[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LXIV

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Chapter LXIV

Solstice's Eve

         Though they had seen no fighting, the 
army, trudging through the growing fields of 
snow, seemed miserable and lifeless as it neared 
the gates of Kelewair.  The foot soldiers 
especially, many of them nursing frostbite in 
their toes around the nightly fires.  Even the 
horsemen slouched in their saddles and kept their 
cloaks wrapped tight about their faces.  Though 
the astronomers would declare that Winter had but 
one more day before it began, the season had 
already come to their home and locked it in its gloom.
         Yet, when they finally saw the walls of 
Kelewair and the castle looming before the forest 
they felt a measure of relief.  Their long march 
was done and they could return to loved ones with 
tales of peace.  Weariness did not leave them, 
but their steps were just a little bit lighter 
and a little bit surer.  A few even dared 
laughter and frivolity as they crossed the barren 
fields still filled with ramshackle tents and 
hasty fortifications to the city gates.
         Duke Titian Verdane drew up his mount 
and sighed.  With the Yule so close, the remnants 
of his war would have to wait for the New Year to 
be taken down.  Though they hadn’t seen combat, 
his troops had been at the ready for months now 
and needed the rest.  He’d already sent both Lord 
Stoffels and Lord Thrane with their forces back 
to their cities.  His spies would make sure they 
stayed true to their word.  And Anya had led what 
remained of William’s forces back to Mallow 
Horn.  They had even more work ahead of them to 
rebuild the villages crushed by the feud.
         The young Captain Becket of Mallow Horn 
had volunteered to escort William to Metamor’s 
lands.  Verdane had been suspicious and would 
have refused but Anya had assured him of Becket’s 
fidelity.  Six more soldiers were sent of Anya’s 
choosing, and Verdane wrote a letter to accompany 
Becket and grant him speedy passage.  With luck, 
they would already be north of Braasem, perhaps 
all the way to Giftum.  In the next few weeks 
William would be changed by the curses.  The 
soldiers were to return and report what he’d 
become.  Verdane hoped it would be a beast as it 
would make it easier to spot him should he try to return to his homeland.
         Of course the letter from the son of 
Felix seemed to indicate he didn’t have to worry 
about that.  Still, he hadn’t been Duke so long 
because he trusted in arcane letters.  Every precaution he could he would take.
         Especially with so many traitors in his midst.
         The gates of Kelewair opened to receive 
them and Verdane turned to his generals and gave 
orders for the men.  He then led the procession 
into his city.  He felt Captain Nikolai and the 
other members of the Wolf’s Claw at his back, but 
even their presence was not reassuring.  This was a miserable homecoming.

         It was hours later after all the pomp 
and ceremony of a Duke returning from victory 
that Verdane had a chance to retire to the 
privacy of his study.  The hearth billowed with a 
roaring fire and his table was arrayed with 
freshly cooked meat, potatoes, cheese, bread, and 
wine.  He placed his table next to one of the 
windows so he could stare at the grounds behind his castle.
         Romping through the snow was his 
grandson Jory and the many kennel dogs.  Those 
black-furred canines barked and danced circles 
around him as they leapt through the snow, 
leaving divots and exposing the grass in 
patches.  Jory laughed and cavorted, shouting 
orders from time to time.  The dogs obeyed him 
eagerly.  Though he couldn’t see them from his 
window, he knew that his soldiers kept a close 
watch on the boy as did the kennel master.  But 
he needn’t have fretted.  Ever since coming to 
live with his grandfather, Jory spent more time 
with the dogs than with anyone else.  They knew 
him and loved him as one of their own now.
         Verdane chewed on a bit of potato and 
sighed.  Now that the war was over, he needed to 
set aside time to make Jory look up to him as a 
father.  As a grandfather, he did love the boy, 
but he had no idea how much damage William had 
already done to the child.  Perhaps being with 
the dogs had returned some of his innocence?
         But he would not have his grandchild 
aspire to be nothing more than a kennel 
master.  Slowly, bit by bit, he would have to 
draw him back into the castle.  His love for the 
dogs would always be a source of strength, but 
like iron, it had to be tempered.
         Had Jory not been his own flesh and 
blood, he would gladly let him be so common a 
thing as a kennel master.  It would both be a 
kindness to the boy and a humiliation for William 
to see his progeny brought low.  But Jory was 
kin, and that was something Verdane could never forget.
         A knock at the door brought him 
around.  His page answered the door, then opened 
it wide for a red-haired man dressed in priestly 
vestments.  Verdane nodded to his son and 
beckoned him enter.  Tyrion hobbled across the 
room with the practised ease of a man who knows 
he is a cripple but will not let any other tell 
him so.  At his father’s invitation, Tyrion sat 
down opposite him and shared a bit of cheese.
         “I am so relieved to see you returned 
safe, father,” Tyrion said with a faint smile. 
“In truth, things have been very quiet in your 
absence.  We have had no news of Otakar’s forces 
moving.  Sadly, we also have heard nothing about Jaime.”
         “Otakar is waiting on word from 
me.  Will I agree or won’t I,” Verdane ground his 
teeth together, stared a few seconds more at 
Jory, and sighed. “He will do nothing until 
then.  Once he knows our word, he will act.”
         “Was it wise to send everyone home?  If 
you need them again, it will take weeks before they’re assembled and ready.”
         Verdane shrugged his shoulders. “There 
was nothing else I could do.  If I kept them on, 
Otakar would have marshalled his forces.  That is 
a fight we cannot win, not now.” He stabbed a bit 
of meat with his knife and held it up.  The meat 
was well-cooked with a sheen of black along both 
top and bottom.  The middle had just a hint of 
pink.  The flavour, full of salt and sinew, was 
nevertheless empty for him. “Not while he has Jaime.”
         “What will you do about it, Father?”
         “Give him what he wants.  Bozojo is his 
for now.  And as soon as I believe it is safe, I 
want assassins to murder that treacherous swine Calladar.”
         Tyrion thumbed a piece of bread and asked, “What of his family?”
         “That I will think on.  A son eager for 
revenge will be more tightly wound to 
Otakar.  But eliminate the family entirely and 
Otakar may put one of his cronies in place there 
and we’d never see the city again.”
         “Perhaps we should let Calladar live then?”
         “No.” Verdane shoved the meat in his 
mouth and chewed.  He washed the morsel down with some wine. “What of Ammodus?”
         “Until last week, he’d been 
calm.  Frightfully so.  Lately though he’s been 
ranting about a certain man of cards.”
         Verdane spat the wine out. “What?” He 
lowered his head and gathered his anger to store 
it away.  Tyrion sat with a look of surprise writ 
on his eyes but otherwise kept from his face. “A 
man of cards?  William said the same thing before 
I banished him to Metamor.  There may be little 
we can do about it, but it seems both were in 
league with the Marquis du Tournemire.  You remember him.”
         “The Pyralian who came through here last 
Spring?  Aye, I recall him.  A bit aloof, with 
the strange black-clad man as a companion.  He 
had a deck of cards he kept with him.  It’s possible he could be a sorcerer.”
         “It would explain why William and 
Ammodus allied.  There is nothing we can do about 
Ammodus here.  Have him sent to Yesulam.  Perhaps 
they can see to his needs there.  I will request 
that you be named Bishop in his stead.”
         Tyrion lowered his eyes gratefully. “If 
it pleases the Ecclesia that I serve so, I shall 
serve.  But Father, I must serve the Ecclesia 
first, not you.  Do not make this appointment 
thinking I will turn the Ecclesia to your ends.”
         Verdane grunted. “Spare me any false 
piety you have, Tyrion.  I know your devotion to 
the Ecclesia is true.  But your episcopate has 
great reach, and I do want you to use your 
influence to extend the arm of the Ecclesia.  I 
am the only one of the three Dukes of the 
Midlands who is a Follower.  Any increase in the Ecclesia benefits me.”
         “As you say, Father,” Tyrion replied, 
his eyes still lowered. “Then you will be very 
interested to hear some of the news I have.”
         “Oh?”
         “Refugees form Bradanes have been 
flocking to Metamor, those that have survived 
that is.  They are of the Ecclesia and will swell 
the population there.  The one lowly priest will 
not be able to handle it all himself.  Ammodus 
was loathe to ever go there to appoint new 
priests, but I am willing.  And there is one 
other thing.  A small group of nuns from 
Breckaris came requesting that they be allowed to settle at Metamor.”
         “Did you grant them permission?”
         “Of course.  There was no reason not 
to.  If it helps spread the Ecclesia in those 
lands, then that is more souls that can be 
saved.” Tyrion frowned. “You do realize that if I 
am named Bishop, the parishes of the Northern 
Midlands will petition Yesulam to have a new episcopate created.”
         Verdane stared out the window 
again.  Jory was throwing snowballs and the dogs 
were catching them in their jaws.  The snowballs 
exploded every time. “That will take 
time.  Perhaps we can improve relations with Metamor in the meantime.”
         “Exiling a traitor to them will hardly 
improve their disposition toward us.”
         “I have confidence that in the end they will be grateful,” he replied.
         “Pardon me, but why?”
         Verdane shook his head.  He felt the 
heat of decision coming to him.  It was time to 
act. “Never mind that now.  There is some 
parchment there and a quill.  It is time to write 
my letter to Otakar granting him what he 
wants.  It’s the only way we’ll ever see Jaime 
again, and that is far more important to me than who is Bishop of Metamor.”
         Tyrion nodded, took the quill, dipped it 
in ink and sat ready to write his father’s 
words.  Verdane leaned back in his chair and pondered just how to begin.

