CHAPTER XXVI: The Carrion Feast

Tatya heard his master speaking to himself. The apprentice was in the other room of the Cotter's cottage at the time and followed the lilting cadence of Greagoir's voice as if the sound was a will-o-the-wisp drawing him enchanted to the master's bedside. To Tatya's irritation, the master had continued his story as if the apprentice were still sitting nearby taking dictation! Greagoir's wide-eyed stare unnerved Tatya, and it seemed now that the tale came from the master's frail body by its own volition, consuming the host as it gained the strength to take wing. Seeing the continuing toll it took on poor Greagoir, Tatya suddenly dreaded the tale and wished it would end. He hovered over Greagoir's bed, considering whether or not to interrupt the master's recitation, but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure to dread the story's interruption even more so than alleviating his master's pain. He just could not bring himself to stop Greagoir, for amidst his revulsion a divergent and vulgar curiosity had suddenly taken hold of him as well. For good or ill, he thought, the tale must not cease 'ere its completion – it must continue without compromise to whatever end!

Banishing guilt to the shadowy hinterlands of his mind, Tatya quickly took up his quill and parchment and began scribbling in the manic shorthand he had learned so many years before in the Guild Hall, capturing the essence of the master's prose to be reconfigured later at his leisure. The apprentice smiled warmly – but nothing was leisurely for the master! Tatya's scrawling hand raced feverishly across the page to sustain in writing what Greagoir absently spoke in staccato lines of loquacity that rose and fell -- sometimes strident, sometimes murmuring – a tidal ebb and flow of words:

At last, the caravan neared the marches of Geas-Geata. In our travels, I had told Imrim ar-Cam much of the tale of woe that was the khanate's current state, but the slaver was rather unsympathetic to the country's plight. As a ruthless man of business, Imrim saw the expedience of Leannan's forced marriage to the prince of Talamh, and even shrugged off the apparent poisoning of the khan and the sham-protectorate assumed by Mharu-Muc. "A feeble head makes for an enfeebled body," was his rather harsh assessment. "Weakness in a ruler shall always be exploited, either from without by bullying neighbors, or from within, as is the case with Mharu-Muc's influence over the khan." Ever a conspiratorial sort, Imrim held a grudging admiration for the fat eunuch, Mharu-Muc, but voiced some reservation regarding his recent ploy. "I believe the castrato has overreached his aim on his latest gambit," the slaver opined, "as I do not see an advantage for him in this changeover of power from Geas-Geata to Talamh."

"Mharu-Muc," I spat as if the name were a curse, "believes he is capable of controlling the khan of Talamh as he has with the khan of Geas-Geata. His ambition is as boundless as his bloated belly."

Imrim ar-Cam laughed long and hard. "Ah, young master," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "I had forgotten the hatred you hold for the Great Eunuch." He mustered a bit of seriousness for a moment and said, "But I have not forgotten where your true sympathies lie in the matter. Thou art a remarkable youth, Greagoir, yet a youth thou still art. Your glib tongue does not always mask your inexperience. Your intentions are plainly seen for anyone who has the whit to see them."

The confoundingly subtle Imrim was, of course, correct; he could read me like a book. Although I had not made my love for Leannan manifest in our discussions, Imrim had discerned my burning hope from the very absence of its mention. In my futile attempts to steer clear of the topic, I had struck ever nearer to the mark. Looking back on my travels with Imrim ar-Cam, it must have seemed utterly absurd to the worldly slaver that my only wish was to return to the very place where my chances of death were most certain. In other words, the only logical assumption Imrim could make was that my decision was not based on logic at all, but rather on the illogic of love.

"I can see that desire has offered thee sustenance in your dreadful trials these past few months," Imrim stated, filling the lull in the conversation, "but what sustains can also destroy if it is relied on overmuch. Beware of relying on Desire, for she is a fickle mistress."

We came to a point where the caravan route intersected with a road that ran in a southeasterly direction – the path leading to my final destination. I had half-expected that Imrim ar-Cam's guards would accost me right then and there, and the sly slaver would attempt to make yet another profit off my flesh and bones, but Imrim was as good as his word (perhaps slavers do indeed have a code of ethics, after all!). Imrim gazed at me with sad resignation, making no attempt to dissuade me from my intended journey. He did manage a wan smile and said, "I do not think you shall find that which you seek, young master, but who knows, eh? Perhaps what you do find might prove more profitable to thee in the long run; for there are many paths to wisdom and not a one is easy." He veered his pony back onto the caravan route and put a palm to his forehead. "Fare thee well, young master," he said, once again beaming broadly, "I feel in my heart that we shall not meet again; but if perchance we do, think better of this humble merchant."

