[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter XLIII

[C. Matthias]

And after a two month hiatus, here is the next 
chapter in my massive Metamor Keep epic!

Chapter XLIII

The Marquis’s Deck

         “That’s much better,” the Marquis 
crooned, rubbing one finger across the cards. 
Each Keeper felt something heavy brush over their 
chest. “Bishop Hockmann, you have done very 
well.  They were precisely where you said they would be.”
         The older priest nodded his head 
mechanically. “It is only a matter of knowing the 
land, your grace.” A smile crept up Hockmann’s 
cheeks. “There truly was only one way they could 
go.  It was your aides who made the capture.”
         The Marquis nodded, gazing first to 
Zagrosek, and then to the cloaked 
Runecaster.  Zagrosek’s face was empty of 
anything but obedience.  Agathe crossed her arms 
and let her cowl fall even further over her face. 
“They sometimes do as I wish,” du Tournemire 
conceded, his smile turning to a frown. “And 
sometimes,” he looked at Zagrosek and poked his 
finger at the cards.  The black-clad Sondeckis 
doubled over in pain. “Sometimes they do because 
they know it is their only choice.  Is that not so, Krenek?”
         Zagrosek said nothing, his eyes dark and 
full of hate as he stared at du Tournemire.  The 
Marquis laughed and strode to the Sondecki.  He 
nudged his side with one boot. “What, nothing to 
say?  You who always have a pithy remark?  Do you 
do as I ask because it is your will, or because you have no choice?”
         “Your will, of course,” Zagrosek replied 
through clenched teeth. “I have no will left.”
         Upon the throne, Duke Schanalein laughed 
and clapped his hands. “Very good, very good, 
Marquis!  But do you intend to continue to 
humiliate your aides or will you introduce me to your captives?”
         The Marquis shot him an amused glance. 
“All in good time, your grace.” He stared at the 
Keepers for the first time, eyes falling on each 
of them in turn.  They each felt a burning 
sensation beneath their skin when he stared at 
them, as if his eyes were magnifying lenses focussing the sun’s rays.
         When he saw Charles, he snapped. 
“Agathe, let this thing go.  I want it to see me.”
         Agathe stirred, face turning inside the 
cowl. “He is dangerous.  He can move through 
stone.” The Marquis jabbed his fingers at the 
cards and Agathe doubled over, her cowl falling 
back.  The gashes in her face began to bleed as 
she screamed, a sound so awful that the Keepers felt momentary pity for her.
         “You forget who holds the cards.  Now let him go.”
         Agathe lifted one hand, and Charles felt 
himself loosen.  He collapsed on the ground, 
blinking, and looking around.  He immediately 
pushed his paws into the stone, but to his 
surprise, discovered there was nowhere to 
go.  The castle was built from blocks held 
together with cement, and no matter which way he 
pressed at it, he could not pass through that barrier.
         Charles looked up and saw the Marquis 
nodding his head. “You see, Agathe, you should 
never question me.  I know precisely what can and 
cannot be done by these pathetic Keepers.  They 
can do nothing to touch me.  Nothing at all.” He 
folded the cards into a single deck, and rubbed 
it between his fingers. The agony filling their bodies abruptly vanished.
         “That is right.  I do not need to give 
you pain to keep you on the ground.  But I assure 
you, if any of you does move from where you 
kneel, the pain will be doubly worse for your 
friends.  Do we understand each other?”
         None of them said anything.  Charles 
noted the few soldiers in the throne room.  They 
would not be much of a challenge.  The Marquis 
did not carry any weapon that he could see, and 
Zagrosek was still gasping from pain.  Bishop 
Hockmann was fumbling with his glasses, and Duke 
Schanalein seemed only half-aware of what was 
happening before him.  But Charles knew as did 
the others that the Marquis was right, there was 
no point in fighting.  If the rat even tried, 
Agathe could freeze him in place again with a single thought.
         The Marquis nodded and then turned his 
back on them.  He addressed the Duke; “Your 
grace, I present to you the fools following 
ancient prophecy.  They believe they are destined 
to destroy me and bring my plans to naught.  But 
here they are, captive and incapable of 
action.  Prophesied ones, hah!  These before you 
are no instruments of legend.  They are simple 
men and women who have no idea what they contend with.”
         He tossed the deck into the air.  The 
cards hung there, spread apart in a mosaic that 
suggested something profane.  The Keepers averted 
their eyes, for it hurt to even look at it. “Let 
us begin with the lowest card present, the Five 
of Spades.” He plucked a card from the mosaic, 
and gave it a pull.  Jerome fell forward, unable 
to stop himself from crawling on hands and knees 
to the base of the dais. “Yes, come here, Five.”
