Deep in thought, Taran sat hunched over the table in the royal chambers, elbows planted and forehead resting on the tips of his fingers. He had spent nearly an hour thus, wracking his mind for how to handle the coming discussion with Iscawin—and that hour was nothing compared to the long sleepless night before, spent lying restlessly in bed, doing the same. Neither had brought much resolution. The ground he now trod felt even more treacherous than the Marshes of Morva. What had first appeared to be solid footing, on which he could chart a course forward, now looked suspiciously like quicksand, ready to pull him down to his doom.

Suddenly, there came a loud knock and the chamber door creaked open, startling Taran from his brooding thoughts. The guard on duty stepped inside. "King Iscawin is here to see you, Your Majesty," he announced.

Taran's pulse quickened. "Yes, I was expecting him. Please see him in."

The guard retreated halfway through the door and waved Iscawin forward. He bowed to both kings, then returned to his post, shutting the heavy door behind him with another creak and a soft thud. Iscawin strode forward, stopping a few paces from Taran.

"You wished to speak with me, Majesty?" he asked graciously.

"I did. Thank you for coming so promptly, and at such a late hour after a long day of Council," Taran answered. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, be seated."

"I came as swiftly as I could, of course," Iscawin replied as he took his place. "It is a rare day when a man is summoned to a private council with the High King." He flashed an easy grin. "I trust it is not to reprimand me for untoward conduct in Council or your court."

"No, you have been most helpful thus far in both…" Taran said slowly, his mind still reeling a little from the dissonance between the king's witnessed behavior and the crimes of which he stood accused. "However… some serious charges have been leveled against you, related to crimes that transpired in years past—all of which have raised grave concerns about your trustworthiness. For the sake of fairness, I thought it best to hear your side of the story before passing judgement or deciding on a course of action."

Iscawin's smile vanished, replaced first with shock and then with a deliberate impassivity. "Charges? Of what nature? Made by whom?" he asked, his voice measured.

Taran hesitated. The very nature of the accusations would point to Telyn and make her vulnerable to retribution. If Iscawin were as dangerous as she'd claimed, her life and her family's lives were at stake. Yet, how could he deflect that potentially deadly arrow of attention? Then again, if Iscawin were innocent, it would be an unforgiveable insult to begin by assuming otherwise. Carefully—he must choose his words carefully…

"Several instances of grievous manipulation and abuse were mentioned. Some involved you directly, others indirectly," Taran explained, choosing to disregard entirely Iscawin's question about his accuser's identity. He forced down his nerves, steeling himself for the next statement and the cantrev king's ensuing reaction. "Still worse," he continued, "you were accused of murdering Lady Telyn's husband, Rhys Son of Arwel."

Iscawin's face darkened with indignation. "I am no murderer," he asserted, a steely edge entering his voice. "No men have died by my hand, save on the battlefield."

"Your accusers seemed quite convinced that you had a hand in his death, whether it was you yourself who attacked him or another acting on your command," Taran countered. "Do you call them liars?"

The charged, lengthy pause that followed seemed to crackle in the air. The cantrev king held Taran's gaze for a moment, then averted his eyes, looking down at the floor but clearly focusing elsewhere—back in time, or turned inward on himself. He breathed out a faint, ragged sigh, and his face fell into an expression of deep chagrin. "Not liars, but sorely mistaken—on one count, at least," he said, his tone firm but subdued. "I own that there is much in my past that I would undo if given the chance—shameful deeds that I had hoped could remain buried in time, forgotten by all but myself. But although I have been callous, and perhaps even cruel at times, I am no murderer." He levelled his gaze on Taran once again. "The death of Rhys was tragic, and no doubt heartbreaking for those who knew him well; I fully understand why they would want someone to blame. There were those who accused Lady Telyn herself, in fact, so outraged and distraught were they. And given my past transgressions, and my known fondness for her, I can comprehend why still others believed it was I who slew him. But I assure you, it was not so."

Taran frowned. "You do not deny the other charges, then?"

"I know not what the other charges were, to either deny or confess to them… But no, I do not doubt that at least some of the accusations held a measure of truth. I am willing to discuss them with you at length if you wish—along with the attempts I have already made to atone for those wrongs."

