[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LXII
Chris
chrisokane at verizon.net
Tue Jul 29 21:36:22 EDT 2008
-----Original Message-----
From: mkguild-bounces at lists.integral.org
[mailto:mkguild-bounces at lists.integral.org] On Behalf Of C. Matthias
Sent: Friday, July 18, 2008 10:15 PM
To: Metamor Keep
Subject: [Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LXII
And yet another Chapter cometh!
Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias
Chapter LXII
Unrequited Love
Im sorry, but you cannot enter Long House without
permission.
Murikeer stared at the guards in
dumbfounded surprise. Hed never been denied
entry to Long House before despite not being an
official member of the group. The four guards
two humans male and female, a lanky prepubescent
boy, and a goat whose horns were no longer than
his palm was wide standing before the double
doors into one of the most secretive places in
Metamor were dressed in Metamorian blue with a
black axe stitched into their tunics as befitting
their special status as guards Misha and George
trusted to defend the Long House. Theyd likely
never be Longs themselves, but each one of them would hope for it.
>>>Neat. And no one gets into Long house without permission.
What do you mean? Murikeer chuffed as
he glanced from one guard to another. His tail
flicked behind him in agitation. Your master
Misha has always trusted my counsel in the past.
I have just returned from a very long journey
through the southern kingdoms and I have learned
much concerning the events and happenings there
that may have impact on Metamor, and need to
bring that information to Misha so he may
understand. He shifted the satchel he carried,
hooking his hand through the strap across his
chest without backing down in the face of the
soldiery. After what he had learned in the past
few days he wasnt sure he wanted to know of any
more tragedies that had befallen his friends.
The woman shook her head and tightened
the grip on her spear. Master Misha has given
instructions that only those on Long business are to be admitted.
Murikeer swore under his breath and
pointed to his eyepatch. I received this wound
while avenging the death of a Long, madam. Misha
knows who I am. Announce me to him, let him
choose whether to see me or send me away. He
cannot be so busy he cannot grunt come or go.
The age-regressed boy, not looking out
of place in the full livery of a member of
Metamors military, cleared his throat
self-consciously. I know you, Master Murikeer, I
will let Misha know you wait without. The boy
turned to the door. Ill ask for you.
Murikeer stared closer at the boy but
didnt recognize him. It wasnt surprising. When
hed first come to Metamor hed done all he could
to avoid the humans living here. Only those
Keepers struck by the animal curse made him feel
comfortable. But with time his fear of humans had
abated, and after his long journey into Sathmore
the nightmares of being hunted like a beast had finally passed.
The boy must have seen him in passing
then. He did his best to smile and pretend like
he knew who the boy was. Thank you. That is most
considerate of you. He cocked his eye toward the
other two still posted obstinately before the
door with their pikes, wholly ineffective weapons
in the confines of the corridor but impressive
looking, crossed between them. The skunk mage
wrinkled one corner of his muzzle and chuckled
darkly, eliciting a raised brow from one guard.
The remaining guards watched him glumly
and kept their mouths shut while they waited.
Murikeer purposely made them as uncomfortable as
he could, rocking back and forth on his paws in
front of the door and smiling a feral,
sharp-toothed grin as if he knew something they
did not. The goat tapped the end of his spear on
his horns as if still getting used to having
them. He looked young enough to have been changed
only a year or two, but he could also be one of the refugees.
The boy returned a few moments later
looking flustered, unable to meet Murikeers
intense gaze when the skunk focussed upon him.
The other guards drew up their pikes and watched
the oddly behaving skunk while waiting for word
from their compatriot. Well? Murikeer chuffed impatiently.
The boy nodded and gestured to him with a finger. Misha says you can
come.
>>>Note - he would be escorted to Misha's office. He would not be left
alone.
Murikeer sighed and passed through the
double doors into the Long House. The main hall
was empty which struck him as odd. The practice
areas looked to have been recently used but there
was no one there now. The scent of fur, oil, and
steel was fresh in the air, but whoever had made those scents was gone
now.
The door to Mishas office stood open
and Murikeer stepped into the office quietly.
Behind a desk stacked with maps and papers was a
rather frazzled fox. He still jumped from his
seat, knocked over a stack of papers while coming
around one end of it to grab the skunk in a tight
embrace. Murikeer Khunnas! It is a fine thing to
see you again! A fine thing! Come in, come in!
Dont mind the mess. All hells broken loose for
us scouts what with Duke Thomass wedding and all.
Is that why I wasnt allowed in?
Murikeer returned the hug with some bemusement.
>>>Misha would have an answer for Murikeer's question "No one gets into
Long house without my permission."
While he had known Misha passing well before he
left for his southern journey he had never seen
him quite so flustered, or gregarious in his
greetings. Misha released him with a distracted
fox-grin and gave him a clap on the shoulder.
Sit, Murikeer, sit! He barked, waving
a hand at one of the uncluttered chairs crowded
around the front of the desk. The fox returned to
his own chairs after carefully navigating the
splayed fan of spilled documents. Its why
nobodys getting into Long House right now!
Misha barked. You just missed Finbar and
Meredith. Finbar left today with a squad, and
Meredith returned from his patrol. That bears
gone down to the baths to soak for the next two
days I think. When Kershaw returns in two days,
Im going out to replace him for a week. News of
the Dukes wedding has been sent out to every
damn country, and now Andwyn is convinced
therell be spies behind every tree come to disrupt the thing!
Murikeers tail twitched. It would be a good time.
I know. Thats the problem. Youve come
back at a good time though. I heard that you were
already in Glen Avery and that you went to the
Lothanasi Temple. You saw Rickkter?
Murikeer quirked his whiskers at that.