----------

         Phil felt wholly inadequate to the task 
of actually practicing the art of war as opposed 
to planning it, the boiled leather brigandine 
over his fire-retardant gambeson making him 
swelter moreso than the soldiers readying upon 
the deck below.  They, at least, did not have to 
deal with a coat of fur beneath their weighty 
armour.  Rupert, as opposed to his much smaller 
charge, seemed as comfortable with his heavier 
chain over gambeson.  Strapped to his hip was a 
massive iron flanged mace that Phil had only seen 
him put to use once since being affected by 
Metamor’s curse.  That had been against a door 
and not flesh, but the results had been dramatic enough.
         Woe unto the soldier that came within reach of that unyielding force.
         Phil himself held only a buckler and 
poniard modified with a basket so that he could 
more brace his palm against the hilt than 
actually grasp it.  The slender thrusting weapon 
was dangerously sharp but the young prince 
doubted he could do more than annoy the target he 
might use it upon.  The buckler, a lightweight 
circle of boiled leather over carefully laminated 
wooden strips, was chiefly to block arrows and 
not swords.  In Ptomamas’ words, Phil was not 
capable of direct conflict and had orders to 
avoid the fight.  Very firm orders, it was 
explained, direct from the King himself.
         Though he did not argue with the order, 
he had no intentions of staying in the dark 
innards of the ship while his countrymen fought 
and died crossing swords with their own kith and 
kin.  He stood upon the aft castle and watched 
the closing skirmish boats, the few that had not 
been foundered by the unexpected but 
serendipitous wave, closed with a last burst of 
speed.  Already the young prince’s forewarning of 
the wave was being whispered about among the crew.
         The sky overhead was slashed with dark 
clouds though which the blue of the sky would 
peer.  A strong wind shredded the tops of the 
small waves it churned up on the surface of the 
inky dark sea.  The air smelled of eminent 
lightening strike and a curtain of rain rippled 
across the ocean to the north.  Aft of the Spear, 
now the trailing most ship in Phil’s group, the 
enemy fleet had drawn itself into a more orderly 
battle formation anchored upon the Iron 
King.  Behind them the windships tried diligently 
to battle the westerly wind, tacking with a 
definite display of unified command to prevent 
ships crossing paths or stealing wind from the 
sails of other vessels, but they were slowly falling behind.
         “Birds taking wing again, Captain.” 
Lon’mar offered blandly from the forward rail 
where he leaned watching the waters aft of the 
Spear.  Ptomamus looked to him from the plotting table and then nodded.
         “Here we go, this is our stand.  Gerand, 
Whiett, where do we stand.  Ara?”
         “All in line and readied, 
cap’n.  Weapons and armor in good order and the 
men are prepared, if feeling the pain of three 
hard days at oar.” Gerand, the marine commander, 
supplied without turning from the rail where he 
stood beside Lon’mar looking forward at his men-at-arms below.
         “All the boats seem to be in proper 
formation, Captain.” Whiett seconded, though 
Ptomamus knew the disposition of his fleet more 
acutely than the First Crew commander.  “We’re 
ready for the turn, and Pythoreaus will have room 
to slip between our ships with ease.”
         “Stohshal?”
         “Hiding behind the rain, Captain.” 
Aramaes offered with a twitch of his lips.  The 
strain of keeping lines of communication open 
between the three small fleets was showing at the 
corners of his eyes but he admitted to none of 
it.  “Perhaps a half hour to our north under the 
current wind.  Judging by the Marzac response I 
don’t think any of his sails were spied before the rain.”
         “Have him put on full canvas.”  Ptomamus 
stroked the basketed hilt of his sheathed cutlass 
and tapped the plotting table with the tip of one 
index finger distractedly.  “Let us have done, 
let an end come to this dark villainy.”  He 
turned and looked to Phil, the captain’s unbound 
hair flowing loose in the stiff breeze cutting 
across the deck.  “At your word, highness, Whales 
will stand in the face of this darkness.”
         “May we all emerge into the light, 
Captain Ptomamus.” Phil intoned and bowed his 
head in a slow acknowledgment.  “Let us be unmoored.”
         Ptomamus copied the nod with a slow 
smile creeping across his face.  “To arms, to 
arms, to the depths with our foe!!” He called 
out, his words stripped by the wind but reaching 
the ears of the men on the decks and at oars below.
         “To the depths!” rose a cry from the deck.
         “Ara, how long for Pythoreaus to cross our line?”
         “He is putting full oar now, Captain, I 
will let you know when his stern crosses our 
own.”  Aramaes pulled the sleeves of his light 
shirt up, revealing yet more spidery blue 
tattoos, and flexed his fingers like a musician 
preparing for a concert.  “The enemy has not 
attempted to break his concealment, but that does 
not mean that he has not already been seen.”
         “Let us hope their mages are as hard 
pressed as ours, Ara, or we may be in for a surprise of our own.”
         “Have confidence in Chakkarn, the crusty 
old sea dog can coax amazing things from his 
powders and quicksilver.  If anyone can slide 
your gaze he would be the man.”  Aramaes 
chuckled  as he stepped over to the port railing 
and watched something that no one else could 
see.  After some long moments his bald, blue 
etched head nodded slowly to some unseen message, 
one hand raising up slowly from the railing.
         “Now, my Captain, now!  They are aft!”
         “Oars to port hard in!” Ptomamus 
ordered, his command echoed by the chief of the 
deck, “Starboard oars double stroke, hard about 
on the tiller.”  Before his command had even been 
completed the Burning Spear began to slow and 
list hard to the port beam, everyone on the deck 
leaning against the turn while all around them 
the other ships in Phil’s group copied the 
maneuver fluidly.  “Highness, if you have some 
way of communicating with those dragons you 
promised now would be a very good moment to call 
them.  When their handler looses them we’ll have 
only minutes before they’re among us.”
         Helplessly Phil shook his head and 
looked at the distant Marzac fleet, the slender 
skirmish boats fanned out ahead of the fleet and 
putting toward them at full oar, and could only 
stand rooted to the spot in gnawing fear.  Beside 
him Rupert shifted easily on his thick legs, a 
massive reassuring shadow close at hand.  Aramaes 
rested a hand lightly upon Phil’s shoulder.
         “Master your fear, my prince.  You have 
done well in our battles thus far, this one will be no different.”
         Phil looked up at the bald mage and 
sucked a breath through his teeth.  “This battle 
makes Whales, Aramaes, or breaks us.  It is everything for us to win or lose.”
         “All across the many kingdoms face the 
same in war, Phil.  You saw yourself Metamor cast 
its lot and emerge triumphant.  Even now wars 
rage across the Midlands, and the taint of Marzac 
turns brother against brother, no differently 
than we face ourselves.”  He nodded toward the 
closing ships.  “Our part in this is merely one 
small stone in the ballast, let us make its weight be felt.”

