[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Interlude III

[C. Matthias]

Finally!  It took me a month to write just this 
snippet.  After so long an absence from Metamor 
Keep, I have had some trouble getting back into 
it.  But once I get going, watch out!

Here is the third Interlude, which will bring us 
into Book IV.  I will start work on Book IV this 
week, and I hope to have a few chapters finished 
prior to Christmas.  I certainly will have the 
Last Tale of Yajakali completed sometime in 2008.

For now, I hope everyone enjoys this glance into 
the future of Metamor Keep circa 1000 CR.

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Interlude III
         Breath caught in their throats, they 
leaned forward, eager for the next words form 
Laurence’s tongue.  But the elder storyteller 
slid his eyes from one side of the room to 
another, and then let his arms lower slowly. “And 
with that, we shall end for the night.”
         “Grandpa Charles is freed from stone, 
Agathe is killed, Jessica breaks free from the 
Imbervand, and now you decide to stop?” Lord 
Erick Matthias stared incredulously at his 
uncle.  But the grey-snouted rat smiled that confidant and infuriating grin.
         “I thought perhaps you would appreciate 
ending with good news for once.” Laurence glanced 
down at the many children who lay curled at his 
feet.  In the last hour each of them had fallen 
asleep one by one. “You may not want to object too loudly.”
         Lise attended to the children while the 
men congregated on one side of the hall.  King 
Albert stretched, long ears turning from side to 
side. “Is it just my imagination, good jongleur, 
or do you draw each new section out longer than the last?”
         Laurence bowed. “It is not entirely your 
imagination, your highness.  As this tale 
progresses, there are more details that need to 
be illuminated.  And there are more who need to 
hear it as well.” His snout turned down into a 
moue. “I hoped that some of the others would arrive today.”
         “There is plenty of time left,” Erick 
replied. “Let’s retire to my study.”
         Ambassador Kalder lifted one eyebrow. 
“You think we’ll learn anything more from your uncle that we did last night?”
         “Probably not, but we can try.”
         They laughed and stared at the 
storyteller.  He turned his attention back on the 
children, his long tail flicking back and 
forth.  Lise and the servants carefully cradled 
each child and guided them to their 
bedrooms.  Laurence followed them, waving once to 
the men, “I’ll see you shortly.” An enigmatic 
smile flickered across his snout. “Keep an eye open.”
         Erick’s cousin Timothy straightened his 
hat and asked, “What does that mean?” But 
Laurence had already left. “You know, Father 
always said Uncle Laurence was too flamboyant for his own good.”
         Erick eyes his cousin and then shook his 
head. “Let’s go.  Your majesty, I though you 
might enjoy breaking into my store of Marilyth wine.  It is... well aged.”
         The horse lord nodded and gestured 
towards the side door that led to Erick’s study. “Lead the way, Lord Matthias.”
         Again, the men all congregated in the 
study, each taking up much the same positions 
they had the night before.  King Albert sat in 
the largest chair, with his Prime Minister Ryman 
Ertham at his side.  The frog Questioner Father 
Rouse sat near one window, with Timothy close 
by.  Ambassador Kalder reclined in one of the 
chairs at the far end of the room near the trophy 
wall, while Count Floran busied himself before 
Erick’s library.  Erick turned to the wine 
cabinet and produced a heavy red bottle. “Ah, 
bottled in 967 CR.  My Grandfather purchased this while on a trade mission.”
         “Are you sure you want to use it for 
such a night as this?” Ryman asked, one paw 
rubbing through his frazzled tail fur.
         “Oh, I have more.  He nearly bought the 
vineyard’s the entire batch!”  Erick drove the 
corkscrew into the neck, and then turned when the 
door opened.  The donkey Robert stuck his head 
in, nostrils flaring. “What is it, Robert?”
         Robert, his Steward, snorted in 
amusement. “There is a small crowd outside the 
city gates begging your admittance.”
         “Oh?” Erick asked.  He set the bottle aside. “Who?”
         Father Rouse croaked and lifted one 
webbed hand. “I believe your Uncle mentioned that others would be coming.”
         “Ah, yes!” Erick grinned and waved to 
the donkey. “Go, open the gate for them.  Let us greet them from the parapet.”