I smiled and waved as the jovial rascal rejoined the caravan on its steady progress towards the coast, but little did I linger there. Throwing caution to the wind (and common sense as well), I prodded my courser onward at a full gallop, hoping against hope that I had not arrived too late. There was, here and there, a peasant or two heading briskly in the opposite direction, but I thought nothing of it; that is, until there became a steady stream of farmers and villagers all heading north, clogging the road with wains and carts and satchels and bags, horses, oxen, goats, pigs and other impediments to my progress. I haled an old thatcher burdened with a great bundle of rushes slung over his shoulder and asked why he fled. "Och, yonge soir, 'tis th' endin' 'o' ter world, tha' it is!" he cried as he dropped his load and mopped his forehead with an old rag. "War's upon us! War and

r-o-o-o-n! Sure'n, ter city's been taken! Fly! Flee! 'Tis th' end, I tell ye!"

Tried as I might, no amount of prodding could pry any further information from the babbling thatcher, other than strident variations on impending doom in his colloquial gibberish. I decided I must get closer to the city in order to ascertain the situation first-hand. As I drew nearer the embattled enclave, fire and smokes curtained the horizon in stark black and feral orange. The flight of refugees now so swamped the rutted thoroughfares that it proved near impossible for me to pass. I dismounted and guided my steed up a bald hillock overlooking the madding crowd -- a great swarming sea of frightened folk seething and writhing in vain desperation -- choked, clogged and constricting further and further as they funneled into the few narrowly furrowed lanes that offered egress from the fiery siege.

From my embattled perch, I chanced to see many jostling court officials floundering frantically amongst the great-unwashed masses (as close as they had ever come, no doubt, to the lesser classes, save for barking orders at the occasional scullion or footman). Here were the courtesans and courtiers, the chamberlains and chatelaines, unhorsed and uncarted, left to fend for themselves by their far wiser servants, who had ignored the palace's faltering rule of courtly caste and unceremoniously fled to save their own unscrubbed necks. Now, save for their garish garb and brazen baubles – brief flashes of outlandish color in a motley mash of drab browns and greens – the disheveled remnants of the khan's court struggled to distance themselves from their former life of finery and fair façade. But one young lady in the throng caught my interest immediately. She had been a handmaiden of Princess Leannan and would oft pass messages between the two of us during my stay at court. I managed to catch her eye with a series of undignified (albeit comical) hand waves, jumps and halloos, and she immediately recognized me. I scrambled down the hillock and waded into the sea of confusion as she swam crosscurrent to meet me. With a furious effort, we managed to struggle through the throng and find our way back up the hilltop.

Once safe from the press of the mob, the handmaiden still had a look of fear and doubt; but little did I know her somber mien was meant more for me rather than for her own tribulations. "You…you are not dead!" she exclaimed in awe.

I put a hand to my chest and smiled. "No, despite rumors to the contrary, it would appear I am still among the living; although, given the many attempts upon my life, I am as surprised as you to be here and in one piece."

She did not smile in return. Tears welled in her eyes and she cried, "Then all is for naught!"

She became so distraught it took quite a while to calm her down. When at last she could speak again, she told me of the plight of Princess Leannan. It would seem that several months after my abduction, Leannan at last resigned herself to a loveless marriage to the prince of Talamh, a rather vain and brutish youth given to scandalous excesses. With the mysteriously prolonged incapacity of her father -- who still hovered feverishly at death's door but lingered on month after agonizing month -- Leannan, as sole heir to the throne (and by all rights queen should the khan die), was required as signatory (in lieu of her incoherent father's absence) for the various treaties and nuptial agreements that would bind the khanates of Geas-Geata and Talamh. This task not even Mharu-Muc as regent-protector could perform, for the necessity of a legitimate transference of power was paramount, given the other predatory khanates and princedoms along the Gold Coast watching hungrily for a chance to steal the throne. If the treaties were not binding by royal decree, it would invite a war that Mharu-Muc had no stomach to fight.

But he had not bargained on the shrewdness and iron will of Leannan. She forestalled the signings with feigned illnesses and monumental tantrums, all the while dealing in secret with other khanates in hopes of reaching some sort of bargain that would save her father's faltering throne. But alas! Mharu-Muc proved to be more adept at this royal game of cat-and-mouse, uncovering and smashing each plot before it bore fruit. At the last, Mharu-Muc forcibly trumped Leannan's continuing efforts by threatening the khan himself, only guaranteeing the feeble khan's lingering life if Leannan agreed to the accords. To this, the exhausted Leannan felt honor-bound to comply and sadly agreed to give her royal consent to the veritable surrender of Geas-Geata to Talamh. Brooking no more delay, Mharu-Muc hastily called for a great feast whereat the prince of Talamh and all his royal dignitaries should meet the Princess Leannan and sign the concordats that would bind the two khanates together (it is of note that the khan of Talamh himself could not attend the ceremony due to the uncertainty of rule and ongoing strife along the Gold Coast).