----------

         The days were shorter than the nights, 
which prevented them from travelling as far as 
they hoped.  But it was the swamp itself that 
proved the greatest impediment to their 
progress.  The deeper and deeper they journeyed, 
the thicker and more cloying the trees became, 
festooned with prickly vines and sickly mushrooms 
whose mere touch made Jerome break into a vicious 
red rash on his shoulder.  The waterways were 
covered with algae that clung to their fur and 
clothes and carried flies and mosquitos which bit 
their flesh.  Swarms of dragonflies descended on 
them to pick out the flies and other morsels the 
algae carried.  And there were fish that scoured 
flesh, huge alligators that lay in quiescent 
ambush, as well as toads so large they could 
swallow Abafouq whole — one tried , having taken 
the Binoq in up to his waist before Guernef 
landed on its back and ripped its piddling brain 
out the back of its head with his beak.
         All these and more stood in their way 
and made their progress south a slow one.  Each 
evening Jessica, Abafouq, Guernef, and 
Qan-af-årael used their magical powers to offer 
what healing they could to tame the rashes, the 
cuts, the coughs, and the infections.  Still, 
with so many insects making a meal of their 
flesh, they were each covered in bites that 
itched all the worse the more they scratched.
         Despite the profusion of life in the 
swamp, there was little that seemed edible.  A 
few birds complemented the supplies they’d taken 
with them from Breckaris, but these had little 
meat, and what meat they had tasted 
grainy.  There was no fresh water to be found, 
though they were sure to boil as much as they 
could each night.  Abafouq placed a few of his 
spell stones in the pot with the putrid water to 
help purify it.  But even that could only stave 
off the inevitable for a short time.
         Winter may be upon them, but in the 
swamp it still felt as sweltering as the worst 
summer day in Metamor.  Kayla and Charles panted 
like dogs, while Jessica and James came close to 
doing the same.  Of the furred Keepers, only 
Habakkuk seemed able to stand the heat, but the 
moisture in the air made him miserable 
too.  Rarely did he lift his eyes beyond walking 
or writing in his tent at night.  He spoke even 
less.  Of them all only the Åelf remained stoic, 
but even their majesty seemed to fade under the air’s cruel oppression.
         So it came as a surprise to them all 
when in the morning after a fitful night sleep in 
a small grove near a break in the canopy 
Qan-af-årael smiled and said, “We have made good 
time through the swamp and even now are within a 
day’s journey of the Chateau.  We will arrive at 
the proper time.  I studied the stars last night.  The Solstice is tomorrow.”
         “Aren’t we supposed to destroy them by 
the Solstice?” James asked as he rubbed at his 
latest series of bites next to his mane.
         “Yes.  So we will arrive at just the 
right moment,” Qan-af-årael replied.
         “Were the stars telling you how we would 
fare?” Abafouq asked curiously while fingering his pendant.
         “Of that they do not speak,” the Åelf 
admitted with a slow sigh. “But we are where we 
must be.  The stars are moving back to the place 
they once knew.  They will reach it 
tomorrow.  And so tomorrow we must confront them and destroy them.”
         “What do you mean the stars are moving 
back?” Charles asked.  He brushed one of the 
leaves from his vine across the black hand-print 
on the right side of his face.  As the 
hand-print  covered his eye, he kept the leaf 
below where he could see it. “Don’t the stars move the same way every night?”
         “That they do, apart from the 
wanderers.  But even they follow a course that we 
can learn.” Qan-af-årael gazed into the pale blue 
sky.  They could only see a small patch, and it 
was untouched by cloud or bird. “Remember what it 
is you were told about Jagoduun.  The tear to the 
Underworld was made upon the Winter 
Solstice.  Just as this world and the sun align 
so as to create a great flux of magic, so too at 
certain times the stars create their own magical 
flux.  It is this of which I speak.  The stars 
will be in the same place tomorrow night as they 
were on the night that Yajakali cast his fateful spell.”
         The rat frowned and lowered the leaf. 
“And does that cycle take eleven thousand years?”
         Qan-af-årael nodded and favoured them 
with a weak smile. “It is why we can be certain 
that this is the time we must destroy them once 
and for all.  Everything else will have led up to this.”
         “Well,” Lindsey said as he hefted his 
pack over his shoulders, “if we have only a day, 
shouldn’t we be walking?  Time won’t stand around like men.”
         “No, it won’t,” Charles agreed.  The rat 
was already in his six-limbed form and had most 
of their supplies — what remained of them — 
stowed on his lower back.  He let the vine settle 
back against his chest and helped James secure 
the last of the packs in place while Jerome and 
Andares checked for the easiest path.  When 
they’d found a long patch of solid ground, they waved everyone forward.
         One by one they resumed their places in 
line and began the day’s journey.  Like all days 
they contended with the insects, the eroding 
soil, the fugacious lower branches, and the 
intermittent stretches of marsh that left their 
legs and paws dripping fuscous slime.  Yet now 
they had to ponder what tomorrow would bring.  So 
long had they journeyed towards the Chateau 
Marzac that it had seemed a place they would 
never actually reach.  But it now lurked just 
beyond the veil of a day’s passing.  What horrors 
would they face inside that profane edifice?
         It was shortly after noon when Jerome 
sent the all-stop signal down the line.  They 
were moving through a cluster of mangroves and 
doing their best to avoid becoming entangled in 
the dense network of roots shooting into the 
algae on either side.  Despite the hour the thick 
foliage blocked the sun’s light completely, 
casting the area into a preternatural gloom.  The 
air carried the ever present stench of death and 
decay, but as they waited they could all discern 
a more pungent aroma mixed in.  Kayla rubbed her 
nose and crept closer to where Jerome slipped between the trees ahead.
         The Sondecki turned at the skunk’s 
approach and nodded his head in 
acquiescence.  Kayla put one paw on the hilt of 
the katana.  Clymaethera was restless and pressed 
back into her palm, eager to be drawn and to 
spill blood.  She took a quick breath and scooted 
to the trunk next to Jerome, careful not to 
disturb the shelf mushrooms climbing up the bark.
         One by one, the others approached behind 
them, but they couldn’t see what Jerome and Kayla 
stared at.  At the end of the avenue of mangroves 
the ground rose upwards twice a man’s 
height.  The hillock bore a ring of mangroves 
along its edges, but almost none of the 
fuliginous branches faced toward the slope.  The 
ground on the slope was blackened and the summit 
smoldered.  Despite the trees being denuded on 
one side, the boughs far above still blocked out the sun.
         Kayla frowned as she stared at the 
steaming hill.  There didn’t appear to be any 
easy way around it, as the mangrove branches all 
tangled into the water.  They had no hope of 
seeing them.  One wrong step and their legs would 
be trapped.  They hadn’t seen any of the 
flesh-eating fish recently, but they dare not 
risk being stuck in the water in case they were 
near.  They only had two options.  Forward over 
the hill or back the way they’d come.  Going back 
meant circling around which could cost them 
hours.  Forward was their only real choice.
         Kayla gestured with her free paw at the 
hill and whispered to Jerome, “What do you suppose it is?”
         Jerome shook his head. “I don’t 
know.  I’m going to get a closer look.  Wait here.”
         Kayla crouched down and spread her legs 
wider so she wouldn’t bump into the tree 
trunk.  The Sondecki cast one glanced back at the 
rest, motioned for them to be quiet, and then 
gingerly stepped out past the line of 
mangroves.  He bent against the hillside and ran 
his hand over the ground.  Kayla wondered what he 