While he was not in direct command of Metamors
spies the scouts worked in close conjunction with
them and even the smallest news, such as the
return of a single mage, would not likely slip
unnoticed from the foxs attentions. He nodded.
I came from the Temple directly. Raven says you
cannot get to the Belfry anymore, and that the Censer of Yajakali is
there.
Mishas scowl was so deep and bitter
that Murikeer flinched. Aye! That damn thing is
there, always at the back of my mind. A day cant
go by without that thing taunting me. I couldnt
do anything about it. My axe couldnt do anything
about it! Did she tell you that?
I dont know what your axe can do, but
if the thing is responsible for Rickkters
situation I rather doubt you or I could have done
any better. What I have heard is enough. He
rubbed his paws together. There are things about it I should tell you.
Misha frowned and sat behind his desk.
He grabbed a quill and then rifled through the
maps to find a blank parchment. Where is Vinsah?
Reports from scouts said that the three of you
left the valley together. You and that minstrel, Dream.
Malger, Murikeer corrected absently.
And yes, we left together. But I know not where
either of them are now, we went our separate ways
in Silvassa. But I saw something you should know.
I saw the woman who was there when Patriarch Akabaieth was slain.
Misha tore the page with the tip of his quill. You did what?
When?
A few days before the Summer Solstice,
almost six months gone now. She was aiding an
invading army from Breckaris that was trying to
take control of the trade pass between the
Southern Midlands and Sathmore three days north
of Silvassa. Shes a Runecaster, and has a ruined
eye much as I do, but very much worse, almost
demonic in appearance as if she were touched, or
possessed, by some otherworldly entity. I have
never seen someone with such power as she.
Misha tapped the torn parchment with the
quill tip but did no more than blot it with ink.
She was here at the Summer Solstice, Muri. She
was there in the Belfry with Zagrosek and Yonson
and the Marquis du Tournemire.
Murikeer stared at the fox. What! It
took us three months to make the trip from
Metamor to Silvassa! How could she do it in three days?
Misha snarled angrily, You tell me! Youre the mage!
The skunk took a deep breath and nodded.
She was able to summon some portal. It was the
same sort of portal that I found at the
Patriarchs camp, but she had already escaped
through that magic by the time I realized it. I
fought her, but... she was too powerful for me.
He shook his head at the memory of their brief
battle. Had he not been supported by purely
mundane soldiers keeping her attention divided
she would have bested him easily.
Youre lucky to be alive, Misha
replied, the edge still in his voice. He turned
to one side and threw the quill across the room
and smacked another stack of papers to the floor.
Damnit, Muri! It doesnt matter! None of it matters!
Murikeer jumped to his feet and stepped
back a pace. His tail lifted dangerously. What doesnt matter?
Zagrosek, the Censer, the whole lot of
it! Misha stormed across the room and began
pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly with
his arms. One of my friends is in a coma,
several more are out somewhere to the south
chasing after this evil, an evil that moves
across the world at will, and theres not a damn
thing I can do about it! We have one of these
artifacts here at Metamor and we cant do
anything about it either! Its been gnawing at me
for months now, Muri. I wanted... I wanted to go. Damnit!
Why didnt you? Murikeer watched
Mishas caged-animal pacing warily and with some
pity for the frustrated, overworked commander.
Misha took a deep breath, bent over and
began collecting his papers. After a moment,
Murikeer came to help him. The fox waited several
seconds before replying. When he did, his voice
was level and without a hint of his earlier rage.
I was told I couldnt. Did you know of Zhypar Habakkuk?
Of the Writers Guild? We crossed paths
once or twice in the library. Kimberly told me that he went.
Went? He led the whole thing! Misha
began organizing the papers on his desk, but his
eyes stared past them to something that clearly
haunted him. Turns out hes some sort of prophet
whose been organizing the fight against Marzac.
He picked the people to go and Duke Thomas agreed. I wasnt picked.
Murikeer shook his head. Hed never
noticed anything odd about Habakkuk so had never
studied him magically. A prophet? By itself it
would have been a surprise. On top of everything
else it seemed a natural afterthought. So there
really isnt anything we can do?
Either of us? No. Misha grabbed the
maps hed knocked over and waved one, still
rolled tight and bound, around like a staff.
Which means we do our duty to Metamor. And for
me that means Im going to be making sure that
nobody can so much as sneeze in this valley
without the Longs knowing about it before it
happens. Why dont you help us, Muri? I know I could find a place for
you.
Nae, my friend, I must decline. I have
returned with my father and my masters ashes. I
must see that they are buried next to my mother.
Is that why you went to the Glen first?
Aye. Im going to return there tomorrow
morning. I can do good there with my aunt and
with Kimberly. She told me most of the Longs came
out for her boys funeral. Murikeer carefully
set a stack of papers and maps on the end of the
desk. I will be making my home there, the Lord
Avery deeded me an abandoned farmstead a short distance south of the
Glen.
Misha grimaced and set the map down. His
grey eyes did not meet the skunks. All that
could be spared. Wed have stayed with her if not
for Duke Thomass wedding. He sighed and drummed
his claws along the tabletop. Itll devastate
Charles when he gets back. The boy had the
Sondeck too. On the last day I ever saw him, he
was telling me how much he looked forward to training his son.
He still has four children who will need him when he returns.
Aye, Misha said. Murikeer was not
about to allow either of them to entertain the
horrible notion that the rat might not return from so vile a place as
Marzac.
Murikeer gestured to the assorted mess
on the foxs desk. You seem to have a great many
things to do, I wont keep you from your
responsibilities. He paused and looked at the
papers, maps, reports, and general chaos on the
desk. But if the Duke is intent on having this
wedding we might expect those
people behind the
placement of the Censer to come when they learn
of the event, if it is truly the Duke they wish
to overthrow and not some more broad agenda. I
know the Runecaster, and her magic. Murikeer
glared with his good eye, I want another go at her.