         Jerome gasped and lifted his eyes.  The 
Marquis bent down and grinned. “Jerome Krabbe, 
born in the city of Makor in Sonngefilde, he 
joined the Sondecki order at the age of 
seven.  For eighteen years he trained in the art 
of the fighter, never once using a weapon in all 
his life.  A single blow from his fist can crush 
a horse’s skull, not to mention a man’s.  But for 
all this, his life has no meaning.  He now spends 
his days trying to hide his friend’s location 
from the Sondecki order while pretending to look 
for him.  A sad man, for whom this duty begins to 
take its toll.  But he can take solace in the 
knowledge that his duty will soon become 
meaningless, just as his life has been 
meaningless for so long.  What good is a Sondecki 
who cannot even uphold the virtues of his clan?  What good, Jerome, are you?”
         Jerome sneered. “Better than you!”
         “A tongue on this one,” the Duke observed with a laugh.
         “A most distressing quality, I concur.” 
The Maquis snatched another card from the mosaic 
and gave it a twist.  Kayla fell to the ground, 
screaming in agony, bloody tears streaming across 
her cheeks. “I suggest you apologize for your 
remarks, Jerome.  It is the only way Kayla will find any relief.”
         Jerome bit his lip and said nothing. “Or 
perhaps you do not care for the skunk?” The 
Maquis grabbed another card.  Abafouq let out a 
howl as his arm bent back over his shoulder. 
“Eventually I will select someone you do care for.”
         The Sondecki hissed, but managed to say, “I am sorry.”
         “Hardly contrite, but it will have to 
do.” The Marquis let go of both cards, and then 
waved the Five of Spades in Jerome’s face.  Now 
crawl back to your place, Krabbe!”
         Jerome did, head hung low, sweat pouring 
from his face.  The Marquis flung his card back 
into the mosaic, and drew out another. “Ah, the 
Six of Spades.  The former merchant of dubious 
meats.  Do present yourself, James.”
         Unlike Charles, the donkey knelt on the 
carpeting.  He dragged himself forward, ears 
folded back, making almost no sound at all.  The 
Marquis bent down and patted James between his 
ears. “That’s a good little beast. You know your 
place well, don’t you?  A year ago, you had never 
even touched a sword!  How can you think to stand 
against my power?  You cannot.  Cower like you 
have always cowered.  Cry like you have always 
cried, and get back out of our sight!”
         James cringed, but fell back with the 
others, eyes shut tight, doing his best not to 
cry.  Charles saw his flesh trembling, and he hoped it was in fury.
         “The Seven of Spades, the man who was a 
woman.  Lindsey, the woodcutter from Arabarb.” 
Lindsey’s red beard dragged on the floor as he 
crawled forward.  He did not lift his head, lips 
set in a snarl where they could not be seen by 
Schanalein or du Tournemire. “You fled to Metamor 
when your land was overrun by the armies of Baron 
Calephas and the wizard Nasoj.  At Metamor you 
became a man, and have since tried to pretend 
that you are happy this way.  How empty your 
masculinity, how empty your boasts, and how empty your heart!”
         Lindsey tensed, eyes narrowed in 
hate.  But he said nothing, allowing the Marquis 
to continue to heap invective upon him. “What a 
sad thing to face a person who hates 
themselves.  How could we possibly lose to one such as he?”
         The Marquis dismissed Lindsey and took 
the next card. “The Eight of Spades, Kayla, 
another who has long hated themselves.  After you 
became a skunk, you hid yourself in the confines 
of the Intelligence Bureau.  So afraid that 
others would flee your endearing aroma, you even 
doubted the advances of your lover.  Now you come 
seeking to avenge what I have done to him.  Do 
not be filled with fear.  I have taken very good 
care of his soul, giving it every torment it so richly deserves!”
         Kayla snarled, body tensing.  The bracer 
on her wrist began to warm with her inner fire, 
and she leapt to her feet, snarling and raking 
with her claws.  The Marquis squeezed the card 
and she was knocked aside as if a great hand had 
reached down from the heavens and throttled her. 
“I do believe I told you not to try such a 
thing.  Now you will pay the 
consequences.  Choose one of your friends to suffer for your mistake.”
         Kayla rose to four paws, and flicked her 
tail high, snarling at the Marquis. “Never!”
         “Then I will choose.  How about... Misha!”
         “What?” Kayla snapped, looking up in surprise.
         “He isn’t here with you now, but I have 
him in my deck.  Let us see where he is shall 
we?” The cards hanging in the air shifted, until 
the mosaic took on the appearance of the familiar 
fox.  They couldn’t quite see where he was, but 
he appeared to be reading or studying something.
         “No!  Don’t!  Make me suffer the pain!” Kayla screamed.
         “That was not the punishment.  Let us 
start slow, shall we.  A bit of a cramp in his 
arm.” The Marquis turned the card slightly, and 
they could see the unaware fox clutch his right 
arm.  His grey eyes widened in surprise as he 
rubbed at his wrist. “And now a clenching in his 
gut.” Misha bent over, eyes shut tight, muzzle 
opening to let out a silent gasp of pain. “And 
now, let’s crush his chest, shall we?”
