[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LIV (ATTN: Raven)

[Chris]

-----Original Message-----
From: mkguild-bounces at lists.integral.org
[mailto:mkguild-bounces at lists.integral.org] On Behalf Of C. Matthias
Sent: Saturday, February 09, 2008 10:20 PM
To: Metamor Keep
Subject: [Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LIV (ATTN: Raven)

Raven, I need you to review the scenes with 
Elvmere and Nylene for accurate Lothanasi stuff.

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Chapter LIV

New Prayers

         “I know I have been negligent this last 
week in keeping you informed.  But the news I 
received when last we dined was the most horrible 
news I could imagine receiving.” Titian Verdane 
paused as he studied the Lords Grenholt, Thrane 
and Stoffels.  Grenholt leaned closer, while 
Thrane and Stoffels remained politely 
attentive.  He had debated informing them of Duke 
Otakar’s conditions, but after a week with only 
his Castellan, his Steward, and his second son 
privy to his inmost thoughts, it was time to lay 
out his hand for his vassals, no matter their dubious loyalty.
         “What have you heard, your grace?” 
Thrane asked, his oily smile far too wide.
         “Hyman Calladar has betrayed us.  In 
exchange for being allowed to expunge the 
Ecclesia from Bozojo, he has declared fealty to 
Duke Otakar of Salinon, and has handed my son over as a hostage.”
         Grenholt shot to his feet. “That 
cur!  We should march on Bozojo at once!”
         “And kill my son?” Verdane snapped. “I 
think not.  Barruw, think through this 
clearly.  Calladar knew I would send somebody 
that mattered to me to ensure his cooperation in 
our little war.  Once he had Jaime, he knew he 
would be safe from revenge.  We cannot attack 
Bozojo, nor can we move to reclaim control of 
that land.  Not unless Jaime makes a miraculous escape.”
         Stoffels grimaced and tapped his fingers 
together.  If Verdane wasn’t mistaken, the look 
of concern on the Lord of Ralathe’s brow was 
genuine. “This changes everything.  If Otakar has 
control of Bozojo, he has control of the trade routes on the
Marchbourne.”
         “He and Duke Hassan of Metamor,” Verdane 
said.  After a week, he could finally speak of 
his loss without growling like his sigil the 
wolf. “My spies have informed me that Hassan and 
Otakar have signed a treaty honouring each 
other’s territory.  In other words, they 
conspired to hamstring the Southern Midlands.  We 
have effectively been cut off from all lands 
north of the Marchbourne.  It is only a matter of 
time before they divide Lanton, Hawk’s Point, and 
perhaps even Elarial between themselves.”


>>>Wow! Talk about the big lie!



         “Surely you don’t think Otakar can hold 
Bozojo forever.” Thrane glanced at the map. “This 
stretches his armies very thin.  He will have 
enough trouble maintaining River’s Fork, let 
alone lay claim to Lanton.  Lanton is ardently 
Follower — I doubt they will succumb to a 
Lothanasi duchy.  Especially one that still claims ties with the elves.”
         “Couldn’t you send the Wolf’s Claw to 
rescue Jaime?” Grenholt suggested.
         “Otakar will expect it,” Verdane replied. “If they fail, my son
dies.”
         “Then you will be free to reclaim Bozojo,” Stoffels pointed
out.
         Verdane drove his fist into the table. 
“Do you not understand, Rukas?  He has my 
son!  My other son has joined the Ecclesia.  My 
daughter has wed a madman.  My grandson would 
rather be kennelmaster than King!  My...” he 
caught himself before his tirade took him 
further.  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed 
his forehead with one hand. “I will do what I 
must to preserve my line.  Otakar may have 
hobbled our trade, but he can do no more.  Not for some time.”
         “So what would you have of us?” Thrane asked.
         “Before we can consider what must be 
done about Bozojo and Otakar, we must end the 
conflict between Masyor and Mallow 
Horn.  Grenholt, what word have you received from the fork?”
         Grenholt stroked his beard with one hand 
and grimaced. “Our advance scouts have confirmed 
the earlier reports about the ships sailing up 
the Southbourne.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re in the lake
already.”
         “And what of Dupré?”
         “He’s had his armies marshalled and they 
have marched north of Mallow Horn, but only a day’s walk.”
         “He wants to march on Masyor,” Verdane 
surmised.  He rubbed his chin, trying to still 
the anger in his heart.  He couldn’t afford to 
think about Otakar and his son right now.  It 
took all of his effort to turn his mind back to 
his lands. “Ready all of our troops.”
         “But your grace,” Thrane objected, 
“without Calladar’s knights, we cannot block Lord Guilford in.”
         “No, but Lord Dupré can still do that 
for us.  If he doesn’t move on Masyor, we need to 
find some way to trick him into attacking.”
         Stoffels leaned forward, eyes 
appraising. “Did you have something in mind?”
         Verdane didn’t, and that was the 
trouble.  But he didn’t say anything.  Leaning 
forward, he tapped on the map, pointing at the 
armies arrayed. “Ships form Llarth are sailing