Misha growled and nodded, Stand in
line, lad, stand in line. Ive a bone to split
with the Marquis, myself Murikeer nodded slowly
and met Mishas hard stare. After a few seconds
Mishas shared hatred waned as the immediate
responsibilities returned to the fore of his
mind. Will you come for the wedding?
Am I invited?
If you want to be, Ill see to it.
Misha chuckled with a shrug, I could really use
your help there, as well. Were terribly short of
capable mages these days, and the Guilds are not
about to send support here because of the damned curse.
Then I will come. I can show it to the
Glenners with my illusions after. Many will want to see it themselves.
The fox grinned at the corners of his
muzzle. Aye, so will most Keepers. Ill wrangle
an invitation for you from Thalberg. Deliver it myself if I have to.
Youd be welcome at the Glen.
Pfah! Angus and Avery and the rest
would cajole me into staying several days if I
did. Misha shook his head and finally looked up
at the skunk. No matter. Ill see you in a
couple weeks. He reached into his desk and
tossed a gold coin. Surprised, Murikeer only just
snatched it out of the air before it could tumble
down his tunic to the ground. And get yourself a
nice room at the Deaf Mule for the night. You
look like you need it as much as I do.
I have my own money, Murikeer replied,
holding the gold coin out, And Kyia has kept my old chambers in order.
Its a gift, Muri. Ill see you in two weeks.
Murikeer closed his paw around the coin
and nodded. I hope to see you in better spirits when next we meet.
Just one good word of Charles, Jessica,
and the rest and I would be. Misha stepped
around the desk and gave the skunk a firm
hug. Now off with you. I have work to do.
Murikeer returned the hug and smiled. I
will disturb you no longer, my friend.
----------
Night still came early in the infernal
swamp. Hideous cries abounded in the darkness
around them. Sometimes they would raise in pitch
and then gurgle into nothingness. A horrible
chewing would ensue that left them all clutching
their weapons and watching the swaying cypress
and mangroves. But whatever monsters that lurked
in the night, none drew near their fire.
The vines theyd collected from the
plant monster Charles had helped kill proved
excellent fuel. It burned bright and slow. They
had enough for at least another weeks worth of
travelling, which according to Habakkuk would
bring them to the Solstice when all would be consummated.
It both gladdened and sobered them to
know that only a week remained in which they had
to defeat the evil at Marzac. The swamp showed
no sign of ending nor any of human
habitation. On the few tracts of solid land
animal tracts scattered in every
direction. Through the numerous ponds and
streams, algal blooms prevented them from seeing
anything below, but already theyd had to mend
wounds on their legs when the fish had decided to
bite. Poor Jerome had salve along one shin where
the skin had been ripped apart. Jessica had
healed it as best she could, but he would always bear the scars.
One week, Lindsey murmured as he sat
with his back to the fire. He pulled his knees
to his chest and grunted. One week and this will
all be over, for good or ill. If nothing else,
Ill be glad if it means we can leave this swamp
and its damn insects! He slapped his neck and
rubbed at the numerous bites. That only made
them itch worse, so he pulled his hand away and held tightly to his
knees.
Aye, Charles said. The rat was still
in his six-limbed form. Hed stretched out his
lower torso on the ground with his long tail
curled up to his forepaws. With one paw he
stroked the vine wrapped around his
chest. Occasionally the leaves would turn like a
dog reaching for their masters hand. Its been
almost six months since we left Metamor. I
wonder whats happened since we left.
Kayla polished the katana in her lap and
shrugged. Well, Duke Schanalein said that Thomas
is to be wed. That is good news at least.
Probably the biggest celebration in
Metamor for the last twenty years and were going
to miss it, Lindsey said. Not that most of us would have been
invited.
Oh, youd be surprised, Charles
said. The rat smiled and turned his head to the
side. The fire glinted across the black
hand-print on his face. If we survive this, I
bet well be invited to every celebration Duke Thomas can think of!
I dont know, James said as he stirred
his hooves in the soft loam. I dont think I
want to be there. All those important people
making you know how important they are. They
make you feel just how small you are.
You wont be small after this, Abafouq
said. The Binoq fingered the charm at his neck
and stared into the sky. They could see the
stars clearly that night, though the
constellations all seemed to be in the wrong
places. Charles had said they changed as you
moved north or south, but Lindsey hadnt even
noticed it before. Youll be heroes.
Well all be heroes, Jessica added.
We just have to succeed and return home.
I dont know if well ever get home,
Lindsey admitted with a hearty grunt. Even if we
defeat the Marquis, how are we supposed to get
back? Do we walk the entire length of this swamp
again? Without the Rheh, itll take months to reach the Pyralian
frontier!
And months more to return to Metamor,
Charles added with a heavy sigh. My children
will be talking and walking by then. Will they
even remember me? The rat shook his head even
as the vine pulled closer as if hugging him.
And I an even longer journey, Abafouq
pointed out. You at least know you have a home to go to.
You can come to Metamor, Kayla said.
Youd be very welcome there. Youre our friend.
He smiled a bit and then turned to stare
into the dark night. Thank you, but I want to
live among my people again. If theyll forgive
me. The great Nauh-kaee crept up behind him on
silent paws and nudged him in the back gently
with his beak. Abafouq turned and wrapped an arm
around Guernefs neck. I would miss you, my friend, yes.
You will go where you are needed,
Guernef said in words each of them understood.
As will I. If the wind carries us different ways then such is the
wind.