Taran foundered. An outright and outraged denial, he had expected. But this partial confession? This show of contrition? It shifted the entire arc of the conversation, and he had to scramble to regain his mental footing. "Yes, we will indeed discuss those further…" he began, "and I mean to investigate them afterward, to uncover whatever truth I can. Moreover," he continued, wary of Iscawin's reaction to what he was about to say, "whether or not you retain the lands granted to you hangs in the balance. As I mentioned at the outset of this meeting, you have been an asset thus far; I myself have only seen you behave honorably. That said, I cannot in good conscience grant such power to one who has abused it in the past."

A glint of resentment sparked in Iscawin's eyes, but he quelled it rapidly. "I swear to you, the man who committed those misdeeds is as good as dead," he insisted. "Surely, you have seen people mend their ways when confronted with their own base nature? With the harm they have wrought? The incident with Rhys was just such a moment for me—to realize people could believe me capable of such a heartless murder…" Iscawin bowed his head in disgrace. "The mirror that held up before my eyes reflected such a harsh truth that it is a wonder I survived the sight of it. I regret that Telyn left my cantrev before I could prove both my innocence and my capacity for redemption. I only hope that I may have a chance to do so now—to her, and to you and Queen Eilonwy as well."

Taran sat for a moment in silence, fighting to see a clear line of truth through the fog of doubt still swirling in his mind, and fighting still harder to keep that uncertainty hidden from view. Iscawin sat unmoving before him, tense, waiting. Was it better to condemn him from the outset, gaining an immediate but known enemy? Or, was it better to forestall judgement, delaying confrontation and possibly even gaining an ally? Was he truly reformed? Was there any way to tell without the revelations of time?

"I will grant you that chance," Taran said at last, a sense of resolve building within him. Iscawin raised his head, hopeful. "A formal list of the accusations will be drawn up, presented to you, and investigated insofar as possible. As for your land holdings," he continued, "the other war leaders have been given three years to prove themselves; you shall have one year, under close scrutiny. At the end of that time, Queen Eilonwy and I will decide whether to leave the Western Cantrevs under your control or withdraw them entirely. And in the meantime, if you are found guilty of any past or recent crimes, you will be removed from power immediately."

Iscawin's jaw clenched. "Understood," he ground out. He looked steadily at Taran while Taran did the same, each attempting to read the other. "I thank you for granting me even that limited opportunity."

Taran rose, looking down at the cantrev king with an authority he only half felt. "You may go now," he said, firmly but without malice. "We shall speak again before you depart at the conclusion of the Council."

Iscawin nodded, rose, bowed rigidly, then left the chamber without another word. The moment the door was closed, Taran released a heavy sigh and resumed his seat. His heart was still beating more rapidly than usual and his palms were damp. He leaned back and raked his hands through his hair, wishing it could brush the tangle of worries from his head.


Mere moments later, another knock sounded on the door. It was Medyr this time and, from the looks of it, he was not there for pleasant conversation.

"Your Majesty…" the Chief Steward began, with evident hesitation.

"Yes, Medyr?"

"I am afraid I have some unfortunate news to relay, sire."

No surprise there. Taran's brows knit together. "Go on…"

"I have just received word from Queen Rhelemon that she and King Elystan will be absent from the remainder of the Council. It… appears there was a mishap involving His Highness last night, and he is rather… ah… incapacitated."

"What?! What happened?" Taran exclaimed.

Medyr looked uneasy. "It… It is of a somewhat delicate nature, sire."

"Knowing Elystan, it would be, wouldn't it?" Taran grumbled. "I must know the specifics, Medyr. If I do not hear them from you, I am sure to overhear them as gossip from far less reliable sources."

The Chief Steward frowned. "Understood. Well… without going into lurid detail… it appears there was another brawl at the alehouse this evening, after the conclusion of today's meeting. King Elystan was caught up in the mess. He sustained injuries serious enough that he is unfit to continue participating in the Council."