>>>Typo - from not form


 
into the lake.  Supplies come across the lake 
from Weislyn, as well as troops across the 
Angle.  Guilford is trapped in his castle, or 
will be soon.  Only Dupré and our forces have 
mobility on land.  The question becomes, what 
will convince him to attack.  I don’t see that he has any option left.”
         The doors to the chamber opened, and 
Captain Nikolai stood in the doorway.  His tabard 
was stained with dirt and he stank of horse. 
“Forgive me your grace but this message couldn’t wait.”
         Verdane stood, and quickly so did his 
vassals. “What message have you brought, Captain?”
         The head of the Wolf’s Claw nodded 
briefly to the lords, and then stared his 
sovereign in the eyes. “Your grace, Lord Dupré 
has just launched a siege on Masyor.”
         He knew he shouldn’t, but he felt 
immeasurable relief at the news. “Then we ride 
today.  Captain, we leave within the hour for the 
fork, and then for Masyor.” Now he had but one 
course of action.  Now he could put an end to the 
madness tearing his lands apart.
         “Very good, your grace.”
         “Wait,” Verdane snapped, holding up his 
hands. “Captain, take the Wolf’s Claw to Mallow 
Horn and collect my daughter.  I want her in my 
camp when we march behind Dupré’s forces.”
         Nikolai nodded. “It will be done as you 
wish, your grace.” His vassals stirred 
uncomfortably, not a one of them certain anymore 
what their liege would do.  The Black Wolf of 
Cabadair Woods, as he was once called, liked it that way.
         His vassals did not sound nearly as enthused.


>>>They have a right to be. He's wacko!