was doing but trusted him to do it.  Her fingers 
wrapped around Clymaethera’s hilt, eyes sharp and 
fixed on the hillock’s summit.  Smoke trailed 
upwards like an abandoned fire.  But who would 
apart from a man totally deranged would live in 
such a place as this even without the corruption poisoning everything?
         Finally, Jerome seemed satisfied with 
the ground and began climbing up the slope.  He 
kept his body close to the ground and moved so 
silently that Kayla had to touch her ears to make 
sure that nothing had clogged them.  It then 
dawned on her that the swamp itself had grown 
still the nearer this hill they’d come.  Where 
once the incessant buzzing of insects and 
groaning of frogs could be heard in every 
direction, now they seemed to be some distance 
behind them.  Kayla licked her nose and pulled 
her tail in close, trying to still her imagination before it ran away with her.
         Jerome eased himself up to the top of 
the hill, though he kept most of his body below 
the summit.  Inch by inch, he raised himself up, 
staring down as if over the lip of an escarpment 
to see what lay below.  A sudden flurry of sound, 
a rasp of scales and a rush of feathers erupted 
from the hill.  Jerome leapt backwards as a 
scissor-like beak closed over the place where his 
head had been only moments before.  Tumbling down 
the hillside, the Sondecki slammed his back into 
the ring of mangroves and then scrambled to his 
feet to evade the bite of the monster’s beak.
         Kayla screamed and Clymaethera leapt 
into her paw.  Her other fumbled for the 
wakizashi named Trystathalis.  The thing rising 
out of the pit in the hill was some infernal bird 
larger even than Guernef!  It’s feathers were 
blacker than Jessica’s, and it’s eyes boiled a 
red like stones tumbling one over another in a 
forge.  The beak, two sharp spears of darkness, 
closed over the branches above Jerome’s head and 
the mangroves sizzled and blackened from the touch.
         “Demiorygato Pagos!” Jessica shouted, 
and a bolt of ice erupted form her wings and 
struck the monster bird just beneath the 
beak.  It screamed a sound so vile and sharp that 
Kayla nearly dropped the swords in her hurry to cover her ears.
         Jerome jumped through the mangroves 
faster than the skunk thought anyone could 
move.  He rolled to a stop next to Kayla and 
brushed soot from his shoulders. “I think we made it mad.”
         The bird crouched at the edge of the 
hillside, and then leapt into the air, wings 
spreading out between the mangrove 
branches.  Against the canopy it was a shadow in 
flight, a shadow that burned the very air and 
singed everything it touched.  Long claws reached 
down and yanked at the tangle of branches along 
the path, ripping them out one by one as they charred and died.
         Jessica cried out another spell and a 
blue nimbus pressed back against the creature’s 
advance.  She glanced wearily at the rest as the 
beak pecked and prodded at the shield. “I cannot hold him at bay forever!”
         “We cannot stay here,” Andares said, 
gesturing towards the hillside that they could 
all see. “It will kill us if we stay here.  Over 
its nest.  There may be some way we can escape it or kill it over there.”
         Kayla sheathed her swords for a moment 
to help Jessica hold the shield up.  Abafouq 
stood next to her and lent his skill too, 
muttering hard-edged words under his breath.  The 
blue nimbus grew stronger and almost opaque, but 
it couldn’t cover them all if they spread out. 
“Don’t go far!” Kayla shouted. “We have to stay in the middle.”
         Jerome nodded as he and Andares chopped 
aside some of the mangrove roots tossed up in the 
black bird’s ascent.  Together they lifted 
Qan-af-årael over and up the hillside.  James and 
Charles followed next.  The rat had his 
Sondeshike in his paws, dark eyes casting a 
determined look at the bird.  With them came Jessica, Kayla and Abafouq.
         Lindsey, Habakkuk, and Guernef kept the 
rear guarded, the latter flapping his wings and 
summoning a bitter wind that clattered twigs and 
refuse into a maelstrom.  With a turn of his 
wings, he launched those tiny particles at the 
black bird.  The air sizzled and popped with 
fulgurites that turned to ash as they passed 
through the bird’s feathers.  The beak spread 
wide and screamed again, nearly knocking them all to their knees.
         “What is it!” James shouted as he pulled 
his long ears down either side of his face.
         “It acts like a Shrieker,” Charles cried. “But how could it be this?”
         “Corrupted,” Qan-af-årael said, his 
voice low but somehow still audible through the 
din. “Corrupted for a very long time.”
         Jerome and Andares reached the top of 
the hill and glanced about.  The bird, screamed 
one last time, then flew higher into the 
treetops, disappearing amidst the towering 
sentinels and bounteous foliage.  It left a trail 
of ash, but once past the first boughs they 
couldn’t see it anymore.  They could still hear 
the ponderous wings frying the air on their way, 
but the sound echoed around them.
         “Hurry!” Jerome shouted. “It looks like 
the trees are thicker ahead.  We might be able to escape.”
         The rest of them scrambled up the 
hillside and followed Jerome down the other 
bank.  The marshland gave way to a broad grove of 
trees stretching into the canopy.  Many bore 
black scars from the creature’s touch, but all 
stood solidly on hard earth.  The hummock had a 
faint roll from where rains had washed away the 
soil, but the Keepers found their footing without 
trouble.  Jessica, Kayla, and Abafouq focussed on 
turning their blue shield above them to pass 
trough the trees, so James and Charles stayed by 
them to keep them from stumbling.
         They ran for two minutes and the ground 
gradually rose.  Were they leaving the marshes 
for good to some forgotten promontory?  And where 
had the bird gone?  They no longer heard its 
cries in the air above.  All that they heard was 
the rasp of their breath, the fall of their feet, 
and the groaning of the trees above.
         “Maybe it didn’t follow us,” James 
suggested as they slowed to catch their breath.
         “Was there anything else in the pit?” Lindsey asked.
         Jerome shook his head. “Just the 
bird.  I took a quick glance as we ran past.  There was nothing else in there.”
         “The bird’s enough,” Charles said.  The 
rat twirled his Sondeshike a few times as he 
scanned the forest canopy overhead. “Let’s keep moving.”
         They turned south again, but snapped 
their heads back up when a loud crack 
reverberated from above.  The canopy exploded 
with a rain of sticks, branches, and leaves as a 
massive tree trunk flung itself toward them.  The 
ends of the trunk were bright with flame that 
roared as it spun end on end downward.
         “Watch out!” Jessica shrieked as she and 
everyone else dived to one side.  The blue nimbus 
flared out just as one end of the tree slammed 
into the ground.  The dirt exploded and sizzled, 
the air cracked as the trunk splintered down its 
middle.  Flames leapt across the mossy sward as 
shards of the trunk scattered in every 
direction.  Guernef shrieked in pain as one of 
the larger chunks drove through his thigh.  The 
Nauh-kaee tried to stand, but slipped on the 
detritus and collapsed in a heap, blood spilling everywhere.
         “Guernef!” Abafouq shouted and scrambled 
through the wreckage toward his friend.
         The others rushed to do the same, but a 
blood-chilling shriek split the air again.  The 
black bird swept through the canopy leaving a 
trial of burning leaves in its wake.  Its beak 
hung wide, and its legs, so spindly but so 
hideously dark, stretched open to grab them.
         Jessica stretched her wings and brought 
the blue nimbus over them again.  The bird 
slammed into that wall of energy and drove it 
downward several feet.   The hawk mage 
cawed  from the strain but managed to keep her 
talons beneath her.  Their enemy spread his wings 
and slashed with his feet at the shield.  It flickered badly but held.
         Abafouq was at Guernef’s side a moment 
later.  The Nauh-kaee nodded his thanks and then 
gave a baleful stare at the others who’d rushed 