         “No!  Forgive me!” Kayla shrieked. “Please don’t do this!”
         “Of course,” du Tournemire smiled and 
the cards dispersed, Misha’s visage gone. “Now 
get back to your place, beast!” The Marquis took 
Kayla’s card and twisted it again.  She scrambled 
backwards, one paw pressed painfully to her back. 
“Let this be a reminder for you, and a 
warning.  At any time, from any place, I can 
bring you mind-crushing pain.  You have no 
recourse, no solace, no hiding place, no balm, and no hope against it.”
         The Marquis du Tournemire casually 
selected another card. “And now for the Nine of 
Spades.  Would the pathetic little Binoq present himself!”
         Charles watched Abafouq try to muster as 
much dignity as he could.  The Binoq stumbled on 
his knees, but he refused to lower his hands to 
the throne room floor.  Charles glanced briefly 
at du Tournemire, rage swelling in him.  The ivy 
tightened and twisted across his back and 
chest.  How long were they to be humiliated for 
this man’s demented pleasure?  How could this be 
the same man that Charles had once long ago helped?
         “Abafouq, an outcast of his race, defied 
his people by studying magic under the eyes of 
the mysterious Nauh-kaee.  Ever his soul yearned 
to wander and learn of the outside 
world.  Perhaps he would have been better off if 
he’d listen to his people and stayed where he 
belonged!  Have you ever witnessed so unimposing 
a creature as he?  Yet even now he thinks that he 
has reserves greater than we can face.  How wrong 
he is.” The Marquis flipped one edge of the card 
and the Binoq fell backwards with an agonized cry. “How wrong he is!”
         With an exultant grin, du Tournemire 
crooned, “Oh little pet of the Nauh-kaee, dusts 
and powders will give you nothing this day or any 
other.  How you will wish you stayed in your 
caves and let the ice kill you.” He flicked the 
card back into the mosaic and Abafouq was 
propelled backwards against Guernef.  The 
Nauh-kaee nudged him back to his knees with his 
beak. The Binoq gasped for breath, throat ragged and sore.
         “And now the Ten of Spades, the 
mysterious Geurnef of the Nauh-kaee.  Marvel at 
this wonder, this strange beast!” The Marquis 
rubbed either side of the card, forcing Guernef 
to spread his wings wide.  The white gryphon did 
as he was bade without any indication of complaint.
         “You will never see another like 
him.  Where these others are monsters by the 
power of Metamor, Guernef, the Kakikagiget of his 
people, Listener of Winds, is a member of a 
beastly race by birth.  Long have they hidden in 
their mountain crags.  But this one has been 
master to the Binoq for five years, as a man is 
master to a dog.  He is still a beast, and still less than the race of men!”
         Guernef offered them nothing other than 
his remarkable appearance, and it was clear that 
the Duke grew bored by him.  He waved one hand in 
irritation.  The Marquis smirked and with the 
flick of a wrist, dismissed Guernef and plucked 
another card from the floating facade instead. 
“Now we come to the powerful cards, your 
grace.  First, the Knight of Spades, Charles Matthias.”
         There was a command to the rat’s body 
quite unlike the rigidity that Agathe had filled 
him with.  It felt like the grip the jealous 
mountains had inflicted when trying to absorb his 
substance.  Charles inched forward on hands and 
knees, tail dragging between his legs.  The vine 
on his back pulled tight against his stony flesh, as if to protect it.
         When the sensation ceased, Charles was 
at the Marquis’s feet.  Du Tournemire stood upon 
a broad stone slab at the base of the dais, and 
he was crouched over its border.  The rat pressed 
his paws into the stone, feeling through to 
beneath the Marquis’s booted feet.  It would be 
so simple to pull him down into the stone.
         And then, his whole body tightened, and 
he realized he couldn’t move at all. “And before 
you, what belongs better in a garden than the 
throne room, is the rat become rock, the mouse 
who aspires to be a mountain!  He is also of the 
Southlands, born in Kitchelande and raised as a 
Sondecki since the age of seven.  This one 
though, he has killed royalty, and for that, he 
left his order and eventually came to Metamor 
Keep.  There he became a rodent, and like a rat, has hidden from his clan.”
         The Marquis bent over and stroked his 
hand across the back of Charles’s ear. “And now 
he is stone, and he thinks to use that element 
against us.  But stone does not move, but remains 
where it stands for the ages, or until men decide 
to knock it down and put something else in its 
place.  That is his legacy.  He will be a 
monument festooned with leaves until none can 
even see him.  A monument to the folly of his kind!”
