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.