----------

         Despite being docked at the Silvassan 
wharfs, the Calf gently rocked in the river’s 
current.  Elvmere slept peacefully, lulled to 
sleep as if cradled in his mother’s arms.  His 
Lady briefly visited him in his dreams, softly 
cooing to him, and petting the back of his head 
as he curled against her legs, but he could 
remember little else.  When he finally woke, it 
was to the sound of footsteps above.
         Though dawn had come, the room’s sole 
porthole faced north.  The near darkness felt 
good to his eyes, and he slipped from the bed and 
pulled the acolyte’s robe over his head.  He 
shook his head to right his fur, and then stepped 
to the porthole to peer out at the city.
         The wharves were bustling with activity, 
but only a handful of sailors moved along the 
wharves next to the Calf.  Most of them seemed to 
pay attention to the larger ship docked behind 
them.  The Indigo.  He wondered when Nylene would be coming.
         The sound of footsteps approached, and a 
moment later there was a knock at his door. 
“Elvmere, it is I, Elsevier.  May I come in?”
         “Do enter, Master Elsevier.”
         The stout merchant came through the door 
and shut it behind him. “How are you this morning, my friend?”
         “I slept well.  I am hungry though.  Do 
you have any fruits or breads to break fast 
with?  I don’t suppose you have any fish just yet.”
         “Fish you will have in abundance once we 
set sail.” Elsevier smiled. “We have nets, 
trained fishermen, and I employ a very good 
cook.  As to fruit and bread, those I can 
offer.  I will return with them in a few 
minutes.  I prefer not to reveal you to my crew 
until we are underway.  I’m sure you understand.”
         Elvmere’s striped tail flicked back and 
forth, and he chortled under his breath. “I am 
surprised you have any intention of revealing me 
to your crew.  I expected to spend the voyage in 
this room.  I spent part of my journey to 
Silvassa in a grain barrel, so this is far more commodious.”
         The merchant’s eyes widened in surprise, 
and then he laughed in a way that set the 
raccoon’s instincts at ease.  He smiled and 
patted Elvmere on the shoulder. “You are an 
interesting fellow, young Elvmere.  I hope that 
you will share the story of your adventures and 
how you came to be under Priestess Nylene’s 
tender care.  But it must wait for later.  Wait 
here and I will return with your meal.”
         Elvmere nodded politely and his host 
closed the door behind him.  Elvmere straightened 
out the white acolyte’s robe and knelt at the 
bedside, paws folded in prayer.  But to whom 
should he pray?  He barely knew the names of the 
gods, let alone how to properly address them.  A 
part of him recalled the many liturgical prayers 
he would make to Eli and Yahshua.  A soft growl 
reverberated in the back of his throat.  Those 
prayers were closed to him now.  He belonged to the pantheon, or he
would.
         Elsevier returned before the raccoon had 
even settled on any of the few prayers he 
recalled Nylene teaching him.  He stood and 
smiled, tail twitching beneath the robe.  He 
smelled the small loaf of bread before he saw it, 