         Charles’s body softened again, but he 
found his paws ejected from the stone.  He pushed 
hard against it, but it was as firm and solid as 
metal. “That’s right, silly rat,” du Tournemire 
crooned. “You wish to crawl into the floor, but 
you cannot if I hold you here.  Now get back, and 
strike the pose most befitting a fool such as yourself.”
         Despite all attempts to the contrary, 
his body was not his own.  Charles crawled back 
across the floor, and then covered his head with 
his hands like a cowering peasant, where he felt 
himself frozen in place again.  For the first 
time in a long time, he felt real anger inside of 
him, burning like earth blood.  He would not be a monument for this man!
         “The Priest of Spades is a most 
interesting individual, truly the last of his 
kind.  Come to us, Zhypar Habakkuk, last 
surviving member of the Felikaush!” Habakkuk 
waddled forward, eyes lowered.  There was no 
defiance in them, but neither was there any 
resignation.  Habakkuk stared at the world as 
does a man going about his daily affairs
         “At a young age he knew his kind was 
coming to an end.  Haunted by those visions, he 
has conspired to do the only thing he could think 
to do, try to stop me.” Du Tournemire smiled and 
patted the kangaroo on the side of the cheek. “I 
am afraid that you have failed.  No precognition 
will save you now.  You are mine.  And when you 
die, the Felikaush die with you.  Does that 
thought please you, to know that your death 
brings an end to your entire line?  Let us say it 
again then.  When you die, the Felikaush will die!”
         Habakkuk took a deep breath, but gave no 
other outward sign of his anguish.  The Marquis 
did not appear disappointed that his barbs 
brought no reaction, but he did dismiss the kangaroo without another word.
         “Now we come to the Queen of 
Spades.”  He drew a card form his deck and 
frowned. “The hawk.”  He glanced from Agathe to 
Zagrosek and then to Hockmann. “Where is the hawk?”
         “She flew into the sky before my net 
could capture her,” Agathe said, her voice stiff. 
“She will not remain free for long.”
         The Marquis nodded, and walked slowly 
over to where Agathe stood beside the 
Keepers.  He looked her up and down, and with one 
hand pulled her robe from over her shoulders and 
down to her feet.  Beneath the purple robe she 
bore only a linen smock.  It hung loosely on her 
emaciated frame.  They all stared at her, shocked 
to see a creature as powerful as her so 
frail.  It looked as if she hadn’t eaten in months.
         “You failed me, Agathe,” the Marquis 
said in a very quiet voice.  His face was devoid 
of expression, and his voice only hinted at 
malice. “I am very disappointed in you.” He 
turned on his feet and returned to the base of 
the dais, leaving the Runecaster standing almost 
completely naked before the Keepers and all of the Duke’s guards.
         The Maquis cupped the Queen of Spades in 
his hand, and then spread his fingers through the 
rest of the cards that hung motionless in the 
air. “Let us see where the clever hawk has gone 
to.” The cards shimmered, and then flew in a 
circle over the Marquis’s head until they 
coalesced into the shape of a hawk with outstretched wings.
         In that form they all could see towers 
of stone.  The Keepers peered hard, but wondering 
how the Marquis could do this with cards, and 
also wondering if they would see their 
friend.  But the hawk never showed.  Du 
Tournemire stared for several long seconds, but 
nothing changed.  All that existed in that strange shape was the towers.
         “Ah, very clever.  She is hiding.  And 
waiting.  Duke Schanalein, you might want to send 
some pikemen and archers to the towers.  I think 
they’ll find a red-banded hawk up there, but one 
that is not nesting.  Flush her out, then shoot 
her down.  Do not kill her, just puncture a wing, enough to bring her down.”
         The Duke nodded. “Of course.  When we 
are finished here I will order my men to do 
so.  If she is here, then she is waiting to find 
an opportunity to free her friends.  She will not 
move unless she knows she can find them.”
         “Very true.  There is no hurry.” The 
Marquis smiled and then drew his hand through the 
cards, destroying the shape of the hawk. “She 
will be mine too, just like all of her friends.” 
With a flick of his wrist, he snatched a card 
from the mass suspended in the air. “Let us 
continue, for we are almost done.  The King of 
Spades.” He scanned the keepers, until his eyes 
settled upon one of the two pearl-grey skinned 
Åelf.  With slow deliberation, du Tournemire’s 
smile grew until it stretched from ear to ear. “I 
have often wanted to meet one of your kind, 
ancient and powerful, full of pride and 
mysterious to men.  But now, here, before me, you are humble and callow.”
         Measures steps brought him before 
Andares, who stared straight ahead with unbowed 
eyes.  Andares was several inches taller than the 
Marquis, but if du Tournemire was irritated at 
having to look up at the Åelf, he did not show 
it. “There is one singular quality you possess 
that makes you very curious, 
Andares-es-sebashou.  You have never before seen 
my deck.  I created it myself you know, carved 
each and every card by hand.  All of the lines 
were drawn by my hand.  Would you like to see the 
card I made for you?  I have seen you, watched 
you in it these last few years.  I watched you 
journey to Ellcaran to bring Kashin the Yeshuel 
to Ava-shavåis over a year ago.  I saw you as you 
waited in mines of Qorfuu only three months 
ago.  I know you very well, and have carved your 
likeness very well.  Let me show it to you.”