         “You’ll forgive me if I do not join 
you,” Father Rouse added. “I prefer to avoid that much night air.”
         He was the only one.  The rest followed 
Erick up the tower stairs to the broad landing at 
the front of the castle.  Cool air greeted them, 
and above the stars shone brightly in the vault 
of the heavens.  Behind them and to either side, 
the slopes of the Dragon mountains hulked 
silently like brooding old men.  Before them lay 
the three tiers of the city aglow with streetlights.
         Though only a few stories above the 
courtyard, the wide parapet towered over the 
Narrows where the land fell away from the 
mountains.  From this vantage they could see any 
and all who came to pay the Matthias Keep a 
visit.  Along the mountain slopes, watchmen could 
see even more, all the way to Metamor even.  But 
that climb would prove too arduous after a day spent sitting.
         “There,” Kalder pointed towards the 
road.  Just before the Tree Gate sat a carriage, 
though they could only see its top.  Further down 
the road a second carriage approached, flanked by 
a dozen horsemen of various shapes and 
sizes.  Erick stared at the pinions, but without 
the aid of even a steady breeze, he couldn’t recognize the heraldry.
         “Two more guests to endure Uncle’s 
torturous tale,” Timothy mused with a sardonic grin.
         “But who did he invite?” Ryman 
asked.  The red panda leaned out, paws pressing 
into the stone crenellations. “I see a messenger 
there.” And indeed, a figure ran to the gatehouse 
and disappeared inside.  A moment later, they 
heard the groaning of iron as the portcullis 
lifted and the gate swung open.  The carriage 
beyond passed through, and out one door they saw 
a head gazing around.  The light of torches 
glinted off earrings and a necklace.
         “That’s the heraldry of the Whalish 
proctor in Menth,” Albert announced when the 
carriage turned up the road to the Iron Gate. 
“But I don’t think that was the Whalish ambassador whose head we just saw.”
         “It makes sense,” Erick mused. “Uncle 
did tell us of the attack on Whales.  Perhaps he invited their ambassador.”
         “But who is with him?” Ryman asked. 
“That head was more akin to ours than to the 
Whalish ambassador’s.” He gestured to Kalder and 
Count Floran, the latter of whom scowled into the 
darkness from some distance away. “Apart from your esteemed company.”
         No response came.  They stood and 
watched as the first carriage passed through the 
Iron Gate and made its way through the central 
core towards the Sun Gate.  A few minutes later, 
the second carriage reached the city’s outskirts, 
though still they could not discern the 
heraldry.  Erick blew out his breath and peered 
closer as a pair of figures passed through the 
Sun Gate.  He Steward walked out to meet them.
         “I think it time we returned to my 
study,” Erick said quietly.  He turned to the 
stairs, and one by one the others did as 
well.  The warmth inside soothed muscles weary 
from sitting all day, and brought a renewed focus 
to their thoughts.  When they discovered Laurence 
discoursing with Father Rouse on the difference 
between historians and storytellers, they wasted 
no time in beginning their questions.
         “An interesting topic,” Count Floran 
said. “And just how can you assure us that the 
characters in your tale truly spoke the words you ascribe to them?”
         The elder rat rose at their entrance and 
smiled. “An astute question, your grace.  Few of 
these participants possessed either a 
stenographer or an anamnesis.  On that count, one 
can dispute the exactness of their dialogue.  Let 
me cite on source, one that most here are aware 
of.  The founder of our family line, Grandpa 
Charles, was himself a storyteller, and later in 
his life chronicled his adventures for the 
pleasure of his children.  It is why we remain so 
fond of him, those of us who can claim him as an 
ancestor.  If there are errors in dialogue, they 
are the fault of a declining memory.  But this 
too we must apply judiciously, for the mind of a 
storyteller remembers both the ordering and the 
content of the spoken word better than most.”
