘I am a patient man, and very forgiving, but you, Karvalo, are pushing my hospitality to its very limit. This will not happen again, not as long as we each live, lest that not be long at all.’
Karvalo only chortled and swaggered away.
The mood in the hall turned sour after that, and the feast ended with a bitter taste in everyone’s mouths.
There ended the fifth day of the lawmoot, and they were glad to be done with it.
Karvalo sailed home on the following morning. Only then did he realise he was leaving one rower short, but Soffena was long gone, and it was much too late to do anything about it.