         Charles turned one eye to watch, 
horrified by the thought of what was about to 
happen.  All the Marquis would need to bring the 
same control over the Åelf was for him to touch 
that card.  The magic would bind them together, 
and one more ally would fall prey to the Marquis’s whim.
         And that is when the rat noticed a most 
curious thing.  Andares’s wrists were bound 
behind him with thick cord, but on closer 
inspection the rat realized that the Åelf was 
holding those same cords between his 
fingers.  How long had it been since he’d untied 
the knot, Charles could not guess.  But as he 
watched, Andares’s fingers reached up to the long 
black braid that hung down his back.  From the 
end, he drew out a long bone-white needle.
         The Marquis, obviously unaware of what 
was happening, lifted the King of Spades and held 
it out before him, readying to press it against 
Andares’s forehead.  With lightning-quick 
reflexes, Andares swung both his arms around and 
drove the needle through the Marquis’s 
wrist.  With his leg he gave the man a kick to 
the stomach, sending him backwards into the dais.
         The cards still hovering in the air sped 
like arrows at the Åelf.  Andares ducked beneath 
them, but then felt a heavy weight crush into his 
back.  Charles, against his will, had leapt upon 
the Åelf, grabbed him and shifted into his 
massive centaur-like six-legged form.  Andares 
gasped for breath, but was unable to turn with 
several hundred pounds of stone on his back.
         Sneering, the Marquis climbed to his 
feet and yanked the needle from his wrist.  Blood 
stained his blue doublet, and continued to flow. 
“You may have thought that was a clever trick, 
Andares-es-sebashou.  But it was a foolish 
one.  Very foolish.  You thought all I could do 
for you friends was give them pain?  The greatest 
pain of all is to watch your body act against 
your will, with no hope of being able to stop 
it.  And you will watch that now, as a lesson to 
all of you.  This fluttering and trembling in resistance is useless.  Agathe!”
         The frail, scarred woman 
approached.  The Marquis extended his wounded arm 
over which she drew several signs that glowed a 
brilliant blue before fading into nothing.  The 
hole in his wrist closed shut, but the 
bloodstains remained.  “There should be a few 
spiked shoes amongst their belongings.  Bring me one.”
         The woman looked to the guards, one of 
whom produced the requested shoe after several 
seconds search.  She handed it to the Marquis, 
who examined it with disdain.  After several 
seconds, he turned to the black-clad Sondecki and 
called, “Zagrosek, bend this into a brand.  I 
care not what the brand be, just something that 
can be used to burn their flesh.”
         Zagrosek nodded, walked to the Marquis, 
and began to bend the metal with careful 
twists.  The Keepers stared wide-eyed as the 
spiked shoe was turned bit by bit into a long rod 
with a cris-crossed end.  Charles was still 
laying on top of Andares, wishing he could make 
his body move, but he’d become as stiff as a 
statue again.  Though he weighed more than four 
horses, Andares did not appear to have much 
trouble breathing.  It was small comfort, but it was still comfort.
         Yet, Charles could not understand why 
the Marquis just didn’t kill them.  It was 
abundantly clear that they could do nothing to 
stop him.  Did he want them alive for some reason?
         The Marquis nodded in approval to 
Zagrosek and took the newly fashioned brand and 
hefted it in his hands. “You may have thought 
that the pain I give through the cards, while 
excruciating, is bearable because it brings no 
lasting damage.  I can break bones if I chose to 
do so.  And I can strangle the life out of you if 
it is my will.  But you are right, it does lack a certain visual appeal.”
         He surveyed the Keepers and his eyes 
settled upon James.  The donkey was on his hands 
and knees still, ears drooped low.  He shivered 
under the Maquis’s gaze. “A brand is most often 
applied to cattle, horses, slaves, and 
criminals.” He held out his fingers and one of 
the cards flew between them. “Whatever category 
this one falls under, you be the judge.” He 
rubbed over the card, and James brayed in 
surprise.  His hands disappeared into hooves, and 
his clothes stretched and tore at the seams as he 
grew into a full donkey.  His eyes filled with 
fright, but his could not lift his hooves from the stone.
         Another card settled between the 
Marquis’s fingers, and Lindsey rose to his feet. 
“Agathe, please warm this brand.  It must be red 
hot.”  As the woodcutter approached, the 
Runecaster drew several more symbols.  The 
cris-crossed end of the brand began to glow a 
bright red, and waves of heat rose from its surface.
