Wrenogal: Act II, xlviii-li
xlviii
When Erison arrived at Dustan’s gate,
he saw the caravans of merchants leave.
He asked, “do you know—I see, I am late—
is there gold in these mountains to retrieve?”
They scoffed at his quaint question. He knew not
the dramas that had been made on that score.
But he would soon use that very same plot
to get gold—and to get a little more.
“There is one merchant left. There always will
be someone who will trust these wealthy peaks.
And anyone who, while most leave, stays still,
has more than money that their mind still seeks.”
But Erison went where his bones knew best:
the tavern, despite the Shroud’s shrewd behest.
xlix
Nevgondian was trapped by Aerandel,
who stood before the door he was to take,
inside an empty room, for now a well
of silence while the rest weren’t awake.
“You’ve got to track him. Erison,” she said.
“You know I can’t,” Nevgondian replied.
“You know, my last knight always quickly sped
to do whatever I had asked,” she lied.
She glared with something grim, much like malice,
but with something inside it that was kind.
Nevgondian knew she could be callous,
but had more than ambition on her mind.
“I see. I won’t betray the standard now.”
But Aerandel did not, his flight, allow.
l
“You know I didn’t mean that. You are far
the best—my favorite—of the ones who’ve served
beside me. There is no obsequious bar
between you and the honor you deserve.”
“’It’s just that this task must be—must—be done,’”
chided the knight. Who imitated her.
“We both know how this court is truly run,
no day makes any day the simpler.”
She’d promised quiet, once the court was still,
once whatever was brewing with the king
was better. She knew, even at the will
of Zlyr to join the Wren’s crew, it would sting.
“I’ve promised many things. And you are kind
to serve me still, despite what lays behind.”
li
“But do this last, and leave my service hence
once this is done. I’ve asked too much of you.
But bear this as your promised recompense:
I will, to you and yours, always be true.”
She could not meet his gaze, but pushed away,
and sped to where her true work would begin.
Where even her Nevgondian must stay
away: her study, and she barred therein
her doors. She would not tempt her thoughtful charge
with finding her. And over sheaves she pored
of parchment detailing the Red Hawk’s charge
against the Wren. What crimes they could accord.
And tears dripped from her nose, blurring the lines
she read, while tucked away in her confines.