and knew it to be cool, but fresh. “That smells 
very nice,” he said as the merchant entered.  On 
a small plate lay the loaf and an apple.  In his 
other hand, Elsevier carried a small book whose 
binding appeared well-worn. “What’s that?”
         The merchant smiled, revealing his 
second chin. “I have been blessed with many 
children, and though my livelihood takes me from 
them for many months of the year, I am proud of 
each of them.  This belonged to my boy Benyan, 
who became an acolyte and served in the temple.  It was his prayer
book.”
         “It was?” Elvmere could hear the faint 
tones of an old wound in the merchant’s voice. “What happened to your
son?”
         “A few years ago, a sickness came though 
Silvassa.  Some few died of it, including my 
Benyan.  Priestess Nylene saved the lives of 
three of my other children stricken by the 
sickness, but in Benyan it came too quickly.” 
Elsevier put the book to his lips and he stared 
at Elvmere’s white robe, his eyes flush with 
memory. “I would like you to have it.” He held it out with both hands.


>>>Wow! That is a great gift!



         Elvmere smiled, feeling humbled by the 
gift. “This s a gift of great price.  Thank you, 
Master Elsevier.” He put one paw beneath the 
book, and the other atop it, his claws gently 
touching the merchant’s fingertips.  Elsevier 
didn’t recoil, but slowly let go, and then rubbed 
his hands as if washing them.  Either from the 
book or from the raccoon’s touch, he didn’t know.
         “I need to prepare the Indigo now.  When 
you feel the Calf row out into the river, do not 
fret.  We need to bring it alongside the Indigo is Nylene is to join
us.”
         “Of course.  The gods blessing be with you.”
         “And with you.  I shall return with our 
beloved Priestess.” Elsevier closed the door 
behind him again, and this time the footsteps did not return.
         Elvmere cradled the prayer book in his 
paws, admiring the decorative cover.  He gingerly 
opened it and turned each page, admiring the 
illumination for each prayer.  On the fifth page 
he found a prayer of blessing, knelt, and began 
to recite, “Great Kammoloth, I beseech your 
blessing upon your servant Elsevier of 
Silvassa.  Bless his family and his house, his 
work and his service, his servants and his 
beasts.  Bless him Great Kammoloth, and all those who love him.
         “Akkala, preserve him and his family in good health.
         “Velena, let no finger disfigure him or his family.
         “Dokorath, protect him and his family from all their enemies.
         “Dvalin, give him rain and sun for his crops, and winds for his
mills.
         “Artela, provide him fuel to warm his 
family, and food to sate their hunger.
         “Yajiit, may his fuel ever burn, and his family never suffer
cold
         “Samekkh, grant him wisdom to provide 
for his family and all his loved ones.
         “Wvelkim, make his journeys sure and 
quick, and reunite his family at their end.
         “Great Kammoloth, grant him these 
favours now and for the rest of his life.”
         Elvmere knelt a moment more, head bowed 
in prayer, and then flipped through the prayer 
book to find a blessing before a meal.