         Timothy shoo his head ad blinked, while 
Count Floran smiled contemptuously.  Before 
either could offer an objection, Laurence added, 
“And what if not every detail of this tale 
transpired as I proclaim?  What is more 
important, a literal transliteration, or one that 
intimately knows the individuals involved and 
reveals them for who they are?  A man’s literal 
words often conceal that inner substance, a fact 
I expect most here to appreciate.  If I or any 
other has concocted speeches for these historical 
men, then it has been done carefully, 
respectfully, and with a keen eye to draw out the 
true substance of time, place, and man.  What 
good is history if it is open to any man’s 
interpretation?  Instead, let the truth by known 
through the stories we tell of them.”
         King Albert nodded his long head. “A fine answer, master jongleur.”
         “Thank you, your majesty.”
         The study doors swung open and Robert 
stepped inside. “Your majesty, lordships, I 
present Captain Demetrius of the Whalish Navy, 
and the mage Scyllia of Metamor.”
         There was no mistaking the mage.  Decked 
in four or five bracelets on each wrist, 
clutching a wooden staff clinking with bright 
charms of silver, gold, and colourful feathers, 
Scyllia lived up to the ferret reputation of 
prizing shiny things.  Her garb was no less 
colourful, featuring a patchwork collection of 
hues layered one over another that somehow 
remained loose fitting.  She beamed as she 
entered, eyes alight in eager anticipation for 
the next thing to catch their attention.
         Compared to her, the Whalish sailor 
seemed invisible.  Captain Demetrius had no 
distinguishing mark, wearing the standard blue 
uniform of the Whalish Navy, with only the 
epaulets to mark his rank.  His square jaw had a 
tight reserve, and his eyes had the withdrawn 
darkness of a man who’d seen members of his crew 
die in battle.  He bowed respectfully to King 
Albert, and then less so to Erick.
         “Ambassador Helvidius sends his regrets 
that he could not attend, your majesty.  A 
delicate matter required his attention, and so he sent me in his stead.”
         Albert nodded, though his brow furrowed 
in concern. “Nothing serious I hope.”
         “It should not be, but it is serious 
enough to warrant his undivided attention.” 
Demetrius straightened his uniform and grimaced. 
“I will report on all that I witness, in so far 
as the promised tale is concerned.”
         “You are most welcome in my house,” 
Erick said, grinning wide.  Demetrius stared for 
a moment at his incisors, and then smiled in 
gratitude.  The Lord of the Narrows turned to the 
ferret mage and said, “And you are also welcome, 
Scyllia.  We have not seen you here for a long time.”
         “I’ve been researching some very 
interesting ruins in the southern mountains,” 
Scyllia replied, her voice quavering in delight. 
“Captain Demetrius was kind enough to let me ride 
with him when he passed me on the road.  I hear 
the tale features one of my ancestors, so I just 
had to drop everything and come hear it!”
         Timothy frowned. “Which one is your 
ancestor?”  Unlike either the Matthias family or 
the Hassan line, Scyllia’s family did not stay 
true to species; neither of her parents had been 
ferrets, and she herself had been born human.  At 
the age of fourteen the curses of Metamor had 
changed her the old fashioned way.  Not even 
Erick knew which one of the intrepid Metamorians had been Scyllia’s ancestor!
         “The skunk of course!” she replied with 
firm pride in her voice.  Her snout lifted high, 
and she wrapped both paws around the top of her 
staff.  The bracelets dangling on her wrists 
clinked as they struck. “Kayla is my 
great-great-great-a few more greats grandmother 
on my grandfather’s side.  He used to tell me 
stories about her when I was little and just starting to learn about magic.”
         “And now you will learn even more,” 
Laurence said with a delighted grin. “I fear you 
have missed some of her exploits, such as the 
night she finally communed with the blades 
Clymaethera and Trystathalis.” He turned his eyes 
upon the naval captain. “And you have missed the 
blackest of nights in Whalish Naval History.”
         “Do not apologize to me, master 
Laurence,” Demetrius replied, biding him to 
silence with one hand. “I know well that tale, 
and will be just as glad not to hear it again.”
         Laurence bowed his head. “Of course.”
         “Who was it who followed you?” Ryman 
asked of the captain. “We could not see their heraldry.”
         “They shall be here soon enough,” 
Laurence pointed out. “Have patience!”
         “Have you invited everyone with an 
ancestor in this tale?” King Albert asked.
         “No, there are far too many for 
that.  And most would not be interested.” 