         The Marquis held the brand out to 
Lindsey, whose face was filled with horror, but 
whose hands took the brand and whose feet 
advanced upon the paralyzed donkey.  James brayed 
in fear, tugging at his fixed hooves, as the 
woodcutter neared.  Lindsey lowered the end and 
without hesitation pressed it against James’s 
flanks.  James screamed in agony, a sound both 
fully animal and fully intelligent.  But Lindsey 
did not remove the brand, despite the tears of frustration staining his cheeks.
         “You see,” the Marquis said, his voice 
cutting through the donkey’s cry, “I can use the 
cards to inflict wounds that will never fully 
heal.” He drew back his hands, and Lindsey drew 
back the brand.  Smoke rose from the wound, but 
as it cleared, they could all see the blackened 
flesh and the symbol burned there.
         Charles felt Andares stir beneath him. 
“You have made your point.  I will not see you hurt them any more.”
         The Marquis let go of Lindsey’s card and 
took the King of Spades again.   His smile grew 
as he crossed to where the Åelf was pinned 
beneath the six-legged stone rat. “I knew you 
would come to your senses.  Charles, you may let 
him up.” The rat found his body his own again, 
and was quick to climb off his friend.  Andares 
did not appear to be in pain, but he did stand stiffly.
         Slowly, the Marquis extended his hand, 
the card resting in his palm.  Upon its face was 
the Åelf bearing a ceremonial ivory 
sword.  Andares met du Tournemire’s gaze, and set 
his fingers on top of the card’s face.  The air 
thrummed with energy.  Andares’s face went slack, 
and he fell to his knees. “Much better, slave,” 
du Tournemire crooned and patted the black-haired 
Åelf on the head. “Now remove all the rest of your weapons.”
         Andares touched his cuffs, and from each 
withdrew long slender needles.  These he dropped 
on the floor at the Marquis’s boots.  He then 
reached for his collar, and undid the buttons at 
his neckline.  His fingers slipped gently beneath 
the cloth, and withdrew two small daggers. From 
his boots he produced a large hook and a sliver 
of thin rope.  And out of his belt a curved dagger.
         “Krenek, did you search him or were you 
betting which of these he’d use first?” The 
Marquis shuffled his boot through the pile and 
laughed to himself. “That is my deck, and now it 
is nearly complete.  But there is someone here 
who does not belong.  Let us see.” He took the 
two steps to stand before the second Åelf who 
watched everything with a sorrowful expression on 
his brow. “It is you.  You are not in my deck.”
         Qan-af-årael shook his head. “No, I am not.”
         Du Tournemire stared at him for a very 
long time.  His smile faded until it was replaced 
with intense scrutiny.  The Keepers breathed and 
watched, but could do little else.  James’s 
hooves were still firmly planted, his brand still 
smoking.  Lindsey still held the brand, unable to 
let go of it.  Charles couldn’t even shift into 
his normal two-legged stance, all of them were 
frozen where the Marquis had left them, as if 
they were but toys that he arranged.
         The Breckarin guards had long been 
uncomfortable in the presence of the Keepers, 
even more so near the Marquis.  Now they quailed 
and shifted as far away as they could   Even Duke 
Schanalein looked wary as he squirmed on his 
throne.  They were in the presence of two giants, 
creatures of unimaginable power and presence.
         “You are very interesting,” the Marquis 
finally admitted.  He took a step back, and 
rubbed his thumbs together. “I can see more power 
in you than I have ever witnessed in any 
other.  Yet you do nothing.  You can destroy my 
deck and wreck the power that I possess if you 
choose.  And you stand here and watch me fill 
your friends with pain.  I will admit that your reticence makes me curious.”
         Qan-af-årael folded his hands before 
him, and lowered his eyes. “You see a great deal, 
but your eyesight will always be clouded by 
Marzac.  I do not possess the fire needed to 
destroy those cards without also destroying those 
within them.  How many do you hold in that deck?”
         The Maquis clasped his hands together 
and rocked back on his heels. “A great many know 
the power in the cards.  But how do you know you 
cannot harm the cards without harming those in 
them?  What if the cards were destroyed, wouldn’t 
that free them?  Why don’t you try and find out?”
         “You play games at this hour, but why?” 
Qan-af-årael stood taller, old eyes narrowed.  He 
studied the Marquis as an alchemist might study 
an ingot. “You lurked in the shadows for so long, why reveal yourself now?”
         Frowning, the Marquis let go of his 
cards and crossed his arms. “Because I no longer 
need to hide.  I have already won.  Surely you 
can see that.  All you remain are frayed ends to 
be bound.  Those who would reveal my secrets... are free to do so!”
         Charles, no longer feeling the 
compulsion from the Marquis’s cards, glanced once 
at Agathe, and then snapped, “And before, those 
who sought your secrets were killed?”
         “I have killed no one,” the Marquis 
admitted with a sly grin. “Though many of you sorely tempt me.”