It will be strange though, Kayla added
after a moments silence. When we go back home
that is. Weve been together so long, not waking
up in the woods with you around me will seem
wrong. I may see many of you again, but weve
been each others only companions for so long, I
dont want to part with any of you. Even the Åelf.
Both Åelf had retired to their tents an
hour before. Habakkuk had followed them shortly
to his tent, but they could see his silhouette
against the fabric. The kangaroo was still up
and likely working on his letters as had become
his custom. Lindsey eyed his outline with a heavy heart.
Im going to check on Zhypar, Lindsey
said as he climbed to his feet. The others
continued their conversation while he ambled over
to the kangaroos tent. The long ears turned at
his approach, and when Lindsey reached for the
tent flap, the rest of his head followed
suit. Inside the tent Habakkuk sat cross-legged
with his tail behind him. Half-finished letters
were arrayed in a circle around him. He held one
in his hands, and he used a bit of slate to keep
the paper still while he wrote. His shirt lay in
a folded pile on his blanket next to his sword.
Lindsey, he said with a faint smile.
Wait but a moment more and Ill put these
away. He frantically scribbled letters on the
parchment as if afraid that others might see what
he wrote. The northerner glanced at them but
from his perspective the text was upside
down. Hed just realized that the letter nearest
him was meant for Kayla when Habakkuk set the
tablet aside and began carefully gathering the letters into a bundle.
Lindsey watched him, noting that apart
from the Binoqs amulet to keep the corruption at
bay, his chest was completely bare. His soft
russet fur glowed in the lamplight, muscles
rippling beneath. A few angry red spots welled
along his arms where hed been bitten. For a
scholar he was in very good shape, much as
Lindsey remembered him being all those years ago
in Arabarb. The northerner watched Habakkuks
leg stretch out, the middle toe claw nearly
brushing Lindseys knee, admired the pleasant fur
and muscles, and then noticed something that made
him gasp. Black like pitch, a sore spread across
the middle of the kangaroos left side just beneath his ribcage.
What happened to you?
Habakkuk lowered one paw against the
black scar. This? Ah. It is nothing to worry
over. Yonson did that to me in the tower when he
struck me with his Ash staff.
Lindsey took another kneeling step into
the tent and put one hand on Habakkuks leg as he
leaned closer. Does it hurt?
From time to time, Habakkuk admitted.
Ive kept it hidden because I didnt want you worrying over me.
And now?
Habakkuk gestured to his shirt. Its
unbearably hot here. I didnt think anybody would come in.
Lindsey managed to sit down across from
the kangaroo. He set his axe to one side and
pulled his shirt free. Good idea. The talisman
bounced on his hairy chest before settling
between his beard braids again. Who are you writing the letters to?
Everyone, Habakkuk gently returned the
letters to his knapsack. He placed them between
two slats of hard leather to keep them from
wrinkling and then put his quill and ink away
too. Im writing letters for everyone. There
was a weariness in his voice that Lindsey knew
all too well. It was the weariness he had from seeing into the future.
Lindsey ran his fingers along Habakkuks
leg, gently massaging when he found a knot in one
of his muscles. The roos ears folded back at
the touch. Why write letters to us? Could you
not just tell us what we need to know?
The letters are for if we survive
this, he said. He turned back and his dark eyes
glanced where Lindsey massaged his leg. He
wiggled his toes but didnt object. They concern
events that take place only if we succeed.
And if we fail?
Well all be dead, so theres no need for letters.
So why not tell us now?
Then youd worry about something you
can do nothing about. This way is better.
Lindsey moved his hand up to the edge of
Habakkuks baggy trousers and then back down
again. So why not tell us after weve defeated the Marquis?
Habakkuk sighed and patted the
northerners knee with a paw. Because even if we
win, I dont think we will all survive.
Lindsey nodded and grunted. He was
amazed theyd survived so long as it was. Do you know?
Who will die? The kangaroo asked in a
sad voice. Their eyes met, and Lindsey saw in
the kangaroos the familiar glint of far off
vistas that only he could glimpse. Before theyd
gone to Metamor, Lindsey had many times tried to
see the future reflected in Habakkuks eyes and
several times hed almost thought he had. This
time, he saw nothing but a familiar face staring
back. He could well imagine how that face had
once been; thinner and without a beard but still
strong. The reflection seemed to follow
Lindseys imagination and there before him was the woman hed once been.
The moment seemed to fade as Habakkuk
spoke, but it didnt go away altogether. There
are several possibilities. I have not seen a
single one of us spared death in every one of the
possible futures. So I cannot tell you who will
die. Every possibility that lays before us is
converging to one point, one terrible point in
time and space. Everything will be decided there.
The Chateau Marzac?
Aye, the Chateau. Habakkuk lifted one
paw and gently touched Lindseys cheek. You must
stay with me when we go in that place,
Lindsey. It is a terrible place, and it will try
to destroy our minds. Together we can survive.
He felt himself more the woman hed once
been at the kangaroos touch. He relaxed and
drew himself closer. Wont we all stay together?
In that place? No. I dont think so
many of us can, but we two can do so. Habakkuk
stared at Lindsey with a longing he knew well
even though hed not seen it in years. I dont
want to lose you again, Lindsey. Im sorry Ive
been so distant lately. Youve needed me and I havent been here.
Nae, you havent. I should not push so much.
When have you pushed? the kangaroo
asked. He ran the back of his paw down Lindseys
cheek and across the top of his shoulder. The
fur felt so soft against his rough cheek.
I dont rightly remember, Lindsey
admitted. That night in that Binoq city. I pushed that night.