A groan of disgust escaped Taran before he could think to exercise kingly restraint. Medyr did not look all that shocked, but he did look like he had more to say. "And?" Taran prompted warily.

Medyr winced. "Lord Brynmor and King Dirmyg were also involved, sire… and likewise injured… along with several of Iscawin's retinue. I believe they all mean to stay on, but the state of affairs between them will be a bit more tense, I would imagine."

Taran's scowl deepened. Better and better—as if dealings between the various leaders had not been contentious enough already. "What sparked the fight? Have you any idea?" he asked, grasping for any thread of logic that might guide him to a resolution.

"I'm afraid not," Medyr admitted. "None of the witnesses seemed to know with any certainty which of the men provoked it. That's the trouble with drink, really… I would suggest that you to restrict it for the duration of the Council, but then you might truly have a rebellion on your hands."

"No doubt…" Taran sighed. He shut his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples in frustration, before looking back up at Medyr. "Does Queen Rhelemon intend to seek retribution? Do any of them?"

"I do not believe so, fortunately. Queen Rhelemon is, understandably, quite distraught and more than a little embarrassed by the situation. However, the healer attending to her husband's injuries has assured her that he will recover with no worse than a few scars. The queen merely wishes to depart as quickly and discreetly as possible. As for the others… I believe each of them has convinced himself that he got the better of his foes and is satisfied with the outcome—a duel of sorts, if you will."

Taran barked out a laugh and shook his head in disbelief. It was utterly absurd. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how King Math had dealt with such childish behavior. At least there would be no need for any trials, though, and that was a relief. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be conducting his first-ever trial in the midst his first-ever Council.

"Hmn. All right, then," he said, drawing himself up straight again in his seat. "Please document whatever you heard from the witnesses and bring it to me for review. Even if none of the men involved are brought to trial, they must be reprimanded for their actions, at least. If such violence goes unchallenged, it will only happen more and more frequently. I do not want any wars breaking out within the very walls of Caer Dathyl."

"No indeed, Your Majesty. To be frank, I do not think the walls could withstand such abuse at present," Medyr replied, jesting without the hint of a smile. Or was he in earnest? Taran could not always tell. "But to business—" the Steward continued, "I shall have that report to you by tomorrow."

"That would be helpful, if you can manage it," Taran said. "And thank you for bringing this matter to my attention immediately, unpleasant as it is."

"Of course. My pl— Well, not my pleasure, exactly, but my privilege to assist you as I can," Medyr stated, standing tall. "I will notify you of any further information that comes to light. Good night, Your Highness."

Taran smiled weakly. "I hope it will be good, but I have my doubts. Good night to you as well, Medyr."


Not long after Medyr departed, Eilonwy returned, fresh from one of her regular meetings with the castle architects and master masons. She breezed through the door and dropped an armful of parchments and drawing scrolls onto an already overflowing table in the corner.

"Ooof," she huffed. "I am so glad that's done for this week. I swear, we go round and round in so many circles during those meetings that it's a wonder my head doesn't spin right off. And the topics we get stuck on sometimes! The breaches in the outer walls aren't even closed yet—let alone the repairs to the inner walls and buildings—and the Chief Architect is already suggesting that the castle exterior should be plastered and whitewashed when it's all done, which is an absolutely ridiculous idea since that would mostly be just for show. Why worry about the embroidery on a new gown when you're still wearing an onion sack?" She shook her head dismissively. "And then the Chief Mason is fretting about the depth of the foundations, whether to increase the thickness of the walls, and the size of the stones coming from the quarry. And the Chief Carpenter is complaining that the most recent batch of beams wasn't straight enough…"

She sighed and plopped down into the chair across from Taran. "Oh, well. I'm just glad you agreed to let me deal with these meetings on my own; you have more than enough to handle without worrying about stonework patterns, and building sequence, and payment schedules."

"Yes… thank you for overseeing that," Taran said somewhat absently. He was trying to follow Eilonwy's report, but the dilemmas with Iscawin and the brawling cantrev leaders still crowded his mind.