         “Your wizards have!” Charles replied, 
hoping the Marquis would allow him to continue 
speaking. “Zagrosek killed Patriarch Akabaieth, 
and if I’m not mistaken, Agathe killed Wessex!”
         The Marquis rolled his eyes and took a 
card from the deck. “I do not believe I was 
talking to you.  Learn your place, statue.” 
Charles’s body became immobile again, but at 
least he’d uttered what he’d wanted.
         “But yes,” the Marquis continued, 
“Agathe did kill that silly little mage.” He 
stepped over to the nearly naked Runecaster and 
traced one finger under her chin. "A very nasty 
invocation she laid upon his corpse I might 
add.  But this is growing tiresome.”
         He stalked back to Qan-af-årael and 
gazed into his stony countenance. “You will do 
nothing then?  Very well.  My victory is 
assured.” He turned and stared at the man on the 
throne. “Duke Schanalein, I want all of them 
placed in your dungeons.  Separate cells 
naturally.  Agathe will cast magical wards to 
prevent them from escaping.  You only need keep 
them here until the Solstice.” He glanced at the 
Keepers again, and then smiled. “I will leave 
Agathe with you, in case that hawk ever turns up.”
          Duke Schanalein rose to his feet, brows 
furrowed. “Are you leaving us so soon, your grace?”
         “I am.” The Marquis held out his hands 
and the cards fell from the air into an orderly 
deck in his palms. “My carriage leaves within the 
hour.  Zagrosek will accompany me.  I have but 
one thing left to do, and it can only be done at 
the Chateau.” He turned back to Qan-af-årael. 
“That is why I no longer fear you.  All the times 
you could have stopped me are past.  Even if you 
somehow escape and come to Marzac, you will be 
corrupted too.” He grinned wide and then turned to Zagrosek. “It is time.”
         Zagrosek nodded and followed him as du 
Tournemire left through one of the doors at the 
rear of the throne room.  The Keepers could do 
nothing but stand and wait, still held fixed by 
the Marquis’s will.  Once the Marquis and 
Zagrosek was gone, Agathe bent and lifted her 
purple robe over her shoulders again.  She turned 
her face on them, her empty socket blazing with 
fire. “Duke Schanalein, if your guards would 
escort them to the dungeons, I will follow and make sure they do not escape.”
         The Duke of Breckaris nodded and shouted 
the order.  As one, the Keeper’s legs 
moved.  Qan-af-årael kept his gaze fixed upwards, 
as if contemplating a starry sky that only he could see.

----------

         Kurt was already late when he arrived at 
the nunnery.  His captain was expecting him back 
at the barracks, but that was one place he 
wouldn’t be showing his face at tonight.  Or at 
least if he did he was going to need a very good excuse.
         The Breckarin nunnery was built on a 
rise in the labourers district.  The cloister 
walls were at least a dozen feet high, and Kurt 
could hear the chirping of birds nesting in its 
crenellations.  The only entrance was through a 
pair of wrought iron gates fashioned like the 
branches of the yew.  The keystone bore the emblem of Yahshua’s crucifixion.
         Kurt waited at the gate for only a 
minute before one of the nuns came to see who it 
was.  The nun was several years his senior, but 
still possessed the gentle beauty of youth. 
“Sister Lucy, Yahshua’s grace be with you.”
         She smiled, made the sign of the yew, 
and unlatched the gate. “Yahshua’s grace be with 
you, Kurt.  Are you here to see Tugal?”
         “Aye.  I’m afraid if I wait it will be too late.  Please hurry!”
         Lucy hastened to open the gate. 
“Reverend Mother says she is recovering well, but 
she still has nightmares.” She swung the gate 
open and Kurt bounded through.  He then grunted 
and bounced from one foot to the other as Lucy 
latched the gate behind him.  Once finished she 
led him down into the complex of close-knit 
buildings.  The sound of women’s voices united in song hung over everything.
         “She did not know there were people who 
lived their lives for others, and she had never 
heard of Yahshua!” Lucy marvelled as they 
ascended a cramped staircase.  Kurt kept one hand 
on his sword to keep the scabbard from scraping the wall.
         “Then we’ve done two good things,” Kurt 
replied.  The stairs ended in a half-open 
doorway.  Beyond was a small room with a window 
too narrow to fit even a child.  The room had a 
pallet with linens, a crucifix upon one wall, and 
two chairs.  The Mother Superior, in full 
cassock, sat in one.  In the other, dressed in 
dark leggings and a loose tunic was Tugal.  She 
saw them enter, and while she did not smile, her features softened.
         “Reverend Mother, Kurt is here to see 
Tugal,” Sister Lucy almost whispered, waiting 
just inside the doorway but not passing through.
         The nun turned and smiled a weathered 
face to both of them. “Thank you, Sister.” Then 
to Tugal she asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, dear one?”