----------

         Temple guards rode ahead of their 
carriage, while a second carriage followed with 
their supplies.  Other than the guard, Priestess 
Nylene hin’Lofwine took her leave of Silvassa 
without fanfare.  The Lothanas had not even come 
to bid her farewell, but she knew he was only too 
happy to have her gone for a time.  She regretted 
that she wouldn’t be able to learn more of his 
heretical acts, but she felt greater need in Elvmere.
         If she could instill in him an honest 
and humble devotion to the Pantheon, she would 
achieve more than all her subterfuge in Silvassa 
could ever hope to accomplish.  She could never 
recall a more eager student, except perhaps 
Malger Sutt, but that one had long been marked to 
serve Nocturna so his conversion hadn’t been as surprising.
         But Elvmere, once the natural successor 
to the late Patriarch Akabaieth, had no such 
spiritual connection.  Through whatever trials 
he’d face din the year since Akabaieth’s murder, 
he’d come to believe in the Pantheon, even if he 
did not know them.  Only his commitment to the 
Ecclesia kept him from acting on this 
belief.  Once excommunicated, and once the 
tatters of his life had settled, he’d done the 
only thing he could — he followed his beliefs into the arms of the
Lothanasi.
         Nylene hin’Lofwine would make sure those 
arms were both welcoming and loving.
         All she had to do now was escape the 
Lothanas’s gaoler, Thelina.  She sat opposite the 
priestess in the carriage, her hands folded 
serenely in prayer.  But her eyes watched Nylene 
and the road outside.  Did she suspect 
duplicity?  Thelina was not foolish enough to 
doubt that Nylene knew her true purpose.  And 
Nylene had rebuffed her several times since the 
raccoon’s arrival.  There would be reason enough for any suspicion.
         Whether she suspected duplicity or not, 
Nylene couldn’t risk the acolyte’s mind being 
sharp and clear.  She smiled and asked, “Have you ever left Silvassa,
Thelina?”
         She looked up in surprise. “Have I what, Priestess?”
         “Have you ever left Silvassa before?”
         Thelina shook her head. “No, Priestess, 
I have not.  I was born within the city 
walls.  My parents could not afford to feed me so 
sent me to the temple where I have been ever since.”
         Nylene felt some sympathy for her and 
wondered if there might be some way to undo the 
spiritual damage done to her by the Lothanas.  If 
not for Elvmere, Nylene would gladly have taken 
her and tried to free her of her master’s 
influence.  Perhaps another opportunity would 
come.  These thoughts she kept to herself, hidden 
behind a pleasant smile and a kind word. “Then 
the gods will bless you with many new things on our voyage.”
         “Have you left Silvassa before, 
Priestess?”  This was a question of both courtesy 
and curiosity.  For once, Thelina wanted to know 
something about Nylene for herself.  It was 
refreshing, and Nylene’s smile widened.
         “Not since I was a girl.  I was sent to 
Isenport to serve there for three years before my 
initiation.  It was a long time ago.” The 
carriage jolted lightly and came to a 
stop.  Beyond the shouts and japes of sailors 
were accompanied by snapping sails and creaking 
wood. “Would you see to my belongings? I don’t 
want them damaged when they’re loaded on board.”
         “We should first see to the 
arrangements, Priestess.  Master Elsevier may 
boast, but if they are not acceptable we should decline his
hospitality.”
         “Master Elsevier is a benefactor of the 
temple!” Nylene made sure the horror was obvious 
in her voice. “And he has always been generous to 
us.  We should not insult him by refusing his offer.”
         Thelina frowned as she rose and opened 
the carriage door.  But even she knew she’d 
misspoke. “Forgive me, Priestess.  You are 
right.  We should be grateful for whatever Master Elsevier can provide.”
         Nylene followed her onto the street, 
where a pair of temple guards stood ready to 
escort her.  At least they wouldn’t be coming 
aboard.  She would have trouble enough escaping her watchful acolyte.
         Across the street she was the wharves, 
and coming down the gangplank of a five-masted 
galleon was the paper merchant Elsevier.  He 
waddled down and waved to them.  Nylene walked 
past her guards to greet him.  The guards and Thelina hurried to keep
up.
         “Good morning to you, Priestess Nylene 
hin’Lofwine.” Elsevier bowed once he reached the 
street. “May Dvalin grant us a sunny day, and Wvelkim a speedy voyage.”
         Nylene traced the signs of Dvalin and 
Wvelkim before her and favoured the merchant with 
a warm smile. “I shall say a prayer for their 
aid.  This is my acolyte, Thelina.  She will see 
that my things are properly arranged on board.”
         “Gareth!” Elsevier shouted.  A burly 
sailor walked down the gangplank, followed by 
three other men of similar physique. “Please see 
to the loading of Priestess Nylene hin’Lofwine’s 
belongings.  The acolyte, Thelina, will instruct you.”
         “Of course.  If you would, milady, show us where you want her
things.”
         Thelina bore an unhappy moue, but she 
turned to Elsevier and asked, “Will there be room 
enough in the Priestess’s quarters for all her things?”
         Elsevier frowned, and then waved to the 
gangplank. “If you’d follow me, you can see for yourself.”
         Gareth and his men waited on the wharf 
while Elsevier brought Nylene and Thelina on 
board.  On the main deck they saw a wide opening 
for the hold, with winches and pulleys erected 
ready to lower cargo.  Elsevier led them back 
beneath the aft castle into a narrow hallway.  On 
the left was a single door, while on the right 
there were three.  The door at the far end led to Elsevier’s quarters.
         “I am giving you this room,” Elsevier 
said, opening the door on the right.  It had a 
single bed, a mirror over a chest of drawers, and 
a closet for clothes.  Sconces hung from the 
walls.  A set of three portholes stared out onto 
the wharf.  All together, the furniture used most 
of the room’s available space. “It’s the 
Captain’s room when I’m not on board.  He’ll be sleeping wit the first