Habakkuks face drew back, nose
spreading to take in the air, jowls lowering as
he considered his own memories. We were tired
from our flight through the mountains. Agathe
almost killed us. You were upset that I didnt
listen to you. I only listen to those things I see in the future.
Lindsey frowned and put his other hand
on the kangaroos chest. He spread his palm over
his dear friends heart and leaned closer. You
listened. You were listening in here. Youve
always listened in here. I... I could not bear to admit it. I was too
angry.
I should have said something sooner,
Habakkuk admitted. He put his other palm over
Lindseys hand, his short claws gently lacing
between the mans fingers. There was no time
while Agathe was there, and then with the bitter
cold of the mountains, and flying in that
dirigible... ah, I make excuses for myself
again. He shut his eyes angrily and turned away.
Lindsey caught him and pulled him back,
shifting closer. Weve both been wrong. Were men, what else could it
be?
I have always been a man, Habakkuk
replied. Not so with you. He traced one claw
down Lindseys beard an pressed against his chin.
I remember the sweet dimple you used to have
here. I would rub my finger tip here while you
leaned over me and tended my wounds.
Lindsey smiled, one hand stroking along
the kangaroos side, careful not to brush the
black scar beneath his ribs. You were foreign
and exotic, but in a good way. I saw kindness in your eye, even as I do
now.
I loved you, Habakkuk admitted, his
voice weak and but a whisper. Id never loved another that way.
Nor I. Lindsey let his hand slide down
to the kangaroos breeches. And now?
Habakkuk let out a sigh, long ears
folding back behind his head. Aye.
The northerner leaned forward again and
Habakkuk leaned back, long tail shifting to the
side as he closed his eyes. Lindsey pressed his
lips to the kangaroos snout, as their hands each
groped and tugged at their leggings. The two
pressed close, holding one another tight,
illuminated only by the fickle lamplight.
And then, their bodies afire with
passion long denied, they finally freed
themselves of all their clothes. Habakkuk and
Lindsey paused, both staring at the prominent
features that they saw betwixt the others thighs
in accordance with their Curse bestowed
natures. Lindseys fingers flexed slowly and he
reached toward the kangaroo but his hand stopped
short of the inhuman masculinity that was
Habakkuk the man; Habakkuk the animal. Habakkuk
gazed for several seconds with his long jaw agape
and large eyes blinking. Slowly his tall ears
swivelled back and then lay flat. His eyes
closed and he turned his head away with a caught
breath hitching in his throat. Lindsey brought
his gaze up at the same moment, the repudiation
for what the Curse had done to him, to them, and
understood in that moment the same. No, he
crawled backwards shivering with sudden palsy.
No, this... is sin, the bearded northerner moaned softly.
Aye, it is wrong, Habakkuk said with a
choked sob. He rolled onto his side, and pulled
his legs and tail close to his chest. It is all
so wrong! Tears rolled down his cheek and he put
his paws over his face as he gave free reign to
his misery. Lindsey kept his tears at bay long
enough to cover Habakkuk with his blanket and put his own clothes back
on.
Im sorry, he whispered at the still
sobbing kangaroo. Clutching his axe tight, he
crawled out of the tent and met the questioning
stares of his friends. He drew himself up to his
full height and held out one hand. Leave him
be. And I too. One by one they nodded and returned to their watch.
Lindsey took a step forward and then
stopped in front of the campfire. Slowly, he
lifted the axe before him. He stared into the
metal, nicked and scarred from use but still
sharp enough to split stout oak. And for so many
years it had done just that; his one true
companion in the cold northern woods when all
else failed. He glared at its surface, snarled
in a fury he only just silenced, and tossed the
axe to the ground. Lindsey turned and stalked
into the darkened trees, fists pressed tight
against his chest to slow the pounding in his heart.
Behind him, the rat jumped to grab the
axe before the haft caught flame. Lindsey
half-turned and saw the Nauh-kaee step between
him and Charles. The white gryphon shook his
head and the rat sat back down, clutching the hot
axe in his paws. The northerner felt the
watchful eyes of Guernef following him into the darkness.
Still he could hear Habakkuks cries
through the tent. Not a one of his friends said
anything or made any noise. Even the creatures
dwelling in the darkness seemed to pause in their
feeding to listen. And ever so faintly, as the
northerner crushed leaves and fronds in his walk
through the nearest trees, he thought he heard them laugh too.
And thats when his tears came.
>>>More sadness! But a nicely done scene.
----------
Tyliå-nou sat in Verdanes chair and
watched as the Duke of the Southern Midlands
composed himself. Verdane glanced between the
ornate scroll-case and the blue-cloaked
stranger. The scroll-case was decorated with
intricate filigree of trees and stars. He saw no
clasp. The Åelf did nothing but sit in quiet
repose. Outside he heard the laughter of his
guards and the hollow cry of the wind.
Verdane rubbed his face several
times. With each breath he regained some control
over his emotions. It had been thirty years
since hed last felt so helpless. That time hed
been a youth facing down a bear in the woods all
alone with his spear broken and his knife
lost. With nowhere to go hed climbed a tree
just small enough that the bear couldnt follow
him. Instead it had beat against the trunk with
its paws, shaking the limbs repeatedly. Several
times Verdane had nearly lost his grip and fallen to a certain death.
But hed hung on long enough that his
fathers hunters found him and dispatched the
bear. It was the last time hed allowed himself
to be helpless against another. He hated
weakness, especially in himself. Yet now he knew
he was the weak one. Tyliå-nou would have what
he wanted no matter what. And the only thing
Verdane could see that it cost him was his time.
Of the Åelf he knew only what the
legends had said. Distant cousins to the more
familiar Elves of Quenardya of whom the Duke
had also never seen they were said to be
recluses who never consorted with any but their
own kind. So, that this Åelf was here now meant
that whatever this letter contained was of vital importance to them.