Laurence sighed and stretched. “But I did try to 
invite as many as I could.  Only one was forced 
to decline, Wainred who descends from Jessica and 
Weyden.  He could hardly leave his wife when 
their first egg was ready to hatch.  I will 
relate to them what they’ve missed when the chick is well.”
         Outside, they could hear the stomping of 
hooves and a boisterous voice shouting.  Erick 
began to smile, even as Ryman Ertham wrapped his 
paws tighter around his tail.  Count Floran made 
himself even more invisible in one corner, while 
the rest of the guests all turned towards the 
door.  Robert opened them a moment later and a 
tempestuous ram dressed in chain mail and blue 
and yellow tabard stomped through.
         “Your majesty, your grace, may I present 
Lord Arister Dupré of the Wall.” Robert eyed the 
ram with greying wool, who rested one hand on his 
heavy sword buckled at his side.  But the ram’s 
foul temper evaporated immediately as he entered.
         “Ah, Erick!” he roared, stomping over to 
the rat and wrapping him in a firm embrace. “Good 
to enjoy your hospitality again!  Quite a 
collection of guests you have here this 
evening.  And your majesty!” He bowed quickly. 
“Forgive me but I did not know you would be in attendance.”
         Erick coughed and regained his breath. 
“It is good to see you as well, Arister.  All is well at the Wall I trust?”
         “As well as it can be.  We had a small 
rockslide this morning, trapped a few of my 
workers.” He waved one hand and bleated. “Oh, 
they’re all well now.  Nothing time and some 
magic won’t heal.  But it did delay me 
coming.”  He glanced around and his eyes settled 
upon the ferret mage.  They widened in surprise 
and then he smiled almost fondly. “Ah, 
Scyllia.  Your cousin, Andre, had to remain 
behind to finish the repairs.  He and his wife 
will be flying in tomorrow morning.”
         She brightened at that and her whole 
body shivered. “Oh wonderful!  I’m so glad you invited them too!”
         Laurence smiled and bowed his head. “You 
are most welcome.  However, I find that after 
storytelling all day long, my throat becomes 
quite parched.   It is unfortunate that our 
esteemed host has been so careless in his duties.”
         Erick blinked, his muzzle opening and 
shutting before he realized just what he’d 
forgotten when they’d headed to the parapet. “Eli 
help me, I forgot the Marilyth wine!” He 
scampered back to his wine cabinet and continued 
to drive the screw into the cork.  Behind him, 
Arister Dupré led the raucous laughter.

----------

         After an hour’s pleasant conversation in 
which the latest guests were informed in rapid 
succession by Timothy, Ryman, Erick, and Father 
Rouse of the events of Laurence’s story that they 
had missed, the elder storyteller stretched and 
made a show of yawning. “Well, friends, nephews, 
I fear it is growing late.  There is much more 
yet to tell, and if we do not soon retire for the 
night, I will not be able to tell the last of my tale.”
         “So you have but one more day of story?” King Albert asked softly.
         Laurence eyed him suspiciously, and then 
smiled. “That much I will allow.  Consider it a just reward for your patience.”
         “A reward?” Timothy asked, 
incredulously. “I suppose not having to bruise my 
tail for another week is a reward.”
         Arister smacked him in the back of the 
shoulder. “Nonsense!  You castle rats need to get 
into the saddle and see the lands outside your 
walls.  Come see The Wall, and I’ll show you what your tail is truly made of!”
         “You overzealous!” Timothy snapped, 
grabbing his soft hat as it fell over his 
snout.  He straightened it, and then laughed. 
“City rat I may be, but I’m no stranger to the 
saddle!  Why I served in the King’s auxiliary only last year.”
         Arister opened his muzzle to say 
something, then bleated in amusement. “Forgive 
me, boy.  I am eager to hear this tale, for I 
have only heard what you have told me.  To hear 
it from the master’s tongue is something else altogether.”
         “Indeed it is,” King Albert said.  He 
rose from his seat, ad faintly stretched. “But 
Laurence Matthias is right, it is late and we 
will need our sleep.  There is much of this tale still to be told.”