>>>Typo - with not wit




 mate.”
         Nylene stepped inside and ran his 
fingers along the footboard. “This will suffice, 
Master Elsevier, but I fear we will not be able 
to fit all of my belongings in here.”
         “And where will I be sleeping, Master Elsevier?” Thelina asked.
         “You may take one of the rooms on the 
right.  I understand you have few possessions of your own?”
         Thelina nodded, her moue growing into a 
full-fledged scowl. “And where shall we put the Priestess’s belongings?”
         Nylene put a hand on her arm and smiled. 
“The ceremonial garments can wait until we reach 
Metamor.  I only need my prayer books and 
symbols, my toiletries, and my day-to-day 
clothes.  That we can fit with ease.  Bring those 
first, and the rest we can store in the 
hold.  They will keep there until we reach Metamor.”
         “Of course,” Elsevier replied. “I will have Gareth see to it.”
         “Thelina, instruct Gareth in what needs to go where.”
         “And what of you, Priestess?” Thelina asked, still quite
unhappy.
         “I will be fine here.  I would like to 
sit for a while, and then I think I will rest 
until we’re underway.” Nylene sat down on the 
edge of the bed, her eyes drooping.
         Thelina nodded. “Very well, Priestess. I shall see to your
things.”
         Elsevier followed the acolyte out, and 
then a minute later returned. “I’ve signalled the 
Calf to swing around our stern.  Gareth knows to 
keep Thelina occupied.  They should be outside now.”
         Nylene stood and walked to the 
portholes.  Peering through one, she could see 
the acolyte ordering the sailors with sharp arm 
gestures.  Two of the men had her day-to-day 
clothes chest between them and were carrying it 
to the gangplank. “Do you have the toiletries I requested on the Calf?”
         “Aye, everything you need except your 
clothes waits for you there.  I spoke with 
Elvmere this morning, and he seemed in good 
spirits.  He eagerly awaits you on board.  We’ll 
be joining him soon.  I’ll have my first mate 
stand outside your door to keep Thelina from disturbing your rest.”
         “And your captain?”
         “He will set sail upriver in an 
hour.  With luck, Thelina won’t realize she’s 
been tricked for hours.  Either way, my captain 
will sail one day upstream, and then follow us to 
Isenport, where they will wait until we return 
from Metamor.” Elsevier frowned. “You will be 
returning from Metamor, won’t you?”
         She nodded. “I do wish to make a 
pilgrimage there, but my chief concern is 
Elvmere’s safe return home.  I will see that he 
is accepted in the Lothanasi temple there and then return to you.”
         “Very good.  I will check on the 
Calf.  Once you have what you need, come to my 
quarters.” So saying, Elsevier turned down the 
hall pulled the door closed, but left it ajar.
         Nylene returned to the bed and laid 
down.  She put one hand over her eyes, and 
breathed slowly.  The bed was surprisingly 
comfortable, so she stuffed her heel beneath her 
knee to keep from accidentally falling 
asleep.  That little bit of discomfort would suffice.
         She listened to the sounds of the 
sailors.  Apart from the heavy footfalls, there 
were also shouts and the occasional colourful 
expression.  Into this she heard Thelina’s cool 
voice providing constant instruction.  A moment 
later, two sailors pushed the door open and 
brought her clothes inside.  Thelina followed and 
asked, “Priestess, where do you wish your clothes placed?”
         “Over by the wall beneath the 
portholes.  Thelina may arrange them later.” She 
waved one arm, and then let it fall back across 
her face.  Behind them came the other two sailors 
and a second chest. “And put that one next to the first.”
         The sailors trooped out the door, but 
Thelina lingered a moment more.  Her acolyte 
asked, “Is there anything I can provide you, Priestess?”
         “Nay.  Let me rest for a time.  Make 
sure the sailors do not damage any of the other chests.”
         Thelina nodded and finally left.  Nylene 
breathed a sigh of relief as the acolytes steps 
took her back to the main deck.  She sat up, 
brushed the hair from her face, and crossed to 
the portholes.  She watched Thelina follow the sailors back down the
gangplank.
         Hurrying, Nylene opened the one chest 
and grabbed as many of her clothes as she 
could.  She’d made sure to pack those that she 
would need on top, including all her 
undergarments.  Standing, she glanced out the 
porthole again.  The sailors had taken four more 
chests and set them on the wharf.  Thelina stood 
with hands on her hips watching the process.  She 
kept glancing back at the galleon, lips curled in a frown.
         Nylene slipped out the door and down the 
hallway.  Elsevier’s door was ajar.  She pushed 
inside, and found him leaning out one of his 
square windows at the stern.  He yanked his head 
back in, saw her, and then waved her closer. 
“Quick.  The Calf’s in position below us.  Put 
your clothes in this bag, and toss it to 
them.  Then you’ll have to climb down.”
         “Climb down?” Nylene stuffed her 
garments in the cloth sack on his table. “What about you?”
         “I’ll follow you down in a minute.  I 
have to give the captain and the mate their final 
instructions.” Elsevier stepped away from the 