Verdane reached out his hand and took
the scroll-case. His fingers laced through the
filigree but still found no way of unlocking the
device. Why would I be receiving a message from
your kind? What have I to do with you?
But one thing. You are the recipient of the letter.
I have had ill fortune with letters of
late, Verdane replied. Especially those that do not open.
You refer, the ancient creature said
with an air of indifference, to the letter from
Duke Krisztov Otakar. That letter took your son
away. This will tell you how to bring him back.
He wondered again why the Åelf would
want to aid him. And how had he known of the
letter from Otakar? Apart from his immediate
vassals and his closest confidants, hed told no
one. Not even the people of Kelewair knew that
their lord mayor and the heir to the Duchy was Otakars prisoner.
But he suspected that was a question he
would never receive an answer to. He took
another deep breath, climbed to his feet and sat
in the chair across from Tyliå-nou. You did not
answer me fully, he chided with as much force as
he deemed prudent, which was not much. How do I open this scroll-case?
Tyliå-nou gestured with his gloved hand.
Clasp the star symbol on the left and the tree
on the right. Twist forward with your right hand
and back with your left. Verdane did so, and the
case separated along a diagonal crease he hadnt
seen. A roll of parchment fell into his lap. It
bore a seal of a feather over a book in black wax.
Whose seal is this?
It belongs to the man who gave me this letter.
So not an Åelf?
Tyliå-nous frown deepened. Not entirely a man either.
Verdane smirked, feeling some of his old
self return. Metamor then. But this is not the Hassan sigil.
Your curiosity will best be sated by reading the letter.
Very true, he replied. There was no
way around reading this letter. He could not
call for help, his servants knew not to intrude
when he slept, and he couldnt part the tent flap
to escape. His unwanted guest would leave once
hed read the letter. If he held an enemy of his
in a similar situation, he would make sure to
have absolutely ever last concession he could
squeeze from them before letting them go, but he
knew the Åelf had a different sort of honour.
He undid the wax seal as carefully as he
could. He smudged the edges but managed to keep
the sigil intact. Verdane then unrolled the
letter and scanned to the bottom but did not
recognize the name. Irritated, he returned to the top and began
reading.
To his grace, Duke Titian Verdane IV of Kelewair,
I apologize for the distressful manner
in which my letter was delivered to you. I know
you are in a difficult moment and face treachery
on every side. You even doubt those closest to
you, something that weighs heavily on your heart
and your dreams for your family line. Even now
you know your hopes of crowning your son King
over the Midlands will come to naught.
And before you ask Tyliå-nou how it is
that I know these things, let me assure you that
this letter has not been written by anyone in
your household either past or present. We have
never met and never will. Though I have been to
Kelewair once six years ago, I stayed only a
short time before moving on. I have not been in
your lands for five years. By the time you read
this letter I will be hundreds of leagues distant from you and from my
home.
Do not concern yourself at this moment
with how I know these things. I do. It is my
vocation to know what I must know and to act
where I must act. In your case, this was all I
could do. I deplore what Duke Otakar has done in
taking your son from you. Rest assured that
Jaime will never be harmed and will be treated well during his stay in
Salinon.
Again, I have never met Otakar nor have
I ever set foot in his lands. I ask that you trust me.
Verdane lowered the letter and glared at
Tyliå-nou. This is ludicrous. You wrote this
letter didnt you? How long have you observed
me? How long did it take you to learn these
things? What makes you think I will believe any of these lies?
Tyliå-nou gestured at the letter. He
did not smile, but there seemed to be some
satisfaction in his voice. You will find the answers you seek in this
letter.
Verdane wanted to demand an answer, but
knew better than to risk anything more from his
intruder. He returned to the text.
Please stay where you sit, your
grace. As hard as it will be for you to believe,
I assure you, this is not ludicrous. Nor did
Tyliå-nou write this letter. He has observed you
only this day that he might find a time to enter
your tent. He knows only what he has told
you. And you will believe what I write because you know it will be
true.
Verdane flung the letter onto the table
and nearly climbed back out of his seat.
Sorcery! Youve bewitched this letter! You...
he glared at the text. The two ends of the
parchment had rolled together, leaving only the
first line of that last paragraph visible. Hands
trembling he pulled himself back in his seat and
stared. How did... how did he know? Who is this?
This time, Tyliå-nou did not need to
invite him to read further to learn. Verdane
gripped the letter and unrolled it. Eyes
feverish to learn what else there was to learn.
At this point you are wondering how I
knew you would leap from your seat. Let us set
that aside for now and concentrate on what
matters to you. Your son Jaime. Duke Otakar
will never let him go so long as it weakens you
and strengthens him. Until he is certain he can
hold Bozojo against your armies, Jaime is his.
The reason for this is simple. Otakar
would like to put his progeny on the throne of
the Midlands. The Midlands have not had a true
King since his ancestor Herouc died in a failed
attempt to destroy the Binoq and the Åelf. Many
have called themselves King, but not a one has
ruled all of the Midlands. With the Midlands
divided into three, it is only natural that when
one grows too powerful, the other two ally to stop them.
So it is now. Otakar has secured an
agreement with Duke Hassan of Metamor recognizing
each others territory. You, as Duke of the
Southern Midlands, had grown too powerful, or so
judge Duke Otakar. So he takes your son and one
of the principle means for your power, the city of Bozojo.
If you wish to see your son again, you
must do what for you will be unthinkable. You
must allow the Northern Midlands to grow in
power. Only if Otakar sees more threat from
Metamor than from Kelewair will he release Jaime.