         “Aye, much more to hear,” Count Floran 
said, the first words that had come from his lips 
since the newest guests had arrived.  His words 
dripped with acid. “We hear of the betrayal of 
the Kelewair Duke on all sides, a betrayal that 
has left a ruin upon my land, and you invite the 
scion of the very man who brought this about!”
         Laurence shook his head gravely at the 
human.  Arister’s ears flicked to the side, and 
he turned, stomping his hooves on the rich 
carpet. “I’m sure the story is told differently 
at the Kelewair Court than it is at the 
Wall.  For the betrayal was not from the house of 
Dupré!” The ram smiled and crossed his arms. “I 
do take solace that the blood of the ram still flows in the house of the wolf!”
         “Your lordships,” Laurence chided, 
stepping between them and holding out his paws. 
“You both speak of things you do not know!  I 
wanted you both here so you could hear the story 
as it truly is, not as you have heard it before.”
         Count Floran scoffed. “It would be 
remarkable to hear something to change my 
mind.  Even from as talented a storyteller as you.”
         “Then you will be remarking for quite 
some time,” Laurence replied, eyes narrowed, 
almost angry. “And you, Lord Dupré, not one word 
from you.  Both of you, by the time this story 
has ended, will have your eyes opened, if you will let them!”
         Arister dug one hoof into the carpet. “Well, I am rather stubborn.”
         Erick squeaked loudly enough to catch 
their attention. “Forgive my interrupting your 
unpleasant reunion, but it is late, and I fear we 
are all very tired.  Perhaps we will all be in a 
better disposition in the morning.”
         The Count nodded dismissively, and 
straightened his cuffs with a firm tug. “Forgive 
my outburst, Lord Matthias.  As a guest, it is 
not my place to do such.  I will retire for the 
night.  Thank you for your hospitality.” With 
those curt words, Count Floran stalked from the 
study.  The other guests let out their breaths slowly.
         Even King Albert appeared disturbed by 
the exchange.  He turned his long head towards 
the ram and narrowed his eyes darkly. “Lord 
Dupré, you should know better than to engage Floran in verbal fencing.”
         “Aye,” Arister admitted.  He took 
several deep breaths, eyes closed tightly. 
“Forgive my hearty outburst, your majesty, your 
grace.  He... he spoke ill of my family name, and I will not stand for it.”
         “You will learn why tomorrow,” Laurence 
promised him. “If you can keep your sword in its scabbard where it belongs.”
         Arister bleated indignantly. “Of course 
I can keep my sword in its scabbard!  What do you 
take me for?” This flash of anger disappeared 
almost as soon as it arrived.  With military 
grace, Arister Dupré bowed to his host and to his 
liege, and nodded. “I will take my leave of you for the night.”
         “Robert will show you where you can 
sleep.  Your soldiers will be billeted with my 
own for your stay,” Erick waved the donkey 
forward. “Scyllia, Captain Demetrius, join him as 
well and he’ll find you a good room in which to sleep.”
         Scyllia smiled broadly, thanked him, and 
followed the Steward.  Captain Demetrius did 
likewise a moment later.  One by one the others 
all retired, until only Erick and Laurence were 
left.  The elder rat’s snout fashed between anger 
and resignation.  Erick could not recall the last 
time he’d seen his uncle so upset.
         “You should have known that Floran and 
Dupré would do this,” Erick said gently. “Floran 
nurses old grudges like fine wine, savouring 
every drop of bile as if it were the last.  And 
Arister,” Erick dug his toe claws into the carpet 
as he thought on his old friend, “Arister is a 
good man, but easily riled.  He has just as much 
pride in his family line as we do in ours, perhaps more so.”
         “I know all of these things and more,” 
Laurence replied in a soft voice. “Nor am I 
surprised, not truly.  It is my hope that they 
will see something in the tale tomorrow that will 
help them see past their grudges and family 
pride.  Just as I hope that you and the others 
each learn something valuable in hearing what your ancestors have done.”
         Erick shuffled his paws. “I know I’m 
glad I wasn’t gifted with the Sondeck, but I 
don’t think that’s the lesson you mean for me.”
         A smile blossomed on Laurence’s snout. 