window and indicated a pair of ropes dangling out 
the window. “Just climb down this.  Don’t worry, 
it’s secure.  And they won’t be able to see you from the wharf.”
         Nylene nodded, and cinched the bag 
tight.  She peered out the window, and saw the 
schooner nestled against the galleon’s 
stern.  Several men stood aboard looking up at 
her, one of them holding the other end of the 
rope ladder.  She didn’t see Elvmere 
anywhere.  Turning back, she smiled to the 
merchant. “Thank you, Master Elsevier.  May the gods be with you.”
         He smiled and lingered in his doorway a 
moment more. “You have given me an opportunity to 
repay you for all the kindness you have shown me, 
Priestess.  Now go.  Gareth cannot keep her for long.”
         Nylene leaned out the window and held 
the sack out.  One of the sailors held out his 
arms.  She dropped it, and he managed to catch 
it.  She looked at the ladder, and one of the 
sailors waved for her to climb down.  She closed 
her eyes and lifted one leg, stretching to get it 
over the window sill.  Her robe caught on the 
wood and tore between her legs.  Well, there was 
no point in being careful then.  She shoved her 
leg out, foot searching for one of the 
planks.  She kicked the stern several times 
before finding it.  When she got her second leg 
over, she heard a few polite chuckles from the 
sailors, as well as one inappropriate whistle.
         Nylene ignored them, and started down 
the ladder.  Her breath held tight as she moved 
one hand and one foot at a time.  She’d always 
hated ladders, and as she clutched to this one, 
she found she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on one.
         Swallowing her fear, Nylene reminded 
herself for whom she did this.  She could see the 
raccoon’s face, form his narrow snout with black 
nose and white whiskers, to the dark mask of fur 
covering his eyes and upper cheeks.  She imagined 
the white band on his forehead and the rest of 
his cheeks, and behind that, his grey-furred 
triangular ears.  Set in the middle were his dark 
green eyes, soft and aged in a way his youthful 
body couldn’t explain.  That face gave her the 
courage to climb down the ladder.
         “I have you,” one of te sailor said as 
she reached the final rung.  He took her about 
the waist and guided her feet to the deck.
         She swayed a bit and smiled, pushing 
away from him. “Thank you.  Show me to my 
quarters so I can become presentable again.”
         They led her to the aft, and down a 
short set of stairs.  The sailor pointed to a 
door on the left. “Here’s the room Master 
Elsevier said was yours.  And here are your 
things.” He handed her the bag, and then rushed 
back on deck.  Nylene pulled her robe closer 
around her, noting the tear all the way up her 
legs to her waist.  Maybe Elsevier would buy her 
a sewing needle and thread in Isenport.
         She knocked on the door and asked quietly, “Elvmere?”
         Something stirred beyond, and the door 
opened.  Before her stood the raccoon man in his 
acolyte’s robe.  He smiled when he saw her, and 
invited her in with the wave of one paw.  She 
stepped inside and saw a simple bed, upon which 
lay a familiar prayer book. “That belongs to Elsevier.  It was his
boy’s.”
         Elvmere nodded and closed the door 
behind her.  He slid past her and took the book 
in his paws.  He knelt down next to the bed, his 
claws turning te pages slowly. “He gave it to 
me.  I’ve been reading through the prayers, but I 
haven’t found one yet to say before a voyage.  I 
know I should ask for Wvelkim’s favour, but I don’t know how.”
         She smiled and gently stroked his 
shoulder. “I will teach you one.  First let me change.”
         “I will study the prayers,” he replied.
         Nylene smiled and squirmed out of her ruined robe.
         A few minutes later, just as she’d 
finished changing, the boat rocked and she had to 
sit on the bed to keep her balance.  Elvmere 
glanced up, and stared at the porthole. “We’re 
moving again.  Do you think it worked?”
         “Let us see,” Nylene said.  She knelt by 
the porthole, and stared up at the decks of the 
Indigo.  The galleon towered over them, its sails 
giants reaching for the sky.  Sailors climbed the 
rigging, but nowhere could they see Thelina.
         Somebody knocked on the door. “Nylene, 
Elvmere, it’s me.” Elsevier called.
         Elvmere opened the door and grinned, his 
striped tail twitching nervously. “Did it work?”
         The merchant grinned widely. “Precisely 
as planned.  Once we’re around the bend in the 
river, we’ll raise the sails to full mast and head down river with all
haste.”
         Nylene and Elvmere sighed. “Very good 
work, my friend,” Nylene hugged him and smiled. “Thank you.”
         “Aye, thank you,” Elvmere repeated.
         “I must see to the ship.  I hope to dine 
with you both later this evening.  Then we can 
talk of the future.” Elsevier smiled to them 
both, and then closed the door behind him.
         Elvmere went back to his knees, and 
looked over the prayer book.  Nylene knelt next 
to him and took the prayer book from his paws. 
“Here, I will show you how to use this.  But 
first, a prayer for safe voyage.  Wvelkim will 
help, as will Dvalin.”  And quietly, she added a 
prayer for Thelina, that one day she would understand.