to his aid.  Abafouq sucked in his breath and 
said, “Kayla, help Jessica!  I can handle this.”
         The skunk ran back to the hawk and added 
her magic to the shield.  Together, the two of 
them walked to where the gryphon lay crippled. “How is he?” Kayla asked.
         “Not good,” Abafouq replied as he 
inspected the wound. “Guernef, we need to pull 
the shaft out.  Jerome, can you help?”
         The Sondecki placed one hand on 
Guernef’s furry thigh and stroked the flesh 
there.  The Nauh-kaee closed his eyes while 
Abafouq chanted arcane words.  They waited a few 
short breaths, breaths in which the black bird 
made one last attempt to break the shield before 
winging back into the upper branches.  Then, 
Abafouq nodded to Jerome.  The Sondecki pulled 
swiftly and sure.  The shaft came free, slick 
with blood, and as thick as a man’s 
arm.  Whatever spell Abafouq had used kept his 
friend from bleeding to death, but he still had a gaping hole in his leg.
         “We can’t stay here,” Andares warned. 
“It will just drop another tree on us.”
         “We have at least a minute,” Abafouq 
pointed out. “Qan-af-årael, I need your power for this healing.”
         The ancient Åelf bent over their 
friend’s body and touched the wound. “This will 
take far too long to heal.  We must patch it for now and mend it later.”
         “Do what you must,” Guernef said in a 
soft voice, the softest any of them had ever heard.
         Jerome pulled his shirt off and wrapped 
it tight around the wound. “Charles!  More 
linens!”  The rat jumped over, all four of his 
legs skidding through the ground and scattered 
twigs until he stood at the Nauh-kaee’s 
backside.  Guernef’s tail for once did not twitch and fret like a cat’s.
         Charles and Jerome dug through the packs 
on the rat’s back until they found more 
cloths.  Moving so quickly that his hands became 
a blur, Jerome wrapped shirt after shirt around 
the gryphon’s legs until they no longer 
discoloured immediately.  Abafouq and 
Qan-af-årael continued their quiet chant, hands 
pressed to his leg and side leaving just enough room for the Sondecki to work.
         Guernef snapped his head up. “Run!” He 
shrieked.  They all turned their heads to the sky 
as the Nauh-kaee twisted onto its three good legs 
and limped as quickly as he could.  The upper 
branches parted again with another burning trunk 
tumbling end over end toward them.  They ran 
after Guernef, with Jessica and Kayla turning their shield behind them.
         The tree struck the earth with a 
thunderclap.  Shards scattered everywhere, but 
they bounced with a million flashing lights off 
the blue shield. “This is ridiculous!” Lindsey 
shouted. “We’ll never escape this thing!”
         “Then we have to kill it,” Charles 
shouted back. “Jessica, use your shield to trap 
it on the ground!  Here it comes!”
         The hawk blinked and then turned her 
eyes to the heavens.  The black bird dived so 
quickly through the trees that she could only 
wince as it struck against her shield. Sparks 
flew in every direction as the bird was rebuffed 
once more.  It danced back into the air and then 
shrieked with such rage that the very fire 
blossomed into a vicious conflagration.  The 
flames spread across the sward from the two trees 
into a wide swath stretching on every side.  The 
air grew heady with smoke and screams from them 
and the bird.  Jessica and Kayla began to hack as 
the Keepers realized they’d been trapped within a ring of fire.
         Guernef, still limping, spread his wings 
wide and began to beat them.  Abafouq stayed at 
his flank to support his wounded limb, but even 
he had to hold tight as the winds turned and 
twisted around him.  The black bird glanced up 
from its attack on the shield to stare in 
bewilderment as the air circled and spun in ever 
increasing anger.  The flames, leapt as if in 
terror, and then with one last surge of air, were 
snuffed out.  Even the smoke was carried away by 
the winds leaving behind only the charred ash 
covering everything they saw in every direction.
         The bird screamed again, and drove its 
beak towards the shield.  But Jessica, just as it 
neared, dropped the shield and let the animal 
bury its beak in the ground.  She then reformed 
the shield at its back, pinning it in 
place.  Surprised, the bird struggled and beat its wings in a frenzy to escape.
         Filled with a sudden fury of mountain 
lairs of old, Kayla felt Clymaethera the katana 
leap into her paw.  With a single downward slice 
she sent the blade clean through the bird’s 
wing.  The cut was true and severed the limb, 
which spun away and burst into a bright white 
flame.  A moment later there was nothing left.
         The black bird howled in fury, swinging 
what remained of its wing forward toward Kayla’s 
face.  But Charles was there, striking the limb 
with his Sondeshike and snapping whatever bones 
it might have.  Then he spun the Sondeshike at 
its head and knocked it to one side.
         James met it there, slicing across its 
other wing.  The blade of his sword grew red hot 
as soon as it struck the creature’s neck.  The 
bird, dark eyes filled with baleful fire, 
snatched the sword in its beak and wrenched it 
from the surprised donkey’s hands.  The bird bit 
down and bent the sword as easily as if it were 
only wet clay, and then tossed it to the charred earth.
         “Only magical swords can touch it!” 
Andares shouted.  He took the donkey’s place and 
struck at the creature’s wings.  The bird howled 
in agony as it tried to back away but found 
itself blocked by Jessica’s shield.  Finally 
realizing it had no choice but to move forward 
into the trio of attackers, it charged with one last scream of rage.
         Kayla and Andares both struck at either 
side of its neck, while Charles brought his 
Sondeshike directly down on the top of its 
head.  The beast collapsed as the swords sliced 
through the fiery flesh.  The head fell at their feet and burst into flame.
         Covering their eyes, the three of them 
ran back to where Jessica stood as their fur tips 
singed from the heat.  But by the time they 
reached her, there was nothing left of the beast but a scar on the earth.
         “Oh, my eyes,” James moaned as he 
crawled back up to where they had gathered.  The 
donkey rubbed at them both and kept blinking.
         “It’ll pass,” Habakkuk assured him.  The 
kangaroo hopped to his side and helped him climb 
the rest of the way. “Your sword is ruined 
though.  You can have mine. You’ll use it better than I will.”
         “Thank you,” James replied.  The donkey 
blinked a few more times then stared at his still 
glowing hot sword.  It had been bent twice in the 
middle and the tip now pointed almost 
perpendicular to the hilt.  James shook his head and kept walking.
         “Is everyone else okay?” Jessica asked.
         “I think so,” Charles replied.  He 
shrunk his Sondeshike down and returned it to its 
place.  The vine pulled tight against his chest 
but otherwise didn’t move. “Guernef, can you move, or do we need to carry you?”
         Lindsey gave the rat an incredulous look 
for his suggestion, but the Nauh-kaee hobbled up 
with more dignity than he thought possible.  If 
anything, the white gryphon made his injury look 
a thing of grace. “I will not be a burden to you.  Let us continue.”
         Abafouq rubbed his hands together as he 
trailed after his friend. “Yes, let us be on our 
way.  But first I would be happier if we better healed you.”
         “Aye,” Kayla agreed.  She slowly 
sheathed the katana, a faint smile etching her 
snout as she did so. “With that thing dead, I 
don’t think we have to worry about anything else attacking us for a while.”
         Guernef took one breath and then eased 
himself down so that his injured leg was up.  The 
bandages were all stained red and barely hanging 
on his thigh. “Do what you can for me, but do not 
risk any delay more than is necessary.”
         “We shall not miss our appointed hour,” 
Qan-af-årael assured him with a confidant 
expression.  There was no smile on his pearl-grey 
face, but there was warmth still.  Charles, 
Lindsey, Habakkuk, Andares, James, and Jerome 
took up the watch while the rest bent over 
Geurnef’s form to do what they could for their friend.