But the conspiratorial Mharu-Muc remained troubled and trusted not Leannan's sudden submission, for a treacherous heart ever expects treachery in the dealings of others. Taking no chances, he summoned a phalanx of food and wine tasters for the festivities, and he doubled, then tripled the guards. With this great cordon in place, he then decreed that no sword or dagger should be allowed within the feasting hall, and as a final indignity to Leannan, the mistrustful eunuch had the princess and her handmaidens forcibly searched to assure they concealed neither hidden poisons nor any ornaments that might be wielded as weapons. Only with these precautions in place did Mharu-Muc allow the ceremony to begin.

Amid the sniggering and oafish banter of the Prince of Talamh and his coterie, the austere Princess Leannan, both regal and unbowed, made her entrance into the garishly festooned hall and silently took her seat at the high table between the prince and the enormous Mharu-Muc.

"Look fellows, see what my father has bought for me!" the haughty Prince laughed to his cohorts as he leered at Leannan. Then turning to Mharu-Muc, he remarked with a sneer, "I trust my new pet has been declawed, eunuch; for although I enjoy my women with high spirits, it will not do to have some wild thing kill me in my sleep."

"She will be…mmmm…compliant, your highness," the grossly fat eunuch drawled confidently. He glared threateningly at Leannan with his beady, porcine eyes and added, "For she holds the fate of her father and her kingdom in her…mmmm…delicate hands."

"Yes…delicate…deliciously so," the Prince crooned lasciviously, ogling his prey up and down as if he were a wolf slathering over a prone lamb, "she shall make a fine brood mother." Suddenly, as if he found this idea somewhat repugnant, he barked, "But all this prattle is tiresome, let us make an end to this folly now; for as you wish to retain your powers and titles in Geas-Geata, Mharu-Muc, so too I wish to have meat and wine." He gave the eunuch a wink and chuckled, "For it seems we both think with our stomachs!"

Mharu-Muc bowed gratuitously and immediately clapped his hands and the royal scribes and stationers came forth with the ornate documents, as well as golden inkpots and quills with gilded feathers for each of the signatories. Without so much as a word or even a brief perusal of the accords, the prince of Talamh hastily scrawled his name in the proper spots as pointed out by his whispering advisers as they hovered about him like so many buzzing drones; and Mharu-Muc, as lord-protector of Geas-Geata, followed likewise in smug silence. Finally, as if in afterthought, the whole prodigious pile of parchment was laid before Princess Leannan – the barest formality for a brazen theft. There was a perceptible quiver of her hand as she reached for the gilt quill, but she paused before dipping it in the inkpot. Leannan gazed helplessly out at the assemblage, looking perhaps for just one kindly face in the crowd. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when at last she opened them, she seemed to have regained the resoluteness and calm composure she had displayed earlier. The princess smiled sadly and spoke without wavering so that the entire hall could hear her:

"Since my lords have deemed it unnecessary to offer speech befitting this august occasion, it has fallen to me -- as last of the royal line of Geas-Geata -- to speak on their behalf and for my beloved father, the stricken khan. Firstly, I welcome his highness, the Prince of Talamh, to our realm. I find it comforting to know that one of his stature and manner shall soon assume the position of my fallen father. Secondly, I acknowledge the tireless efforts of Mharu-Muc, whose diligence as protector of the khan and his throne has made this event possible. May all subjects who serve the crown in such manner receive their just reward."

Leannan dipped the quill in the inkpot and concluded, "Lastly, I echo the sentiments of the Prince of Talamh, when he uttered, 'let us make an end to this folly now'; and so, it is with a final, bitter stroke that I mark an end to Geas-Geata!"

Without a moment's hesitation Leannan turned and plunged the sharpened quill into the neck of the gloating prince, who, save for a brief gasp of shocked surprise, fell instantly dead. The horrified lords sitting around the table were too stunned to act immediately; thus, Leannan quickly grabbed up an inkwell and forced it to the lips of the rotund Mharu-Muc, who was too sluggish to fend off her attack. Too late now did he consider the loyalty and love the court scribes had for the scholarly Leannan, she who was their patroness and protector, and gladly thus did they supply her poisoned ink. "Drink of thy treachery, foul eunuch!" Leannan hissed vengefully as she drove the inkwell further into the fat traitor's mouth, "for it can be said that today the pen is truly mightier than the sword!"

Mharu-Muc sputtered and spat in desperation, but the poison acted near as quick as it had on the Prince of Talamh, and he slumped over convulsively, his darting tongue stained black and lolling out of his frothing mouth. When the other dignitaries finally accosted Princess Leannan, she merely laughed as one who was fey and cried, "Fools, there is naught you can do to me now! I died hours ago with my dear father -- may the khan rest in peace!" She faltered as the slow-acting poison wound its way through her vitals. "But I shall find no rest here," she murmured as one dreaming, "I must go on a final journey to find he who has my heart in his keeping..."

With that mournful whisper of wistful melancholy, Princess Leannan died, and Greagoir the Scribe fell silent as the deepening gloaming of a chill autumn evening shrouded his room in tomblike stillness and shadow.