"And speaking of payments," Eilonwy went on, hardly stopping for a breath, "I'm still amazed at how very expensive it is to build a castle. I mean, I suppose I would have assumed it's costly, if I'd given it much thought. But that's not the sort of thing one ponders while cooking and cleaning and planting and harvesting at Caer Dallben, is it? Or even when living in a castle like Dinas Rhydnant. And even if I had thought about it, I don't suppose I would have guessed just how expensive it all is, what with the cost of the stone and timber, and payment for hundreds of masons and carpenters and quarrymen, and fees for the master builders and architects, and things I can't even be bothered to remember at the moment. We're fortunate the workers agreed to be paid mostly in food and ale for the time being, until taxes from the cantrev lords come in at harvest-time—" she broke off suddenly, finally noticing Taran's tense and distracted mien. "What's wrong? You look as if you'd been asked to haul a load of quarried stone atop your own back…"

Taran gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Or two full loads of stone…" His shoulders slumped wearily. "Medyr just brought word that King Elystan will be departing early on account of getting himself into some drunken brawl. Apparently, he is too injured to continue."

"Hmn. I can't say I didn't see something like that coming," Eilonwy muttered. "Are you sure there wasn't some strumpet involved, too? But that can't be what has you so troubled. Elystan wasn't all that helpful in Council to begin with, so we should fare just as well without him—better, most likely."

"Well… a number of others were involved, too. Medyr will have a full report ready tomorrow. And before that, I spoke with Iscawin…"

Anger swallowed Eilonwy's concern in an instant. "You spoke to him without me?!" she exclaimed.

"I didn't plan to, but you were busy," Taran explained. "Those meetings don't usually take so long; I assumed it would be finished by the time Iscawin answered my summons."

"Then you ought to have sent someone to fetch me! Unless there was a wall about to collapse, nothing the builders had to say was anywhere near as important as the talk with Iscawin." Eilonwy scowled in disapproval, but bit her lip to hold back the full force of her outrage.

"I'm sorry. As I said, I didn't think—"

"Clearly not," Eilonwy cut him off with an eyeroll. "So, what did he have to say for himself, then?"

"He denied outright having any involvement in Rhys' death. He did confess, in general terms, to other wrongdoing years ago—and expressed deep contrition for those crimes. We will be discussing that in a few days, before he leaves Caer Dathyl."

"And you believe him? You trust him?" Eilonwy cried, incredulous. "After what Telyn told us? Are you truly going to take his word over hers? That's as foolish as crossing a battlefield with your eyes closed and your fingers in your ears! Of course he denied being a murderer; you don't expect him to leap onto the executioner's block, do you?"

"No, I do not trust him blindly," Taran retorted, nettled at the suggestion that he might be so gullible. "But nor can I condemn him without just cause. Telyn has no solid proof that he killed her husband, however much she has reason to believe he was capable of it. Furthermore, his actions here, thus far, have given us no reason to distrust him. He has given us a great deal of sound advice, and attempted to help keep the other cantrev lords in line. I must accept the possibility that he truly regrets his past and seeks redemption."

Eilonwy looked at him skeptically, her arms crossed.

"We have seen people change before," Taran argued. "Ellidyr and Achren both turned away from evil in the end, though it cost them their lives. And what of that gwythaint whose life I spared? It, too, sacrificed its own life to save mine, though it was a creature of Annuvin and slave to Arawn. In fact," he added pointedly, "the enchantresses of Morva even gave Arawn himself a chance: they allowed him to take the Black Cauldron, though they knew he would likely use it to evil ends. Should we grant Iscawin less of a chance?"

Eilonwy snorted. "Yes, and we saw how well that turned out with Arawn. You're hardly supporting your argument, you know. You might want to stop speaking before you dig an even deeper barrow for it."

Taran's expression clouded. "I cannot turn Iscawin away yet. Time may bear out our suspicions, but that is a risk I am willing to take," he said. "I will look deeper into the other accusations Telyn has leveled against him. So many years later, there is likely no way of prove any of them, but I will do my utmost. So, too, will I keep my eyes and ears open while he is here at the Council."