----------

         One of the cards held deftly between his 
fingers began to twitch.  The Marquis du 
Tournemire spread the five cards in his hands 
wide and watched as the Six of Swords bled from 
an indistinct avian shape into a smear of 
black.  He pursed his lips thoughtfully and ran 
one nail across the card before lowering his hand 
and discarding the now dead card and one other.
         “Just the two,” he said.  His steward 
Vigoureux dutifully passed him two more cards 
from the top of his deck.  He picked up the Queen 
and Eight of Hearts and chuckled lightly to 
himself.  Upon the queen was a hawk clad in 
black.  And on the eight stood a skunk 
brandishing a pair of swords whose design was 
neither Pyralian nor Midlander.  From the far 
East then, but how she came by them was a mystery 
that interested him only slightly less than the 
outcome of this particular hand of cards.
         They sat in a small room which had once 
been decorated with ornate curtains that had long 
since turned to dust.  Narrow windows looked to 
the mangroves trees in the north, while a single 
door whose carvings had been eaten away by rot 
waited open behind them.  The walls were 
fashioned from a queer yellow stone and while the 
Marquis knew it had once bore paintings and 
bookshelves, nothing more remained of them.  All 
that was left was the table and chairs.
         Arrayed around the table were Vigoureux, 
his castellan Sir Autrefois, and the black 
Sondecki Krenek Zagrosek.  The rest were all 
dead, as he had always known they would be.  Nine 
deaths were needed.  Nine souls to feed 
Yajakali’s artifacts.  He already had six in 
hand.  A seventh waited in the Two of Hearts 
should he need to use it, but he doubted the 
raccoon Kankoran’s soul would be necessary.
         “It seems,” the Marquis said as he gazed 
at the three sharing the table with him, “that 
they have managed to kill the Old Crow.”
         “Then nothing stands between them and 
us,” Sir Autrefois said in an almost drained 
voice.  His castellan, once hardy and full of 
brusque life, now seemed more mechanical.  His 
motions were smooth, precise, and regular like a 
waterwheel.  Vigoureux was the same.  An 
unfortunate side-effect of Marzac not needing them as it needed him.
         And as it needed Zagrosek.  The Sondecki 
drummed his fingers on the table as he stared 
without much enthusiasm at his hand. “Good,” he 
said in his first bit of liveliness since leaving 
Breckaris. “Then they will be here tomorrow and all can be brought to an end.”
         The Marquis smiled and leaned back in 
the old chair.  All of the furnishings at Marzac 
were old.  The Chateau had been built by the 
Boreaux family from Kitchlande to the south in an 
attempt to seal over the tear to the 
Underworld.  Marzac allowed them to think they 
had succeeded long enough to erect this small 
castle — it had even let them build a short 
bell-tower — and then took them all.  Their 
deaths unleashed hundreds of Shriekers that took 
the combined efforts of all mage clans in the Southlands to defeat.
         And now it was his.  And soon so too would everything be.
         “Then this shall be our last 
hand.  Whales has braced our fleets, the war in 
the Midlands has come to an end, our allies in 
Yesulam have been exposed, and the Keepers and 
their allies have reached our 
doorstep.  Everything is going exactly as it 
must.  Now it is our turn to cast the final 
spells.” The Marquis glanced over the three of 
them and turned to Vigoureux sitting at his right. “Show your hand.”
         “Only King high,” Vigoureux admitted as 
he spread down four Coins and the Priest of 
Hearts.  The Marquis noted the King, Nine, Five, 
and Two of Coins.  A flush would have beaten his 
own hand, but he saw only an old story in those 
cards.  Although the presence of the Heart was an irritating surprise.
         “And you, Zagrosek?” du Tournemire asked with sullen smirk.
         Zagrosek grunted and dropped his cards 
to the table. “A pair of Kings.  It is unsettling 
playing with these cards, Camille.”  The top card 
was the King of Swords which bore Zagrosek’s 
likeness.  Beneath it they could see the King of 
Hearts which featured a strange black-haired 
almost white-skinned man-like creature bearing a 
pearlescent blade.  The other cards were the 
Knight, Six and Five of Hearts.  Interesting that 
so many of their enemies would show themselves in this final hand.
         “They are my cards, Krenek.  And these 
cards that have won me much.  Vigoureux?”
         “I have but a smaller pair,” Vigoureux 
declaimed.  He laid down the Ten of Spades and of 
Coins, as well as the Ace, King, and Queen of 
Spades.  Tournemire stared at the Ace, King and 
Ten of Spades with a sudden disquiet.  Those 
three cards had not shown themselves in 
months.  Why wait until now to be revealed?  He 
noted the King especially, which showed two men 
each bearing only one arm.  The Ten had a 
brightly dressed youth whose left hand seemed to 
be burnt depending on how he looked at the 
card.  Hadn’t he been a Driheli squire the last time he’d seem him?
         The Marquis regained his composure and 
spread his cards before him. “This hand belongs 
to me then.  I have two pair.” He gestured to the 
Ace of Swords and Hearts, and then to the Eights, 
also of Swords and Hearts.  By itself lay the 
Queen of Hearts. “Our game is done.” He stood and 
collected the cards one by one. “Vigoureux, 
Autrefois, go down to Hall of Unearthly Light and wait for me.”
         Zagrosek and du Tournemire stared at 
each other across the table as the other two men 
rose like obedient beasts and left the room.  The 
Sondecki’s eyes narrowed and he put his fingers 
under his chin. “And what would you have of me?”
         A smile crept across his lips as he ran 
his fingers over the cards.  They were so warm, 
so near.  He could feel the people in them as 
they struggled.  “We have guests coming, 
Krenek.  Extend a gracious welcome to them.” His 
smile disappeared. “Kill one of them.  Just 
one.  Then let the rest through and come down to the Hall.”
         Zagrosek nodded and rose. “It will be done, Marquis.”
         “I know.” The Marquis relaxed as the day 
ground on.  He listened, but Zagrosek made no 
noise as he left the chamber.  With a flick of 
his wrist he turned the top card in the deck 
over.  The Queen of Spades stared back at him.  A 
old woman with cloth wrapped over her eyes. “Can 
you see me now?” he asked.  He turned the card 
back over and shuffled his deck before she could answer.

----------

         From the decks of the ships they had 
alighted upon the beasts took wing, joining the 
few others already circling low over the ships, 
trebling their number in moments.  As the 
furlongs of water narrowed swiftly between the 
two fleets the creatures climbed into the sky in 
slow circles before turning as one, dropping 
forward and down to swarm across the water only 
feet above the waves.  The driving wind gave 
their wings greater lift but slowed their 
progress, if anyone knew how fast they could fly 
enough to say that they were slowed at all.  Near 
one hundred meters ahead of Phil’s line one of 
the creatures stopped abruptly in mid flight, 
it’s rainbow hued body crumpling like a cast off 
child’s toy in a spray of feathers and blood 
before it spun wildly to one side and fell into the water.
         The other creatures continued to pour 
across the waves unheeding of their companion’s 
fate or the danger it had encountered.  As they 
closed the distance their features became ever 
more clear; a terrifying cross between a 
feathered jungle bird and an oversized lizard.  A 
long, narrow head featured a maw of reptilian 
teeth rather than a beak, the feathers adorning 
them primitive but effective.  As they closed a 
scream echoed across the water, the hissing wail 
of a steam kettle left untended overlong.
         Another spun abruptly, rolling in the 
air, its body fletched with a score of long 
shafts, and slammed into the crest of a wave 
before tumbling to a halt.  The one trailing it 
surged upward to avoid its tumbling flockmate and 
also conducted an erratic death spiral into the 
water, wooden shafts festooning one side of its 
feathered, reptilian body.  Before the strange 
rainbow hued creatures passed beyond the zone of 
death ten boat lengths ahead of Phil’s line seven 
of them were left in the water, reducing their 
numbers from over thirty to a score plus 
five.  Of those two were in definite distress, 
their flying ungainly as they made for the ship closest to them.
         “Archers to the ready, knock your bows!”
         As if realizing that they were under 
attack from some unknown and unexpected foe the 
remaining creatures balked before reaching the 
line of ships that they could see, the two 
injured flying beasts continuing onward though 
rapidly loosing their advantage of 
height.  Drawing together the remaining beasts 
milled about in the air, turning once more toward 
the safety of their own lines but stayed by some 
unseen commander or their fear of the unseen foe now between them and safety.
         “Steady on, men, single stroke!” 
Ptomamus ordered from the forward rail of the 
aftcastle.  “Ara, how far forward is Pythoreas’ line?”
         “Three lengths, captain.  At our current 
stroke they will be ten lengths ahead when the two lines cross.”
         Ptomamus considered that for a few 
seconds, “Too far, increase stroke by one 
quarter.  Can they hold that masking once they attack in earnest?”
         Aramaes shook his head slowly, “The more 
they act the more the enemy will have reason to 
disbelieve what they see, or do not.  Even 
without a mage to counteract the spell the belief 
that a foe attacks them will focus enough of 
their attention to pierce it.”  The mage stood 
beside his captain at the rail, hands clasped at 
the small of his back.  “The beasts lack the 
fortitude of mind to seek their foe.  At such a 
remove even our enemy may think our archers cause 
the havoc among their forward assault.”
         Finally of one mind the flying beasts 
broke off their charge and began to spiral upward in a loose mob.
         “Continue on, increase our stroke to one 
and a half.  No more than seven lengths aft of 
Pythoreaus.  When he begins loosing his fire 
increase to flank stroke and close with the 
nearest vessels.  Open the fleet to maneuvers of opportunity on engagement.”
         “Boarding actions, captain?” asked the 
marine commander from the deck below.
         “Repel only, commander.  Aramaes, convey 
my orders to the fleet.  Our primary goal is to 
cripple our brother ships, but leave them afloat 
if we possibly can.  If need be we’ll play dagger 
games with them until someone discovers a way to 
remove this taint upon them.  Do not take 
prisoners, leave foes on their ships once they are foundered.”
         “And the Merai?” Aramaes chewed the corners of his lower lip.
         “Have we any quicklime in our stores?”
         “Some casks, yes, for repairs and spellcraft.”
         “Mix a quantity with a cask or two of 
fire sand.  If the Merai seek to board us they 
will learn the error of that action swiftly.”
         Aramaes chuckled darkly, “Ouch.”
         “Captain!” one of the deck runners was 
conveying some information to the marine 
commander below, “Pythoreaus is letting the 
skirmishers through, they’ve passed the fall line 
and increased their stroke by a third!”
         Ptomamus had not looked away from the 
approaching ships closing swiftly on them and had 
already come to the same conclusion.  He nodded 
briefly, “Do not charge the projectors, they’re 
closing too swiftly.  We’ll rake their decks with 
arrows and attempt to founder them.”  Indeed the 
smaller ships had both increased their speed and 
begun to move more evasively.  The evasive 
maneuvers slowed them but the increased tempo of 
their oars did not limit their closing 
rate.  “Ram them if they’re fool enough to cross our bow.”
         “Ah, cap’n.” the steersman coughed to 
get attention and received his request, all eyes 
turning toward the whipcord thin old man whose 
muscles were wrapped as tight as lashcords upon 
his lean frame.  “Sails on th’ ‘orizon, 
cap’n.  Small ‘uns.”  He pointed over the aft 
rail toward the southwest where a speckling of 
angular shapes was crossing the horizon 
line.  Phil quickly hopped over to his pedestal 
mounted spyglass and spun it to look at the distant sails.
         “What do you see, highness?”
         “Small sails, as he says, Captain.  Most 
of them are triangular, but no fixed 
design.”  Phil’s ears twitched and one slowly 
backed unconsciously,  “They look like fishing 
boats, and they’re moving very, very fast ahead 
of the storm winds.  They’ll be among us in little more than half an hour.”
         Ptomamus scowled at that strange bit of 
news.  “Fishing boats, unladen of nets or catch, 
can ride high enough on the water to
 move like 
wave boards down the face of a breaker.”  He 
shook his head and grunted, “But they’ll be of 
little use as anything other than an annoyance, 
to both us and our foe.  Aramaes, can you warn them away?”
         The mage shook his head, “No.  Farspeak 
magic requires that I know whom I am trying to 
cast for, or some personal item.  Hair or blood, the like.”
         Phil re-secured the spyglass.  “They’ve 
suffered as much as any, Captain.  Yes, we will 
take heavy losses among all involved, but it is 
for the best that even they offer what they can 
in recompense for this black devilry cast against them.”
         A muscle in Ptomams’ jaw twitched but he 
made a short bow with his head, “As you wish, 
Highness, though I dislike such a waste of life.”
         “All war is a useless waste of life, my 
Captain.” Aramaes murmured gently.