Aid Metamor? Verdane snapped. He
simmered as he glared at the Åelf. Is that what
this is about? You come to me in my time in
weakness and seek my aid for a place I have spent
the last seven years trying to undermine?
>>>Now THAT'S irony. He must help a place he's hated for years to save
his son!
What
sort of fool do you take me for? And dont tell
me to read the letter! I will do so. But asking
me to aid my enemy! That is ill-advised at best!
Tyliå-nou folded his hands in his lap,
eyes cold and distant. You do not even know how
you have been asked to aid him.
Verdane kept his lips tight, but did
after glaring at the Åelf for several seconds turn back to the letter.
However, I would not ask you to aid
Metamor in a manner that weakened you. I know
well your animosity for Duke Hassan. I also know
your need to protect your lands and your
people. What I suggest will in now way endanger
any of that. Instead, I suggest you provide the
Horse Lord a gift he will put to use in the far north.
A more secure northern border for
Metamor would allow them to better cultivate the
assets they do possess. There is little to be
won with increased trade to the north, so trade
will necessarily increase to the south. Ellcaran
will benefit handsomely from increased trade
along the coast. And you can divert many of the
merchants from the river to the western roads to
avoid paying taxes and duties to Otakar.
All you need do is give Duke Hassan a
man who is good for but one thing, war. I
believe you know such a man. He is within your
power to do with as you please. Execute him and
your son will never be returned to you. Exile
him to the north, give him nowhere to go but to
your enemy, and you will have your son back. It
will take years, but he will be unharmed. You
will never crown Jaime King of the Midlands, but
his son will have a chance for it. The Verdane
family will never see it otherwise.
I counsel this course of action to you
as both a Duke and a Father. If you execute
William Dupré, Duke Otakar will continue to eat
at your northern borderlands until your grandson
is forced to acknowledge him as sovereign. If
you exile him to Metamor instead, the war in your
lands will end, all your vassals will end their
bickering for fear of suffering Duprés fate, and
within ten years your son will be returned to you.
>>>VERY interesting solution!
The decision is yours, your grace. I
shall pray for your soul and for your son Jaime for as long as I shall
live.
Dauern
sie Felikaush,
Zhypar
Habakkuk
>>>The roo speaks!
Verdane puzzled over the salutation at
the end. The name was meaningless gibberish. It
was no name like hed ever heard in the
Midlands. But the salutation was a Southlander
dialect. It took him a moment to translate it,
but even then he could make no sense of it. Last
Son of Felix? What does that mean!
He heard no reply from his unwanted
guest so looked up. The chair was empty and the
scroll-case was gone. Verdane stood up, hands
still clutching the letter. He glanced around
his room but apart from a bitter cold bite to the
air, there was no sign to suggest how Tyliå-nou had left him.
Ruefully, Verdane realized that hed
done what he agreed to do; hed made Verdane read
the letter in its entirety. With cautious hand,
Verdane pressed at his tent flap. The fabric
gave as it should. Verdane stepped into the main
tent and glanced at his soldiers. Did anyone come through here a moment
ago?
The nearest shook his head. No, your
grace. Its been quiet since your daughter left.
Verdane swallowed, nodded to the
soldier, and slipped behind the tent flap
again. He dropped the letter on the table,
climbed onto his travelling bed and curled atop
the winter quilts. He pressed his fingertips to
his lips and stared at the letter, words of a
prayer falling unheard from his tongue.
If not for that letter still laying on
his table, he would have convinced himself that
the Åelf had been part of his imagination. He
fell asleep wondering if he shouldnt put on an
extra guard to keep other fairy-tales from disturbing his rest.
----------
The sun had been only a few narrow
degrees above the dawning horizon when first
sight had been made and it was now a similar span
of degrees above the west and they had never lost
sight of their pursuit. Throughout the long day
Phils fleet straggled ahead of the enemy in a
careful mass of uncoordinated seeming ships
sticking together only by a similarity of
possible speed. It was all a careful sham, but
Phil felt that even had they held to the rigid
structure of an established formation the enemy
would have been equally as dogged.
The rag-tag conglomeration of
Marzac-influenced ships spread out behind them in
a long ragged line with the fastest oar driven
vessels barely competent to manage any rough
waters at the fore, heavier dromus and dromonai
behind them escorting the ponderous Pyralian
flagship that nonetheless managed to keep pace,
and at the rear the far slower sailing vessels.
Nearest were a dozen small, fast moving drom that
had managed to close within less than a quarter league.
>>>Now that is a mistake. Never loose your order when chasing an enemy!
It feels like were hauling the whole
damned armada along behind us on tow lines.
Aramaes groaned upon emerging from the cabin
below the aft castle he shared with the four
journeyman mages that made up his pentette. He
joined Phil and Ptomamus at the slate table on
the aft deck for a mug of watery ale and kebabs
of salted fish warmed by the ships cook over an
open brazier on the gangway of the main deck.
Have they used magic to do just that?
The captain asked while Phil nibbled a stalk of watercress.
Aramaes shook his head, Not that I can
delve, but theyre getting a damn good bit of
magic from somewhere. The sea would be a turmoil
if we tried to push that many boats using ambient magic.
Marzac. Phil intoned with a frown.
My guess, but they are not using it to
slow us. Probably too much work just keeping up.
Aramaes swept an arm toward their aft, Theyve
knotted up a tight weather push to keep their
sturak and galleass within their group, but they
cannot sustain that indefinitely.
Theyve fewer mages, for a start. Phil
pointed out, Pyralian ships disdain mages,
pirates and merchants cant afford them, leaving
our own Whalish brethren and any the Sathmoran
ships put on crew to manage that fleet. He
carefully picked up his shallow mazer between his
handpaws and took a slow sip of watered ale.
