Blog 9th Picture

It took a full octave for the journey to complete. That entire time, Santulím was obliged to lay on his back below the cart, uttering no sound. This was because the hunt for him was afoot: The trail for him inevitably leading outside of Jotheim, to the beginning of the Vilma Road.


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Blog 8th Picture

He was hiding behind some barrels of Raice and salted gulatte[1], having reached the corridor that led out of the Court, when two Retainers rushed past with orders to wait at the exit for his inevitable approach, there being but few ways into the Court.


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Santulím entered Jotheim, and eventually the Court of the Eagles, in the middle of Celem’s absence in a rainstorm. As he had been instructed, he spoke with nobody, avoided the common halls, hurriedly making his way to his own private quarters.

There he barred himself, never leaving for any reason. He shared his sad tale with the Jorian Wiseman, whose eyes grew wide with wonder, but he nodded and said nothing, agreeing to bring to the young Alchemist all that he required for sustenance.

The self-imposed arrest brought to Santulím little relief, though after some time he managed to concentrate on work.

–I have little room to exercise my abilities in this confinement.—he said to the Jorian Wiseman, the only one he saw.—but it is absolutely necessary that I should succeed in inventing something that wins the King’s favour back.—

The conspirators were elated with Santulím’s misfortune. Carefully they gauged the King’s opinion of the trip, but they need not have. The King had quickly forgotten the entire incident and was back to his normal pastimes and pleasures.

–Let the young one rot in his quarters.—spoke Dondelios.—Just do not allow him to learn of the return of Lypsum.—

Lypsum was duly warned not go to the parts of the Court where Santulím could find him. But Lypsum loved Raice more than anything, and it was not long before he was heard singing in the courtyard beneath Santulím’s window space under the light of Lôm.

Santulím had been deep asleep when the singing began. At first he thought it was a dream, a part of the nightmare he had been having many a rest. When he did become conscious, his wonder turned to anger.

So Santulím jumped from his station and launched himself out of his quarters in pursuit of his enemy, the red hot rage of the southern Aren coursing through his veins.

–You little Fadouilshit!—he screeched upon seeing the Raiced form lying in the courtyard.—You throw rocks at me? I will return the favour.—

And with that, Santulím lifted a stone from a Mason’s workbench and crushed Lypsum’s skull in a single sickening crunch.

Dread filled Santulím then, for he knew that his act was not defensible. But it was too late to escape, for a wall guard stood high above, his torch throwing sparks into the cold air and began to sound the call.

–I must away.—Santulím said to the Jorian Wiseman as he woke him roughly out of his sleep in the servant quarters.—Whatever things you hear in the passages to come, remember well of me.—

–Oh fear not that.—replied the Jorian.—and may the Ancestors defend you on your paths. Where do you intend to go?—

–You would find me in the Eastern lands, beyond Vima.—replied Santulím.——

The Wiseman opened his mouth to dissuade of this, but noticing the look on Santulím’s face, he shut it again and merely nodded.

The echoing shouts of a search party reached Santulím’s ears as he made his way quickly through the bowels of the Court, hoping to reach the Kitchens entrance, and escape.

It took Santulím several passages to regain his balance and the semblance of health. He was shut up in a tent on the edge of the encampment, forbidden to come out, even for the relief of his most natural urges.

In the imprisoning darkness, said to be good for his recovery, Santulím had plenty of time to think and remember all that had passed.

He made multiple requests after his friend Lypsum, but the chef, his sole visitor, insisted he had not seen the young scholar at all for several passages. Santulím worried for his friend’s safety, but a small part of him also wondered.

Despite the return of Santulím’s health, it was decided that he should wait a couple more passages before making the journey back to Jotheim.

–In truth, it is out of respect for the King’s oath.—said the chef.

–and to preserve their own worthless sacks.—replied Santulím, irritably.

–That is the chief duty of every good citizen.—the chef replied.—Shared misfortunes are a fool’s wages.—

–And Pleonís has no friends in need.—Santulím spoke grimly.—if that is my lot, then so be it. But where shall I go upon returning to the Court? Surely I cannot stay there.—

–You are young.—replied the chef.—A contract at court doesn’t expire until a monarch says it expires. If you wish to maintain your station, stay out of the way.—

–I see the way of life in the Court of the Eagles is precarious.—

–Stakět.—The Chef said, in an entirely different tone of voice, and left.

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