----------

         “Are you nervous?” Nylene asked as they 
passed through the halls of Metamor.
         Elvmere let go of the edge of his 
acolyte’s robe and took a deep breath. “A 
little.  It has been months since I was last 
here.  I’ve only seen a few familiar faces and 
I’m grateful that they haven’t noticed me.  I 
want my return to be unheralded and unregarded.” 
He glanced at the familiar grey walls decorated 
with tapestries and banners. “Still, Lothanasa 
Raven will know me.  And news of what I’ve done 
will spread quickly.  I try not to but I do fear 
what others will think.  I don’t want to cause them scandal in their faith.”
         Nylene nodded and let her eyes wander 
across the hall.  A pair of beastly soldiers 
walked past, a boar and a bear.  Her face warmed 
at the sight. “I have long hoped to see Metamor, 
Elvmere.  It is with gravest regret that I must 
leave so soon.  This city was once a place of 
pilgrimage for Lothanasi faithful.”
         “Having come of age so close to the most 
holy of sites it is harder for me to imagine a 
pilgrimage.  Now that option is very nearly 
closed to me because of this.” He gestured at his 
animal shape. “If not for your kindness and that 
of Master Elsevier, I would never have made my way back here.”
         “And you may never leave again,” Nylene reminded him.
         “Aye,” the raccoon admitted. “I might 
never see land beyond the Metamor valley 
again.  But would that make me so different from 
many men who never see beyond the borders of 
their village or some even their farm?”
         “No, it wouldn’t.” Nylene paused briefly 
to admire a particularly exquisite casement 
filled with banners and reliquaries.  She shook 
her head. “And these are merely left for any to walk past?”
         “Kyia would never let any find them who 
would steal them.  They are perfectly safe in the 
open.” He glanced at the shelves and noted a 
small statue fashioned from jade into what he 
thought was the head of a raccoon.  But they 
turned the corner too soon for him to have a good enough look to be certain.
         Somewhere in his things he still had the 
small stone worked by Murikeer into the visage of 
Patriarch Akabaieth.  His dreams had once shown 
him a similar stone with his face instead, a face 
with brilliant eyes of agate that had hinted at 
his inevitable transformation into a 
raccoon.  The thought was at once bold and 
frightening like a bolt of lightning splitting 
the night sky.  But now it was difficult to imagine any other way to be.
         He idly wondered how much else in his 
life had prepared him for this or pointed him toward this end.
         Nylene however seemed a little 
unsettled. “Do you know where you’re going?”
         “The Keep usually takes you where you 
want to go.  I’ve been trying to think of the 
Lothanasi Temple.  I haven’t been there much but 
I know we haven’t missed it.  Maybe the Keep 
wanted us to have a little time first before we arrived?”
         Nylene nodded and let her eyes wander 
the walls. “It must be strange for you to think 
that the walls themselves are alive.”
         “After a fashion,” Elvmere said. “Not 
like we are at least.  But I’ve never felt 
uncomfortable here.  Unsettled and frightened, yes.  But never uncomfortable.”
         “I’m rather taken by the notion,” Nylene 
admitted with a broad smile.  She lifted her arms 
as if to brush her fingers across the ceiling 
which she could never hope to reach. “It’s 
appealing to know that the walls are your friend 
and ally too.  I’m used to the walls having ears 
but I worry what those ears will do to me.  This 
is different.” She leaned against him for a 
moment and laughed a light note. “Ah, I feel 
twenty years younger since leaving Silvassa.  I 
must go back, but if nothing else, you’ve done 
more for me than I can ever repay.”
         Elvmere checked the words that first 
wished to escape at the back of his throat.  All 
that came out was a warm churr.  He glanced up 
and felt a surge of relief and a new wave of 
trepidation.  Before them stood the doors to the Lothanasi temple.
         There were two Keepers standing guard 
dressed in the blue livery of Thomas’s 
guards.  They crossed their spears at Elvmere and 
Nylene’s approach. “What business have you in the 
temple?” the first, an older human man, 
asked.  His voice was kind but laced with a faint suspicion healthy in a guard.
         Nylene put one finger to Elvmere’s snout 
to keep him from speaking.  The raccoon blinked 
in surprise but said nothing. “My name is 
Priestess Nylene hin’Lofwine of Silvassa.  I have 
just arrived at Metamor after a long voyage over 
land and sea.  I and Acolyte Elvmere seek an 
audience with Lothanasa Raven hin’Elric.”
         The man noted the priestess but gave 
Elvmere a curious stare.  The raccoon kept his 
eyes lowered. “Very well.  You will wait here 
until summoned.” He opened the door and slipped inside to deliver the message.
         Elvmere wondered at the guard.  They’d 
not been there before when last he’d been to the 
temple.  Admittedly, that was over a year ago, 
but it still seemed odd to him.  What had 
happened in his absence?  Surely they were not 
still reeling from last Winter’s assault.  There 
was much reconstruction still needing to be done 
from what he’d seen on the way to Metamor, but 
Master Derygan hadn’t said anything about another attack.
         The man returned promptly and held the 
door open. “You may go in.  Lothanasa Raven is in 
her study.  Take the first left after entering 
the temple hall, and then turn right.  You’ll see 
where.  Lothanasa Raven requests that you go directly to her study.”
         She bowed her head and smiled. “Thank you.”
         The guard grunted but he and his companion uncrossed their spears.
         Nylene crossed the threshold first with 
Elvmere dutifully following behind.  The entrance 
hall to the temple was as he recalled it, 
plastered from floor to ceiling with ancient 
Elvish calligraphy.  He couldn’t read Elvish, but 
he recalled the junior priestess Merai telling 
him that the script detailed the history and lore 
of the Pantheon that he was only beginning to 
understand.  At the end of the hallway was an 
apse and from there the doors to the main temple hall stood open.
         Elvmere noted Nylene’s delighted smile 
as she passed into the plain grey stone chamber 
of the temple hall.  The arched ceiling rose high 
overhead, though not nearly so high as in St. 
Kephas’s Cathedral in Yesulam.  Still, it lifted 
the mind to thoughts of those heavenly beings 
that brought their favour to mankind.  Elvmere 
let his eyes wander upwards then down past the 
altar with its twin cross, then along the floor 
over the covered fire pit, and then back to 
Nylene who stood rapt by the site.  Several white 
robed acolytes tended the stone, and a solitary 
hawk perched in prayer toward the middle of the room.
         “We should continue,” Elvmere whispered 
through the priestess’s greying hair.  She only 
smiled in response and turned to the first door 
on the left.  Beyond was another passage with 
more Elvish script along the walls.  A door stood 
at the end of the hall and another at it’s 
left.  The passage continued to the right.  After 
turning, they saw an arched entranceway leading into the Lothanasa’s study.
         Inside, sitting behind a large oaken 
desk was the wolf priestess herself.  Her face 
was more humanoid than many Keepers, complete 
with long back hair that billowed in contrast to 
her light grey fur.  Standing to her side was the 
feline junior priestess Merai.  Merai also bore a 