----------

         Kaspel eyed his fellow Magyars warily as 
they scraped the last of the stew from the 
cookpot.  Ever since returning from Cheskych, 
Nemgas had become withdrawn, speaking little 
while they ate their evening meal, and even less 
during the day.  Kaspel had watched him 
carefully, noting that the sword Caur-Merripen 
was no longer buckled at his side.  But the 
jewelled Sathmoran blade was, and that he watched.
         He pulled his knees to his chest as the 
cool breeze swept over the Steppe.  He sat atop 
the wagon as always, his bow at his side.  The 
others clustered around the cookfire, eager and 
ready to sleep once the sun had set.  They would 
leave him alone to watch the night and keep them 
safe from any who would come.  He had taken the 
duty to provide him some solitude where he might 
ease the wound in his heart.  Now, he yearned for 
what had come to fill it to return.
         His fingers searched along his neck, 
probing the skin to find the marks Berkon had 
left him.  A sudden throb of pain made him gasp 
softly.  There they were.  He stroked them with 
his finger tips, feeling the scabs that had 
grown.  His fingers were insistent, and the scab 
came free.  Blood began to trickle.  He licked 
his fingers clean, and felt a shiver of excitement race through his
body.
         “Art thee well?” Amile asked.

>>>NO! He isn't well at all!


         Kaspel blinked and looked down at the 
young woman.  She frowned as she stared up at 
him.  He smiled and lowered his hand. “Aye.  ‘Twas a cramp in my neck.”
         “If thou art weary of thy duty, one of 
us wilt gladly take it from thee.”
         He shook his head, and pulled his collar 
tight against his neck. “Thank thee, but nay, I 
wilt continue to watch this night.”
         Amile smiled and nodded, slipping inside 
the wagon to catch her rest.  Nemgas and Chamag 
cleaned out the cooking pot then carried it back 
inside.  Pelgan, Gamran, and Gelel all finished 
clearing the area around the fire, tossing the 
last of the grasses into the flames.  They 
sizzled from where they’d been covered in ice, 
but they burned.  They waved to Kaspel and he 
waved back.  They would greet him again in the morning.
         A moment more and all was quiet but for 
the fire burning out.  In an hour it would be 
nothing more than a few hot coals.  Kaspel stared 
at it, even as the sky around him darkened into 
night.  The sun had set, and the first of the 
stars were appearing.  The Vysehrad in the east 
stood as an impenetrable wall of darkness, 
brooding and haunting like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse outside its
home.
         His ears strained to hear Berkon’s 
song.  Ever since that night when he’d seen his 
friend again, he’d thought of nothing else but 
that moment when Berkon’s fangs had pierced his 
flesh.  His mind replayed the scene over and over 
again, and he couldn’t understand what had filled him with such fear.
         The cold of the night air welcomed him 
like a lost child.  He stretched, his skin 
trembling, almost ecstatic at its touch.  He 
wished he could love the cold, the emptiness that 
was the Steppe in the way that what followed them 
did.  He wished he could sing the same song that 
had come from Berkon’s lips.  That song haunted 
his mind, ever there, ever assuring him, and ever beckoning him.
         For a long time he sat there listening 
to that song, letting it grow in his mind.  He 
savoured it like a final draught of water.  And 
so the night had grown old before he realized 
that the song wasn’t just in his mind.  His ears 
twitched and he turned towards the rolling hills between them and
Vysehrad.
         The fire had long gone dead when he 
climbed down the wagon and stumbled through the 
starlit darkness to find the one whose song 
compelled him.  He scrambled over loose stones, 
cutting himself in his haste.  He collapsed on 
the other side of the hill, yearning and 
whispering his need, “Please... hath me... I be thine.”
         In the pale glow of the starlight, the 
Berkon-thing slid closer, continuing to sing but 
softly.  Cold hands stroked over Kaspel’s face, 
wiping a bit of dirt from his cheek.  The 
monstrous leg slid in close, between Kaspel’s 
legs, and he felt the nick of a claw remnant 
against his ankle.  With one hand Kaspel stroked 
the fur, finding it dry and almost brittle.  A 
soft laugh filled Berkon’s throat.
         “Show me the sign of thy slavery,” 
Berkon said, his voice a hiss.  Kaspel fumbled at 
his collar, pulling it down to expose the two 
circular scars.  Berkon’s lips spread back, 
revealing his long fangs. “Good.  Dost thee wish to renew thy bond to
me?”
         Kaspel nodded, too dumb to speak.  His 
heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn’t feel 
the reason why.  Everything else seemed irrelevant.
         Berkon licked his neck, scrapping the 
second scab free.  Blood trickled, and that too 
this thing licked.  But instead of biting again, 
his lips rose to Berkon’s ear. “Swear me one 
thing, Magyar.  Swear that thou wilt bring me the sword of the ash
mountain.”
         “I swear it!  I shalt bring it to thee.” 
He didn’t even know what he was saying, but he 
would do it if it made this thing happy.  He 
turned his head to expose his neck.
         Berkon laughed, a sound so cold that it 
made him shiver. “Now give thyself to me.” He 
kissed him again, and then Kaspel felt anew that 
sweet pain as his life drained into his 
friend.  He gasped in paralytic ecstacy.



>>>Wow! Creepy scene there!
 

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