After a fortnight on the sea ale was almost the
last of their beverage, plus whatever fresh water the mages could
produce.
That is to our advantage, then.
Ptomamus smiled grimly as he cast a glance over
his shoulder, past the steersman, to the drom
skirmishers still close behind them. The light,
narrow boats had put considerable distance
between themselves and their armada to creep ever
closer toward the retreating Whalish group.
Those rakers have left themselves dangerously
exposed. If we invert our flying wedge well
surround and crush them before even the fastest of their support can
close.
Phil shook his head, Each ship damaged
in that skirmish would be one less ship to lend
its strength to the final engagement. If they
close within projector range well light a few,
but we should let our archers wither their decks
clean and not waste ourselves needlessly.
Ptomamus nodded, They act heedlessly in
closing without support, that worries me.
After the carefully staged attack on
Whales, I am inclined to agree, captain. Phil
set aside his food feeling very weak of appetite.
We should slow, else it will be after dark when
they are close enough to trade blows.
Aramaes, inform the other crews to slow
that me might rake these fleas off our back. The
captain stood and set aside the white lace
handkerchief after dabbing the corners of his mouth. Archers make
ready!
Archers make ready! Echoed the officer
of the deck somewhere out of sight below. Aramaes
bent forward over his knees, head bowed for a few
moments while he muttered arcane babble once
again. Ahead of them the loosely grouped Whalish
dromon began a slow tightening inward course
while the Burning Spear continued to drop back
behind the overall group. Behind them the
pursuing light skirmish ships continued to close.
Phil wanted himself to be seen, a gleamingly
white rabbit standing four feet tall in Whalish
regalia aboard a Whalish fire ship would be near
impossible to miss, a target that the enemy would
be willing to risk careless assaults to vanquish or capture.
Aramaes walked to the aft rail. We can
sink those fleas, captain. He announced confidently.
Ptomamus shook his head emphatically,
You mages just keep us moving, Ara. Let the
fighting men deal with the fighting, we will
scratch these parasites from our coats. Have you
far-talked with the other fleets since the morning?
Aramaes looked crestfallen at being
banished from the eminent skirmish. Aye, sir.
Stohshal is withdrawing the Wind Runners from the
turn and are making for Whales. Pythoreas is
bringing his group around from the north,
dividing his slower galleass contingent to join
the Runners while his drom will attempt to
rendezvous with us late tomorrow. He ran a hand
over his sweaty scalp, If we can maintain this pace.
We must. Phil announced, What will that give us in
strength?
On oar, twenty-three but only seven
with fire to their possible seventeen. If we
bring them into our trap and reinforce with the
Runners well have thirty five.
Plus the dragons. Phil pointed out.
Ptomamus raised an eyebrow slightly, If
we can count on their support your highness. He
did not sound convinced. My worry is about those missing boats.
Which ones? Phil glanced at the
sprawling fleet arrayed out behind them without
any apparent order beyond the Pyralian flagship and its immediate
escorts.
Ours. There are only nine in that damn
mob, and only three of those are equipped with
projectors. Twelve fire boats struck us in port.
Ptomamus ticked off each point on his fingertips.
At last count seventeen fire ships were
unaccounted for, and twenty others as well.
Added to what theyve taken from
Pyralia and the other kingdoms makes for a truly
frightening naval force to consider, fire or no.
And whats more, Aramaes interrupted
with a frown, The maeril seem to have gotten involved. He muttered.
Phil groaned inwardly at the new angle
upon too many already. How so?
Pythoreas group encountered a damaged
merchant sturak attempting to make for Whales
with her keel broken and severe hull damage
because they were, apparently, rammed by a whale.
After the ramming a dozen maeril attempted to
board but were slain. The mage looked from Phil
to the captain and back with a helpless shrug.
The maeril are generally benign, they have
little comport with man and are hardly dangerous
out of water. What might drive them to attempt
such a boarding I hazard to imagine, but I can guess.
Phil nodded. Marzac, again and always
it is Marzac. If the dark taint of that place has
turned the maeril within its reach then it is
far, far more pervasive than we ever imagined.
His ears backed and dropped flat. And that
leaves us fearing a whole new direction from which to expect an attack.
We can withstand maeril, highness, they
are awkward at best out of water. Ptomamus paced
to the aft rail and stood beside Aramaes to watch
the ships swiftly overtaking them. Their own
ships had drawn into a loose running line moving
just a slight degree slower to let the enemy
ships close. The Burning Spears shadow joined
those of their companion ships stretching across
the water as the sun neared the western horizon.
As he watched the dozen ships that had been
harrying their wake for the duration of the day
raised their oars from the water and slowed swiftly. What is this?
Phil hopped to the aft rail and leaned
his hand-paws upon it to stare at the skirmish
drom falling further aft with each passing stroke
of the Spears oars. Theyre withdrawing? Why now?
They may be falling back to await
nightfall to fully close. Ptomamus pondered
aloud while his hands clutched at the rail. Ara,
can you give our night watch any better sight?
The bald mage shook his head. The enemy
skirmishers began to dip oars once again but it
was only to turn and make their way back toward
their own formation. That worries me.
Aye, Phil grunted, Why withdraw your
knife unless youve a mace ready to drop. He
looked around warily. Aramaes, Ive a request.
Ask the captains of the other vessels to put
someone wearing white upon their aft decks once the sun goes down.
Wearing white?
Phil nodded. Aye, white. Preferrably someone small.
Aramaes smiled at the thought and
nodded. I will inform them, your highness. A good decoy.
>>>DRAT! Still no cool naval battle!
>>>Nicely done!
Chris
The Lurking Fox
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