shock of hair in addition to her tawny fur, but 
it was straighter and firmer than a woman’s and 
seemed to feather at the tips.  Both were dressed 
in white clerical garb and their eyes fixed on 
Nylene for only a few moments.  Raven rose and 
gestured with a nearly human hand to a seat 
opposite her own. “Welcome to Metamor, Priestess 
Nylene.  I am Lothanasa Raven hin’Elric.  This is 
Merai hin’Dana, a priestess of the order for just over a year.”
         “It is a great honour to meet you 
both.  I am a priestess in Silvassa and have 
served there many years.  It has long been a hope 
of mine to see Metamor one day.”
         Raven’s face was cold and 
professional.  Elvmere remembered it well.  Yet 
still she hadn’t recognized him.  Her golden eyes 
held Nylene fast. “You have journeyed far from 
Silvassa.  You are welcome to stay as long as you 
must here at the temple.  Merai will show you 
where you can eat, sleep, and pray.  Forgive the 
presence of the guards, they belong to the 
Duke.  We will be celebrating his wedding here in 
a few days and he is reasonably concerned that 
foreigners may attempt to intervene.” Unspoken 
went the implication that Nylene may be such a foreigner.
         Nylene took no offence.  Her smile was 
both gracious and grateful. “The timing of my 
visit is pure serendipity.  My real reason was to 
escort Elvmere back to Metamor.”  She gestured to the raccoon.
         Both wolf and cat turned their heads and 
really noted him for the first time.  Almost 
within a breath’s span their eyes widened in 
recognition.  Merai blurted, “Bishop Vinsah!  What are you doing here?”
         Elvmere sighed and shook his head. “That 
is no longer my name nor my title.  Shortly after 
my arrival in Yesulam I was excommunicated for 
heresy and stripped of my ecclesiastical authority.”
         Both of them shook with such surprise 
that it seemed they’d been slapped.  Raven let 
drop her mask of ice and lowered her eyes. “I am 
truly sorry to hear that.  You have friends, 
Vinsah, friends who will protect you here in 
Metamor from any who would seek to take the Ecclesia’s punishment farther.”
         “That is not what worries me,” Elvmere 
replied. “And my name is now Elvmere.  It is the 
name given to me to accompany my new body and my 
new life.  And all signs and turns of this life 
have brought me here to you, Lothanasa.  I seek 
to serve this temple as an acolyte.”
         Merai blurted in stupefied wonder, 
“Why?  Just because you were excommunicated?”
         “That was but one event among many that 
led me to this decision.  I do not do this 
lightly.  Nor do I expect most will 
understand.  None may understand, but it is still the decision I have made.”
         Raven frowned and lowered her snout to 
her hands crossed before her. “And how did you 
come to this decision?”  She turned back to 
Nylene and her frown deepened. “Forgive me, 
priestess, but in this matter I would like to 
speak to him alone.  Merai will show you the temple now.”
         Nylene nodded and moved toward the door 
with only a single backward glance at the 
raccoon.  The feline priestess paused as if 
torn.  She stared at Elvmere with an almost hurt 
look on her face as she finally followed Nylene 
out.  The door shut behind them like a book slamming.
         Raven gestured to the chair. “Sit... 
Elvmere.” He did so. “You are asking something 
very difficult of me.  You were once a high 
ranking official in a rival faith.  If I allow 
this, it will engender distrust even amongst my own people here at Metamor.”
         “It may,” Elvmere admitted with a nod. 
“I am not blind to the difficulty I’ve 
created.  But it is where I know I’ve been led.”
         “Excommunication, if I remember what 
Father Hough told me, only means you are not to 
participate in Patildor services.  Why would you, 
as the Ecclesia will see it, apostize?”
         Elvmere frowned. “I do not think I am 
apostizing but I know most will see it that 
way.  I am not turning my back on Yahshua and his 
Ecclesia.  I am not turning at all.  I believe 
that the Pantheon is real and serves a vital 
purpose in aiding the Lothanasi in their lives 
and protecting them from the ravages of 
darkness.  Service in your temple does not 
conflict because they are not gods in the same 
sense that Eli, whom you know as Illuvatar, is.”
         Raven leaned back in her seat and tapped 
her snout with one claw. “You present a very 
thorny theological suggestion.  If I let you 
serve you may be forced to adopt different 
beliefs or act contrary to the interests of the 
Lothanasi.  Knowing that, why should I let you serve?”
         “Because I am offering myself to you.”
         “Though your conscience may lead you to betray us?”
         Elvmere took a deep breath and shook his 
head. “I don’t see how it could.  If that is your 
fear, grant me as little leeway as you deem fit 
to keep such a betrayal at bay.”
         Raven pondered that for a short 
time.  The lupine never lifted her eyes from the 
raccoon but her regard did seem to pass through 
him to something else.  Finally, after many long 
seconds of introspection, she asked, “How long 
have you known Priestess Nylene?”
         “I met her almost six months ago when 
Malger, Murikeer and I passed through 
Silvassa.  It is she that taught Malger the 
Lothanasi ways.  After my excommunication in 
Yesulam, I returned to Silvassa — and at one 
point was smuggled in a grain casket — and there 
beseeched her protection.  She left Silvassa at 
considerable personal risk in order to escort me 
here.  It seems that she is not trusted by the 
Lothanas of Silvassa and had an acolyte spying on 
her.  Since we left Silvassa, she has begun teaching me the Lothanasi ways.”
         Raven narrowed her eyes as if debating 
whether to speak.  Eventually she shook her head 
and rose. “Although I do this with the gravest of 
concerns, I am going to allow you to serve as an 
acolyte here, Elvmere.  I will take you to the 
Mistress of Acolytes, Celine, and she will show 
you where you may sleep and how you will 
serve.  But I make two conditions on your 
service: you do not leave the temple without my 
permission, nor do you accept visitors without my permission.”
         Elvmere sighed inwardly but nodded. “I 
agree to your terms, Lothanasa.  But would you allow me one boon this night.”
         “Name it.”
         “Allow me to visit Father Hough.  Word 
will reach him soon enough. I’d rather he hear 
this from my tongue than from any other.”
         Raven took a single breath and nodded. 
“Tonight you may visit him in secret.”
         “Thank you, Lothanasa.”
         “I will also do what I can to keep news 
of your return to Metamor from spreading.  At 
least until your faith has finished its 
celebrated of Yahshua’s birth.  After that I can make no promises.”
         “There is no need.  What you offer is more than I would have asked.”
         Her eyes narrowed as she stood and set 
both hands on the table before her.  Her presence 
was very commanding and Elvmere felt a little bit 
humbled as he sat with tail tucked against his 
legs. “Acolyte, you will follow me.  We will have 
your oaths taken soon but understand this.  You 
will do all that I command from now on.  No 
questions and no hesitations.  Only obedience.  Do you understand?”
         “Yes, Lothanasa.”
         “Good.” She turned to the door and 
glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Now come.”
         The new acolyte of the Lothanasi order 
of Metamor rose to follow his new leader.  Elvmere trembled with each step.

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

Charles Matthias