         “No, Reverend Mother,” Tugal replied, 
her voice firm, but lacking the acid Kurt 
remembered from their first meeting.  Then, as if 
only now recalling it, she added, “Thank you.  I will call if I need anything.”
         The Mother Superior rose, gently patted 
Tugal on the shoulder, then held out her hand. 
“Sister, could you aid me down the steps?”
         “Of course, Reverend Mother!” Lucy 
slipped one arm under her shoulders and guided 
her out the door.  Kurt stood aside to give them 
room.  Once they were on the stair, he closed the door behind them.
         “You’re looking better, Tugal.  How are 
you feeling?” He waited for her to invite him to 
sit, and even then, he continued to fidget.  The 
news he had was too important to wait, but he had 
to remain courteous if he wanted her help.
         “Better.  I do not sleep well, but 
Reverend Mother’s prayers have helped.  I never 
knew... so many things.” Distance filled her eyes 
momentarily, but she turned to Kurt and stared at 
him. “And you Kurt?  I have not seen you in many days.”
         Kurt grunted. “I know.  Bishop Hockmann 
sent us into the woods under Zagrosek and 
Agathe’s command.” At the Runecaster’s name, 
Tugal flinched. “We just returned today, with a band of Keepers.”
         Shock filled her face. “Keepers?  The beastmen of Metamor?”
         “Aye, we took them prisoner.  The 
Marquis wanted them.  I watched him interrogate 
them.  It was... horrible.” Kurt had to close his 
eyes and utter a quick prayer to cast those vile 
images from his mind. “But from what you told me, 
I think these are the same Keepers she had you 
chase through the Barrier Mountains.”
         Tugal licked her lips and gripped her 
knees.  Her eyes looked down into Kurt’s lap, but 
for a time, she didn’t really see him.  Kurt 
shuffled his feet for a moment, waiting for her 
to come back.  The few other times they had 
spoken, this had also happened, and he’d learned 
there was no use calling to her until she wanted to speak again.
         It took her at least a minute to lift 
her eyes, but when she did there was anger 
burning in them. “Everyone I thought was my 
friend lost their lives chasing those 
beastmen.  That woman killed several of them 
because we failed.  Why she left me alive, I 
don’t know.  And now they’re here as prisoners?”
         Kurt nodded. “The Marquis ordered my 
father to keep them in the dungeons.  He left 
Agathe to make sure they do not escape.  Zagrosek 
and du Tournemire have already left Breckaris, 
and I don’t think they mean to come back.  This is our chance, Tugal.”
         Her eyes narrowed. “Chance for what?”
         “To break my father free!” Kurt’s whole 
body hummed with excitement at the possibility. 
“If we free the Keepers, they might help us 
defeat Agathe and break whatever spell has been 
placed over my Father.  You can have your revenge on her!”
         “Revenge?” she said the word as if it 
were ash upon her tongue. “The revenge I want is 
to make the bastards who raped me know my pain.  But they are all dead now.”
         “You said she did nothing to stop them.”
         Tugal mulled that for a moment before 
replying, “The Sisters here have told me of 
Yahshua, who forgives all our sins.  It is such a 
remarkable thing, to know that he suffered like 
the rest of us, and did it out of love.  Would I 
have ever heard of him if I had not followed her 
and suffered Metamor’s curses?” She fell silent again, her face confused.
         Kurt leaned forward gently. “I don’t 
know.  But I do know that nobody deserved to 
suffer the way I saw those Keepers suffer.  The 
Marquis has fouled everything he touches, and he 
controls my father the Duke.  Agathe is his 
willing servant, or perhaps she is a slave like 
my father.  Either way, I think if we free the 
Keepers, we can break the Marquis du Tournemire’s hold on this land.”
         He lowered his eyes for a moment, then 
lifted them and stared directly into hers. 
“Tugal, I need your help to do this.  I can’t ask 
any of the other soldiers, because they wouldn’t 
understand.  Nor would they be willing to cross 
Agathe after what they saw her do.  I was hoping 
you would help me in this one thing.”
         Tugal looked away for a moment and put 
her knuckles against her teeth.  A shudder passed 
through hr body. “I’ll need a weapon.”
         “I can get you one, but the guards are 
my father’s men, and some may be my friends.  I don’t want them killed.”
         Tugal sneered, and the way her eyes met 
his, Kurt felt like a child all over again. “I 
won’t need it for them!” Her gaze softened and she asked, “When do we do this?”
         “Once dusk falls in a few hours.  I know 
how to get into the dungeon, bu we’d never get in during daylight.”
         Tugal rose to her feet, hands clenched 
in fists. “Then we have no more time to waste.  I 
must thank the Mother Superior before I 
leave.  And I think... yes, I know I want to pray.”
         Kurt decided that sounded like a very good idea.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
Ut Prosim