“No, not quite.” He patted his nephew on the 
shoulder and gestured to the door. “Come, let us 
get some sleep.  It is late and I have much more 
to tell tomorrow.  Besides, we’re both very tired.” Erick yawned in agreement.

----------

         Dawn came far too quickly.  Lise granted 
him mercy in not making him imbibe a foul 
concoction as penance for last night’s 
wine.  Instead, she woke him gently with a shove 
on his shoulder. “Has the sun risen already?” he groaned.
         “It will soon.” She smiled, her whiskers 
twitching at the corners of her baize muzzle. 
“Come, your uncle is already awake and gathering the children.”
         He sat up in bed, pinching his tail 
beneath him. “Already?  How long have you been up, Lise?”
         “Not half an hour, but long enough for 
me to know you cannot sleep anymore.  Rise.  I’ve 
arrayed your toilet for you.”  She gestured to 
the table at the foot of their bed, and he saw 
his blue doublet and hose prepared.  With another 
grunt he slipped from beneath the thick quilts and dressed himself.
         “Have you heard about the excitement 
last night?” Erick asked as he straightened his open sleeves.
         His wife nodded and ran a comb between 
his ears. “Arister is up already and instructing 
the children in the art of war.”
         “That should keep them occupied,” Erick 
mused. “Scyllia’s cousin is flying in this morning.  Has he arrived yet?”
         “No, not yet.” She chuffed. “You have 
one bit of fur that will not stay down!”
         He laughed, turned, and nuzzled his 
wife’s snout. “I’ll wear a hat then.  We’d best 
go and be good hosts.” He selected a flop hat 
much like his cousin Timothy favoured, and then 
together they left the residence and crossed the 
grounds.  On entering the Keep, they were met by 
Robert.  The donkey bore a large grin and bowed.
         “Good morning, milord Erick,” he said as 
he stood.  Long ears lifted high and alert. 
“Laurence Matthias is growing impatient.  He’s been up for an hour already.”
         “Well, we should...” he blinked and 
lifted his eyes into the sky.  What before he’d 
taken for birds now grew large.  Two figures 
glided down out of the eastern sky, one of them a 
bright red in hue, the other a russet brown with 
banded wings.  They continued to grow larger in the sky.
         “Well, looks like Andre is here,” Erick 
mused. “You should tell Scyllia.”
         “I think she already knows,” Lise 
replied, pointing the ferret mage who ran out one 
of the other doors onto the courtyard.  She waved 
her arms in the air and jumped up and down as her 
cousin, the red dragon, descended from the sky 
and settled with a heavy whump.  The gryphon 
accompanying him managed a more graceful approach.
         Scyllia wrapped her arms around the 
large dragon’s neck and hugged tight.  Andre’s 
eyes went wide and he shifted back into a more 
human form, all the while with a ferret dangling 
off his neck.  He hugged her in return when his 
forelegs shrunk to arms, and the two of them 
laughed in delight.  After a moment, she let the 
dragon go, and hugged the gryphon woman, though 
with not quite so much enthusiasm.
         “Let us welcome our latest guest,” Erick 
suggested, and the three of them joined the trio 
on the terrazzo. “Welcome to Matthias Keep!” 
Erick intoned broadly, smiling to both. “It has 
been many years since I last saw you, Andre.  I 
don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your wife.”
         “Ah, milord Erick,” Andre said, his 
voice gruff and bearing a deep bass rumble. “I am 
honoured to introduce you to my wife, 
Tessa.  Tessa, an old friend of the family, Lord 
Erick Matthias and his wife, Lady Lise.”
         The gryphon extended a claw that could 
gouge out his eyes without effort, and clasped 
his paw gently.  She knelt respectfully, and then 
stood up again.  She did the same for Lise. “It 
is a pleasure and an honour to meet you both.  The Narrows are very lovely.”
         Erick grinned with pride. “Thank 
you.  Your husband helped me a number of years 
ago to put in the dam.  I know it was far more 
mundane than your preferred work, but we appreciated it nonetheless.”
         Andre shrugged his wings. “It had its 
challenges, and you did allow me to indulge 
myself with ornamentation, so all is well.”