Eilonwy hesitated, looking deeply into Taran's stormy eyes. "Fine," she said at last, uncrossing her arms and giving a sigh of resignation. "But you had better make sure you don't do any more looking, and listening, and holding important meetings without me. Bear in mind, I grew up around more than my fair share of evil at Spiral Castle with Achren, so I have a fairly good nose for sniffing it out."

"I thought we were looking and listening—are we sniffing too?" Taran bantered, grasping for a scrap of levity amidst the weighty conversation.

"Yes, sniffing too. One can't be too careful, after all," she replied, one corner of her mouth twitching against a suppressed smile.

Taran gave a single nod. "I welcome your help; I will not exclude you again."

"You had better not…"

"I shall not. I have learned my lesson, I swear," he vowed, raising his palms in surrender.

"All right, Taran of Caer Dallben, I will believe you," Eilonwy allowed, claiming victory with a toss of her head. "But tell me, how do you propose we uncover the truth about what crimes Iscawin committed?"

"I was hoping you would have some suggestions…" he replied, both wry and rueful.

"Oh, you did, did you? I assumed you must have ideas aplenty of your own, since you neglected to involve me in the decision to conduct that investigation."

"Would that I did. There was little time to think between one problem and the next walking through that door." He gazed into the middle distance, thinking. "We send emissaries, I suppose? Have them question as many people as they can, both courtiers and commoners, and see what information that yields?"

"Yes, but how will we uncover the true story? I imagine Iscawin will have those formal emissaries under close watch, and I doubt people will be terribly forthcoming when they know his spies are about."

"No, I would not expect much to come of the official investigation," Taran concurred. "We will send others as well, without Iscawin's knowledge, to ask around in secret."

"All right, but whom?" Eilonwy pressed. "Who is trustworthy enough for the task? It cannot be Fflewddur or Gurgi—both are too recognizable."

"And Llassar would have no believable excuse for being in Arvon, striking up conversations with strangers…" Taran spun through the possibilities in his mind and came up woefully short. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he cursed the fact that they knew so few people in Caer Dathyl; it would be difficult enough to choose the official emissaries, who would only really need to serve as decoys. Suddenly, though, a thought occurred to him. "What of Hevydd?" he suggested. "He is affable enough to win people's trust and get them to speak freely, but burly enough that they'll hesitate to cause him trouble. He could travel to Arvon later on in the year, under the pretense of marketing his wares. His apprentices could accompany him; if he trusts them well enough to share the secrets of Annuvin with them, then they must be trustworthy enough for the task."

Eilonwy's brow wrinkled as she considered the suggestion. "Well… I imagine that's as good as we are likely to find, so it will just have to do. Yes—I will speak with Medyr about who might serve well as official emissaries, if you will speak to Heyvdd. But mind you," she added, pointing a warning finger toward Taran, "I still intend to keep an eye on Iscawin like a hawk on a hare the entire time he is here. You may wish to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I am not so inclined."

"Fair enough," Taran replied.

They sat there for some time longer, both still mulling over the quandary at hand. Taran fussed with a quill that lay close at hand, smoothing out the split and rumpled vanes. Eilonwy plucked at a snagged thread in her dress.

"What of his new land holdings?" she asked suddenly, looking up.

Taran winced a bit. "They will remain under his control for one year while we examine his fitness to rule then. Should he make any missteps in that time, or if we uncover evidence of his guilt for past crimes, all of his cantrevs are forfeit."

"Hmn," Eilonwy grunted. It was a terse and unenthusiastic acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless, and Taran's shoulders relaxed slightly. There came another long pause. "Fflewddur and Telyn will not be pleased, you know," she added, looking him straight in the eyes.

"I know," Taran admitted, frowning. "I trust that they will understand the reasoning behind my decision, though—why I cannot justifiably do otherwise. I do not doubt Telyn's sincerity in warning us about Iscawin, but I cannot ignore the possibility that she is mistaken about him murdering Rhys."

Eilonwy huffed, resigned to his logic, but clearly no less skeptical than before. "Good Llyr, what a tangled mess…" she muttered.

Taran sank lower in his chair. Tangled, indeed—exactly what he had been thinking earlier—and each day seemed to loop several more threads into the already bewildering knot.