         Scyllia grabbed him by one arm and 
almost squeaked. “You must tell me about your 
project for Lord Dupré, cousin!  It has been so 
many years since I’ve been to the Wall.  Is what 
they say true, and you are adding another story to it?”
         “Aye, its true.  You can see for miles 
from the top now.  If he could, I suspect Lord 
Dupré would have me build the wall as tall as the 
mountains.” He turned back to Erick and nodded. 
“I apologize we couldn’t come last night, but 
there was a delicate matter at the quarry I had to oversee.”
         “You haven’t missed anything more than 
Arister has missed,” Erick assured him. “Although 
if we do not hurry inside, my uncle may start without us!”
         “Then let us hurry then!” Andre frowned 
when he stared at the keep. “Oh, I hate going 
through those doors.  I wish I didn’t have wings 
in this form; it would make life so much easier!”
         Tessa put a claw on his shoulder and 
smiled, long leonine tail swishing back and 
forth. “Wings make the man, my dear.”
         “Aye, aye,” he replied, as if rehashing 
a very old argument that he lost every time.  He 
pointed a claw up at the nearby mountain. “It 
looks like you’ve done some repairs on the watchtowers, milord.”
         “Indeed,” Erick replied, and the two of 
them discussed the changes since Andre’s last 
visit.  Scyllia hugged at his side and listened 
with rapt attention.  Lise and Tessa quietly 
discussed matters about their needs while they 
stayed.  Robert ran ahead and held the door for them.
         Inside they found the rest of the guests 
assembled.  Arister was showing the children is 
sword and mail, while Laurence paced back and 
forth behind him.  King Albert sat in his usual 
seat, while Ryman Ertham stood at his 
side.  Father Rouse talked animatedly with 
Captain Demetrius, while Ambassador Kalder vainly 
attempted to draw Count Floran into 
conversation.  Syllia yanked on Andre’s arm, 
“Come sit over here with me cousin!”  Andre 
laughed and followed, Tessa shaking her head with 
an amused smirk cracking her beak.
         Erick and Lise took their usual spots; 
when Arister noted them, he put his sword in its 
scabbard and smiled. “Ah, what a fine mischief of 
children you have in your family!” He looked down 
at the kids who clustered around his legs. “That 
will be all from me, children.  Your Uncle 
Laurence will be telling more of his tale now.” 
Arister nodded to the rat and found a seat on the 
opposite side of the hall from Count Floran.
         Laurence stretched his arms and stalked 
to the middle of the room.  He took a deep breath 
and smiled. “It is so very good to see all of you 
here for one more day of story.  But I warn you, 
this is the last day of my tale, for now we enter 
the last weeks of the journey to Marzac.  We have 
passed through the outer darkness, and now we 
proceed into the true heart of evil.”
         He lowered his eyes and clasped his paws 
before him. “We have witnessed the death of the 
second of Marquis du Tournemire’s servants, that 
of the Runecaster Agathe.  Charles has been 
restored to flesh, and the evil power controlling 
the minds of Duke Schanalein and Bishop Hockmann 
has been broken.  Where shall they go from there?
         “And what of the other players in this 
tale?  The Patriarch has been freed from the 
taint of Marzac, but the Questioners have 
revealed themselves and can no longer act in 
secret.  And what of Vinsah, now Elvmere, who has 
sought to learn of ways foreign to him and to his 
faith?  And still there are the Magyars trying to 
find each other again, each of them with pains 
and anguishes that they do not know how to 
heal.  Prince Phil of Whales must gather his 
fleet and destroy the renegades, but willh e have 
the stomach to slaughter his own men?  And then 
we wonder what shall Duke Titian Verdane do, 
knowing that his first-born son is now a prisoner in Salinon!”
         Laurence lifted his eyes and spread his 
arms wide.  Whiskers twitched, and his tail 
flicked back in forth in his excitement. “Here 
now we come to the conclusion, the time when all 
will be brought together.  The greatest of 
sacrifices await us, when each of ancestors will 
be called to rise above their fears, and to show 
true virtue.  They will face their greatest 
desires, and know them to be a poison that 
kills.  And now that the danger is greater, the 
price will be much higher.  For not all shall 
return from this venture.  This, the final 
chapter of the Last Tale of Yajakali!”

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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias