[Mkguild] "Burning Time" (1/?)

[a_lil_dudeinpr2 at hotmail.com]

I'm not yet done with the story altogether, but there are a few parts in this story where I use several common characters in conversation, and I wanted to send this in for critique on how well I did.  Also, this part contains a collaboration with Kit.  I believe his version was posted to the list some time ago, but I'm not sure so I wanted to clarify that.



Burning
Time

By
LurkingWolf

 

<I>From
the Journal of Vincent Lois</I>

 

<I>November
the 22nd, in the year 707, Cristos Reckoning</I>

 

            Time:  A precious commodity, when one is short on
it.  However, when one has it in
overabundance, it becomes a chore just to decide what to do with it all.

 

            This
morning I arrived at Metamor Keep, the Jewel of the North, my only true
home.  I cannot begin to describe how it
feels to once more be within these walls. 
I feel reinvigorated.  I want to
see everything I saw when I was here the first time.  I feel a bubbling excitement, a longing to be
everywhere at once, yet at the same time, there is indecision.  After so long, after so much has changed,
where do I start?

 

            I
have already seen strange things in my time here at the Keep.  Even before arriving, it fell to me and the
members of my caravan to assist a Metamorian lumber crew in removing a tree
that had obstructed our path.  Among
these people was one who truly stood out, a beaver with plaid fur.  I had known that the Keep’s Curse was known
to produce strange changes at times, but I had not known that a change in fur
tone was one of these.

 

            As
I entered the Keep, there was relatively little activity on the streets, this
owed to a storm that blew in a few days back. 
Still, one does not pass by a bipedal horse leading a quadruped member
of his own species without having to look twice.  Beyond these instances, however, the Keep
seems to have saved it’s more surprising aspects for later.  The person from whom I received my room was
an apparently normal woman.  By my
knowledge of the Curse, she must have once been a man.  Either way, they do business the same, so I
noticed little difference.

 

            There
was hardly anything remarkable about the boy who took my horse to the stables,
either.  I could imagine that he is still
waiting for the Curse’s effect on him, yet he could also be one of those forced
to live a second childhood by the Curse.

 

            As
for my own part, I now sit in my room, waiting for the weather to clear before
doing anything.  There are so many places
that I could go.  Here in the lower keep,
there are various establishments I used spend much time in, craftsmen I knew by
name from the amount of time I spent examining their wares, memories that I can
now revisit now that I have returned. 
The library, in which I spent so much time my first time here, would
still undoubtedly hold secrets I would love to uncover.  The Deaf Mule, the one place in the world
where I actually allowed myself to become acquainted with people, would also be
an interesting target.  Perhaps I will
once again wander the halls aimlessly, letting the strange features of the Keep
take me where they will.  Whichever of
these options I select, however, I will wait for the weather to clear.  While I am not unfamiliar with bad weather,
and although I do not hate it as some do, I will not be at all put out when I
may once more walk outside without being soaked through.

 

            The
inn at which I have taken lodging has been kind enough to give me almost any
comfort I desire, as long as my coin is good. 
So, until such time as I am once again able to wander freely, I will
remain here at the inn and do as much as I can to prepare myself for my
eventual permanent residence in this Keep.

 

            So
much time, yet so little to do.  How I
wish that the weather would turn!  Still,
it seems that I must wait until the morning to reacquaint myself with the
Keep.  Until then I can only sit and
wait.

 

<I>-Vincent
Lois</I>

 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *                                  

 

<I>November 23, 707 CR</I>

 

            Lois
awoke the next morning to the soft sounds of activity outside his door.  Although the activity probably wouldn’t have
bothered many other people, he had long since trained himself to respond to all
sounds in the night as possible threats.

 

            It
was almost a minute until Lois had convinced himself that there was no threat
to himself.  He released the hilt of his
dagger slowly, then sat up slowly in his bed. 
Looking to the side, he could see sunbeams coming through the thin
cracks in the wall.  It was morning, and
by the looks of it, things had cleared up considerably since the day before.

 

            Lois
prepared himself for the day quickly.  He
exchanged his traveling clothes, which he had worn to bed that night, for
something slightly less rough looking. 
Although his wardrobe changed, though, there were certain things common
between both sets of clothes.  Both were
dark in color, dominated by grays along their entire lengths, although the
shade varied.  Where his traveling attire
had been completely undecorated, however, the clothes he wore now were decorated
along the edges by intricate workings of black thread.

 

            The
thing that was exactly the same between both sets of clothing was that his
weapons were still buckled about his waist, one dagger slightly in front of
either hip.  The handles were angled towards
each other, allowing Lois to grasp them both and draw them across his body with
relative ease.  Apart from this, Lois
wore no weapons on his immediate person.

 

            Before
leaving to explore the Keep, however, Lois took a cloak and draped it about his
shoulders.  He could already feel the
cold air of winter pressing its way through the cracks, and he didn’t want to
be unprepared when he finally left the relative shelter of the indoors.

 

            This
done, Lois made sure that nothing was left where it could be meddled with, then
left his room for the day.  He had
selected a room on the second floor, hidden from the view of most anyone.  There was only one door relatively near it,
so Lois could rest much easier about his belongings, not that they were
unprotected otherwise.

 

            Turning
his thoughts from his belongings and onto the day ahead, Lois moved towards the
stairway that would lead him down into the main room.  He could already hear the sounds of people
beginning their day down below.  He could
smell what humble food was offered by the inn carried on the morning air.  He could tell just by the smell that it was
nowhere near the quality that he was now accustomed to eating, but it seemed to
call him on this particular day.

 

            The
room below was about half full, with most of the men visible being human,
likely belonging to some sort of caravan. 
A larger group was huddled in the corner, one member seeming to be
keeping an eye out for any eavesdroppers. 
Lois chose a table just off to the side of them and sat down.  There were only two people working as
waiters, a boy, seemingly about twelve years of age, and a girl who looked to
be a mix between human and some sort of bird. 
Still she did her job with remarkable quickness, and seemed to have no
trouble carrying things with her strange arms.

 

            Lois
wasn’t in the least surprised when it took them near fifteen minutes to attend
to him.  When they finally did, however,
he smiled and waved their apologies off. 
He ordered a plate of whatever was hot, then sat back to wait again.

 

            When
the food finally did arrive, Lois was surprised and pleased to find that it was
still quite warm.  He paid for the food
quickly out of his purse, then began to eat in preparation for the day.  The breakfast consisted solely of a bowl of
warm porridge with a slice of bread on the side.  Anything beat the food that he was forced to
eat on the road, however, and he ate thankfully without giving it a second
thought.

 

            While
he ate, he found himself listening in on the goings-on at the neighboring table.  He was able to catch something about the
purpose of the meeting, or so he assumed. 
The men were apparently unhappy with the length of time that their
employer was intending to stay at Metamor. 
They grumbled about it among themselves. 
Apparently, the man who was looking about suspiciously was charged with
keeping a lookout for said man.

 

            As
he listened, Lois began to think quietly to himself.  Wherever there was unrest and tension within
a group, there was room for potential employment.  If he could put in a few well-placed words
without sounding too suspicious, he could generate work for himself.

 

            Lois
was already trying to think of what he would say when he caught himself.  He shook his head angrily, trying to rid
himself of such thoughts.  ‘I am not an
assassin any more!’  He almost said it
out loud, but was able to keep himself under control.

 

            The
remainder of his breakfast lost what flavor it had had before.  He should have been able to control such
thoughts, but they constantly came back to haunt him.  He had left the life of an assassin years
ago, but it still had yet to leave him. 
Sometimes he wondered if he would always be haunted by such thoughts.  He desperately hoped not.

 

            He
finished his breakfast, leaving behind the empty bowl that had contained his
porridge as well as a coin of rather high value.  It had not been an accident or a chance that
he had left so much, he had learned that all he really needed was enough to
live, and he could give up anything he didn’t without much thought now.  Sooner or later he’d run out of money if he
didn’t find work, but it had been a long time since that had happened, and he
seriously doubted the chances of it happening in a place like Metamor Keep.

 

            A
slight dusting of snow had fallen the night before, hiding some of the patches
of ice that had formed after the storm. 
Lois took care not to step on any of these places, and so had to keep
his eyes on the road before him more than on the people he passed on the road.  He did notice them, but was unable to make
much eye contact.  He was even farther
from actually knowing any of the faces well enough ton recognize if he saw them
again, mostly due to the fact that there were quite a few animalistic faces
that he had no idea how to recognize.  He
supposed that he would get used to this sometime, but he had serious doubts
that it would be any time soon.

 

            He
was indecisive at first as to where he should go.  He had so many places that he could go, so
many things that he had to look for, so many memories to be dug up from within
the stones of this keep.

 

            He
stood in front of the inn, quietly considering for a moment, before he decided
on what to do.  His decision, however,
ended up being more influenced by routine than by a desire to reacquaint
himself with the Keep.  Dredging through
his distant memories, he set off towards his destination in silence,
disregarding the other occupants of the roads as he moved.  There would be time for socializing after he
had a more permanent form.

 

            It
wasn’t near as cold as it had been the day before, but he still hunched his
shoulders against the cold.  The fact
that he had not been active also contributed to the cold.  No problem, really.  He would be fixing that in a few moments.

 

            Memory
seemed content to serve in this instance, and Lois soon found himself staring
over a sparsely inhabited practice field. 
A few scattered groups had determined to brave the cold, and now huddled
in groups or sparred amongst themselves. 
Some isolated people went through their drills, swinging through slow
warm-up strokes or quickly and systematically decimated one of the practice
dummies that lined one wall.

 

            Lois
spent little time observing, although he did scan the faces for any
particularly unusual people.  Every time
he found one that struck him particularly odd, he committed it to memory.  He had no intention of getting caught off
guard by any one particular person if they were inclined to introduce
themselves to him.

 

            The
Keep had decided to be rather merciful on him today, however, and most of the
animal keepers were rather ordinary by the Keep’s standards.  As soon as he had finished his survey of the
group, he did something that drew a few curious glances from those who had
noticed him.  He removed his cloak,
leaving himself wearing only a suit of light leather and a plain white shirt,
stained in various places from years of use. 
Though this suit could deflect a blow passably well, it was not designed
for weathering the cold.

 

            For
a moment, he just stood there, allowing his body to become better adjusted to
the weather.  It wasn’t quite freezing,
although there were still some frozen patches on the field,  but it was enough to chill him to his bones.  He suppressed a slight shiver, unwilling to
allow the cold to dominate him.  Cold was
something to be dominated, not something to give in to.

 

            Once
he felt that he had settled enough, he began to warm up.  Although it was not in any way fancy, there
was a small dirt track to one side of the training field.  It was marred by the recent storm, with
strangely shaped holed riddling its surface, likely the footprints of some
person foolhardy enough to train during the rain or immediately after.  Whatever the cause, many of the divots had
since been filled by rain, which had, in due time, frozen over.  The result was a veritable obstacle course,
which suited Lois fine.

 

            At
first he kept a slow steady pace, making laps in good time but not excelling by
any definition of the word.  He simply
concentrated on landing firmly with every step, keeping his pace up, and making
sure that he didn’t injure himself on the damaged track.

 

            Few
others saw fit to join him, most preferring to use other places to run.  Some even had their own set courses that they
would take through the Keep.  Whatever
their running courses were, however, few wished to risk injury on that
track.  Lois, however, saw it as a
challenge, and he was not one to let a challenge beat him.

 

            It
was bout ten minutes after he had started jogging before he increased his
stride.  One moment he was simply warming
up, the next he seemed to be on a mission, almost rushing around the
track.  Still he avoided the frozen
puddles and as many of the divots as he could. 
He lasted four times around the track, and then stopped walking slowly
for another two laps before he walked back towards the main area of the
training field.

 

            Now
that his running was over, Lois began to stretch.  He spared nothing, making sure that every
part of his body had been stretched sufficiently before moving on in his exercises.  The cold, mostly forgotten during his run,
now sought to render his activities moot. 
Regardless, Lois continued his stretches until he was certain that he
was ready.

 

            Once
this was finished, he drew his daggers. 
The weapons had not left his side once during the rest of his warm-ups,
as he had kept them strapped to his belt. 
This was the first time that they had been drawn today, however.

 

            Lois
moved through a series of slow movements, moving in both body and mind through
each step of each technique, making sure that everything was correctly
executed.  He had no doubt that it would
be, but he had to make sure that everything was fresh in his mind.  He did, after all, expect to be using it
somewhat more than he had for the last few years.  He had no intention of sitting back and
letting others defend the Keep while he rested.

 

            Once
he was certain that all of the basic techniques were fresh in his memory, he
began to pair them, moving from one to another in a flawless rhythm, daggers
tracing patterns in the air.  The
patterns were intricate enough that they could make a casual passerby wonder if
Lois was preparing some spell.  In
reality, though, the moves were nothing more than what they seemed to be at
face value; intricate patterns, aye, but little more.

 

            Little
more, that is, unless you were fighting against Lois.

 

            The
movements of his weapons served several purposes.  First, they kept changing the positions of
any perceived weaknesses in his defenses. 
Unless a fighter was very decisive, he could be thrown off by the rapid
changes in Lois’ position.  Second, any
decisive fighter could be drawn into a seemingly obvious hole in the defenses,
only to have the weakness disappear, leaving Lois to at an advantage.  Last, an inexperienced fighter could be
lulled off of his guard as he tried to find a hole in the weave of blades.  Whatever the type of fighter, the technique
had its uses against them.

 

            The
blades gradually increased in speed, the patterns repeating themselves, but now
moving ever faster, until the blades moved so quickly that it was a wonder that
Lois himself could keep the blades controlled enough to continue the weave
unbroken.

 

            Finally,
Lois slowed, dropping from the fastest point of the weave into a slow, almost
lazy pattern.  He continued at this for a
few moments, until the weave finally ceased altogether, leaving Lois to take a
few moments of recovery.  This respite
was short lived, however.  After a bit of
water to refresh himself, he moved on to the next part of his personal routine.

 

            He
moved over towards the training dummies. 
He spent little time waiting, instead launching into a series of attacks
that had a rapidly devastating effect on the dummy.  The attacks themselves seemed of little note,
but the condition of his target and the flying material from the straw man
attested to the fact that the rapid strokes were for more than just show.

 

            He
took frequent breathers, not wanting to wear himself out, but rested only as
long as was necessary before once more attacking.  He was forced several times to change which
practice target he was attacking because it simply did not hold up against his
constant rain of blows.  He was unaware
that, as he practiced, he was watched by a very curious pair of eyes from
across the training grounds.  The person
to whom they belonged, however, made sure to stay out of Lois’ view.

 

            After
Lois had completed that stage of his personal routine, he slowly wound down,
performing some last stretches.  As he
left the training grounds, he did so at a jog, making sure to give his legs
ample opportunity to cool down before settling back to a walk.

 

            The
morning was still young when he finished, and he was set on making it as
profitable a day as he could.  Walking
now at a brisk pace, he set off to see what more the Keep held in store for
him.

 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *                                  

 

            Lois
spent a good bit of the rest of the day passing by some of his old haunts.  To his dismay, a good many of the ones that
had been built outside of the upper keep were either severely damaged or completely
destroyed.  A few no longer were even
open for business.  He inquired at one
place as to what happened to the establishment that had been there before, only
to be informed that the owners had died at the Battle of the Three Gates,
almost nine years ago already.

 

            By
noon, Lois had pretty well accounted for many of the places he had once
frequented.  Of them, very few were
surviving in any manner that he recognized. Of those that were still
recognizable, one was now owned by the eldest son of the former owner, who
turned out to now be his eldest daughter. 
As he had known the owner relatively well in the year he had been there,
Lois found this change to be quite interesting. 
The owner was not present at the time that Lois went to see him, but his
daughter assured Lois that he would not recognize him.  She referred to him jokingly as ‘the old
goat’, making Lois wonder exactly how literal she was being.

 

            It
didn’t seem like very long until both the position of the sun and his hunger
told him that it was time to get something to eat.  He stopped by the inn where he was staying to
get a bite to eat.  Their fare, although
just a small convenience that they added to make their rooms look more
attractive, Lois had to admit that it was rather satisfying.  More filling than it was flavorful, it still
presented a pleasant contrast to the cold as it was served piping hot.  Although the food was paid for with his room,
he still left a generous tip for the waiter.

 

            His
hunger sated, he now decided to find revisit one of his more frequented spots
in the keep.  He whistled quietly as he
went on his way, giving some cheer to the otherwise dreary walk to his
destination.  The winter sky frowned down
on him from above, as it likely would for the next few months.  He had never been partial to winter, but he
was a bit more resilient against the cold than were a few others he could think
of.  Having had to spend the better part
of one winter outside without any more shelter than his coat and whatever
windbreakers he could find, he had grown somewhat callused against what winter
could throw at him.  Still, it was due to
the many times he had nearly died that winter that he truly hated the season.

 

            When
he finally entered the inner keep, he immediately raised his head and lengthened
his stride.  There was very little ice to
be found here, and only in places where there was no ceiling.  If all went well, he would not have to deal
with such a place until he reached his destination.

 

            He
smiled and gave polite greetings now as he passed people in the halls.  A few of the people he greeted stopped to
give him odd looks before continuing on their way.  He paid them no mind, simply going on his
way.  The Curse had changed things since
he had last been in this area of the world, but he wasn’t about to let that
bother him.  The halls still had a
familiar feel to them.  It was almost as
if he had never left.

 

            He
turned at random, just choosing a direction that seemed good to him for the
time.  It didn’t take him long to find
his way to his destination however.  He
smiled to himself at the oddity of the keep’s halls.  This had to be the hundredth different way he
had navigated these halls to reach the same place.

 

            He
stepped through the doors into the library, looking about himself with a quiet
smile.  The rows upon rows of books on
the shelves still stood, not much changed since the last time he had seen
them.  The quiet of this part of the keep
was almost unnatural.  Where other places
in the very near area were bustling with noise and conversation, the silence of
the library was only broken by quiet whispers and the occasional sound of a
turned page.  Lois had often wondered if
the Keep’s mages had warded the room against the louder sounds.

 

            He
didn’t even wait to see if the librarian was still about from his last time in
the Keep.  Instead he wandered off
searching for a particular one of the books he had studied in his time there
before.  He walked along, occasionally
running a finger along the binding of a book he knew.  He smiled; these books had been nearly his
only companions during the long hours of silence that he had spent studying
here.  Although it had been years since
the last time he had been among these shelves, he walked through them like it
had only been yesterday.

 

            He
finally found what he had been looking for. 
The shelf held a selection of the books that Lois had been especially
interested in during his stay.  They
mostly dealt with different types of weaponry and styles of combat, but there
was one other.  It was the one that he
wished to find in specific, one that dealt more with a general history of the
Southlands.

 

            It
did not take long to find.  It was a
rather large book, with the title sewn into the binding in gold letters.  He pulled it off of the shelf, smiling quietly
to himself as he once more opened it.  He
chuckled quietly as he recognized a smudge of ink he had accidentally left on
page fourteen.  He had been taking notes,
and had accidentally gotten some ink on his hand.  Not realizing this, he had turned the page
and forever left his mark on the pages of the book.

 

            He
closed the book, but did not place it immediately back on the shelf.  Instead he set it on the ground.  He reached into the space that the book had
left when it had been removed.  He
reached the back of the shelf, then searched to his left with his hand.  He smiled as his fingers grasped a familiar
form.  He pulled two of the books on the
shelf back slightly, then slid the book that he had hidden behind them out into
the open.

 

            It
was a copy of the original version of the same text in one of the southern
dialects.  Back when he was young and
foolish, he had intended to use the two books to help him learn a bit of the
southern language.  He had found out
quickly that learning a language was unfortunately quite a bit more difficult
than he had originally thought.  Even
with the help of a Southlander he had chanced to meet, he had only learned some
very basic words.  The bulk of what the
man had taught him had to do with how the language was structured, even though
Lois had spent nearly a year working on it. 
His own perfectionism hadn’t allowed him to go much farther.

 

            Lois
leafed through the pages, shaking his head as he remembered a few of the
words.  He tried to pronounce a few of
them, but what little he had once known about the language had slowly died
since he left the Keep, and little was left of it.

 

            He
turned another page, but was puzzled for a moment as he discovered a few loose
papers shoved in amid the pages of the book. 
He withdrew them, looking over them for a moment, slowly realizing what
they were.  He traced a finger over one
of the lines.  It was clearly his
handwriting, although it had been long since he had written in his own
hand.  He smiled quietly, not believing
that the pages had somehow managed to remain untouched since he had left them
there.

 

            Also
on the page were a few odd figures, scratched in another hand.  Lois quickly recognized them as belonging to
his tutor.  He had written out a few of
the words so that he could show something about them.  Lois had long since forgotten most of these
lessons, but he took some small joy in being able to identify most of the
words.

 

            He
was absolutely captivated by the book, both by the memories that it brought
back and due to its contents.  He simply
sat on the ground, holding the Common version of the book in his lap while he
looked through the two, remembering observations he had made at certain
points.  Although he had forgotten much
of what he had once known, some things were still fresh in his mind.

 

            Although
Lois was enjoying himself immensely where he was, it did not take long for his
position to cause him to begin to cramp. 
After about the third time he nearly dislodged a few books from the
shelf behind him as he stretched, he decided on an alternate plan.

 

            He
gathered the scattered papers that he had found still tucked away in the book,
stuffing them back just behind the front cover of the tome.  He stood, stretching as best he could with
the pair of books under his arm.  As soon
as he felt that he had worked out enough of the kinks from his back, he began
to make his way through the bookshelves towards a familiar spot.

 

            It
was a window, a rather large one, set in the wall of the library as a means of
providing illumination during the day, as well as simply looking good.  While it gave him warmth and light to read
by, it also gave him a place to sit.  The
sill of the window was very large, apparently intended to allow a person a
convenient area to lose themselves among the pages of one of the volumes.

 

            In
addition to a space to sit, it was also wide enough to allow a decently sized
pile of books to be set while a person waited to look through them.  If one wished, it would also supply enough
room for a source of light, but Lois often had other plans during the dark
hours of night and morning.  That added
to the convenience of the location: He could tell when the sun was getting low
in the sky by the amount of light he had to read by.

 

            Lois
was moving through the shelves with a mission at first, only pausing slightly
if he crossed someone’s path.  If they
looked up at him, he would always give a quiet greeting as he passed, but the
largest reaction he managed in this time was perhaps a few smiles, and a few
reactions that were hard to read due to the face of the particular Keeper.

 

            As
Lois neared his destination, he slowed his pace.  The spot, though convenient in almost every
way, was located on almost the complete opposite side from where Lois had
gotten his books.  Now that he was close,
however, he saw little need to rush.  He
slackened off enough that, as he got within the last few rows of shelves before
his destination, Lois had already reopened the book to continue his reading.

 

            It
was a somewhat common practice of his. 
During his last stay in Metamor, it was not uncommon for him to pass the
entire trek between the shelf of books while still reading.  He had long since mastered the art of keeping
just enough attention on the path before him while being able to concentrate on
what he was reading.  Today, however, it
seemed that he was not quite as attentive as he may have been in the past.

 

            “Hi,”
a voice from before him said suddenly, causing Lois to look up quickly.  He found himself staring at a fox, a kit if
the size was an indication.  At least,
that’s what he thought it was.  The fur
pattern was odd, though, unlike anything he had ever seen or even heard
of.  His mind ran in circles for a few
moments before the memory of the plaid beaver came to his mind.  ‘Ah,’ thought Lois, ‘So this is just another
way that the Curse manifests itself. 
Funny, I had never heard of the strange fur patterns produced by it.’

 

            The
fox was sitting in Lois’ usual spot. 
Lois almost became angry that someone had taken it, but was able to remind
himself that it did not truly belong to him before he did anything rash.  Beside the strange fox was a few stacks of
books, and an open book was set across the lap of the Keeper.

 

            Although
he had been somewhat startled at the sudden greeting, to the point that he had
stopped a few feet away from, Lois was almost able to return the greeting in
kind before he was interrupted.

 

            The
manner of interruption was odd to be sure. 
The fox suddenly turned slightly to one side, although still fixing Lois
with a curious gaze.  The strangest
thingy, however, was what the Keeper said.

 

            “Sulky?”

 

            This
caught Lois completely off guard.  He
probably could have shaken off anything else, and definitely would have known
better how to react to another thing, but this was odd beyond anything that
Lois had ever experienced.  Sulky?  Lois couldn’t tell whether to take it as an
insult, a slip of the tongue that referred to something else entirely, or
perhaps the mind of a storyteller trying to come up with the word to best
describe a scene before him.  At any
rate, Lois couldn’t tell whether he should react in open anger, give the fox a
concealed insult of his own, or simply hold his tongue and wait for the fox to
explain itself.  Perhaps he should
request an explanation…

 

            It
seemed that Lois’ confused pause gave the situation ample time to remedy
itself.  “Oh sorry, didn't know this was
your spot,” the Keeper suddenly said, looking rather flustered.

 

            All
right, admittedly, it only served to further confuse Lois.  First, the stranger had suddenly said
something utterly unpredictable, then he had begun apologizing for taking Lois’
spot.  How in the world did this person
know that this was Lois’ spot to begin with? 
How many years had it been now? 
It had been before the three gates, so it was likely going on ten years
now, if it had not already passed that. 
Lois was half surprised that he still knew how to get to this niche, but
to have someone realize that they were in his spot that long after he had
left?  Lois found it hard to believe.

 

            Finally,
he happened upon a possible solution. 
Perhaps the stranger had simply assumed that the window had been Lois’
spot because he had the books with him and didn’t seem to be looking for
anything more on the shelves.  Perhaps
there had been a few books left in the niche from its last denizen; Lois had
known this to happen on occasion during his last visit, so it might have been
just an odd chance occurrence.

 

            While
Lois had stood for a moment, considering what to do, the fox had closed his
book and set it upon the stack that stood to his side.  He seemed to be trying to figure out how to
move the whole stack.  By the small size
of the fox, Lois did imagine that such a task would be quite a stretch.  Lois decided that he would try to remedy the
situation peacefully.

 

            “You
got here first, the spot is yours. I can find somewhere else,” Lois said.  He did his best to smile, even though he was
still quite confused.

 

            “Somehow
I don't think I'd get much research done now anyway,” the fox said wryly.  He seemed somewhat distracted, to be sure,
and Lois still hoped that he had not disrupted anything important to the
Keeper.

 

            Lois
decided to try once more to allow the Keeper to remain in the spot.  “Are you sure, or are you just saying that?”
he asked.

 

            “No,”
the other responded, “I'm fairly certain I won't be able to concentrate here at
all anymore.”  Still, the distracted look
persisted.  Lois was finding this entire
encounter to be quite odd, and the Keeper had been acting strange ever since
Lois had seen him, almost as if he were possessed.  All in all, something just rubbed Lois the
wrong way about this guy.

 

            “Are
you feeling all right?” he asked, giving the fox kit a curious look.

 

            “No,
I'm fine, really.”  The strangely colored
fox said it, but Lois couldn’t help feeling that there was still something
wrong.  He couldn’t put a finger on it,
but there was something at the back of his mind that nagged for attention,
something that insisted to Lois that something odd was going on, and this sort
of thing always made him uneasy.  Then
again, he was always on edge as long as he couldn’t accurately read the other
person’s behavior.

 

            Finally,
the kit seemed to come to a decision.  He
grabbed one of the stacks of books and hefted it as well as he could.  It seemed like quite a load, and one of the
remaining stacks was even larger.  Lois
decided to at least spare the person a little effort if he was that set on
giving him the spot.

 

            Lois
moved over to the niche and set down the pair of books that he had been
carrying.  As he hefted the larger of the
two piles, he said, “Here, let me help you with that.”

 

            The
fox managed to express his thanks as he relocated the pile to a table that sat
before a particular row of shelves.  Lois
watched as his strange acquaintance collected the last pile of books and set it
upon the table, then continued to observe the Keeper as he began to replace
books where they had come from on the bookshelves.

 

            It
took Lois a few minutes of watching the other before he finally decided on what
he would say.  Trying to sound somewhat
casual, he asked, “So… What were you looking for anyway?”  Besides being curious, Lois also wanted to
have some small talk with this stranger before he tried to subtly find out more
details about him.

 

            “I
was trying to find a book but... I sorta got distracted,” the strange fox
responded as he carried another book back to its proper position amid its kind.

 

            “I’m
sorry if I disturbed you,” Lois said sincerely. 
He truly hadn’t been expecting anyone to be in that particular spot, but
that was probably just because it had only been rarely when another person had
taken the spot before.  Now that he
thought of it, the chances of it still being his to take had been very slight.

 

            “Heh,
wasn’t you,” was the response.  “I just
started cross referencing an interesting line of research and… well…  Can’t seem to stay on topic very well, the
curse of the scholarly.”

 

            Lois
chuckled slightly before replying, “I don’t know whether to feel privileged or
cursed not to have a part of that curse. 
I have never been scholarly, much less have I had trouble staying on
topic.”

 

            “To
tell the truth, I’m not sure whether to be privileged or cursed myself,” the
kit responded.  “It gets annoying, but I
find out the most interesting things. 
Nifty tricks I never would have thought of on my own.”

 

            “Ah.”  Lois caught himself before he could visibly
wince when he realized that he’d run the conversation into a dead end.  He could inquire as to what a few of those
tricks were, but he doubted he’d ever hear the end of it.  So, instead of trying to keep a dead
conversation going, he switched topics.

 

            “By
the way,” he started, “What’s it like?” 
He tried to motion to the fox, but he didn’t seem to notice the gesture..

 

            “What’s
what like?”  The fox looked at Lois
inquisitively, waiting for an explanation.

 

            Lois
was uncertain how to express the question in words.  “You know…” he started, once more waving
towards kit’s form.  “It.”

 

            The
fox took a moment, but his confusion was quickly replaced with an expression of
realization.  “Ooooohhh,” the fox
said.  “That’s right, you haven’t been
here for more than a week yet.”  Lois kept
his posture solid, making sure not to show his surprise at the statement.  Once again, the kit had said something that
he had no way of knowing.  Lois left this
rest until his question was answered, however.

 

            “Well,
I’m not entirely sure, really.  I’ve
heard it’s different for everyone of course, but for me it’s just a different
shape, I’m still me.  Maybe cause I used
to experiment with shape shifting in my younger days, maybe I’m just in
shock.”  The fox gave an uncertain shrug,
which Lois took to mean that he wouldn’t be getting a much more complete
answer.  Still, something that the kit
had mentioned had caught his attention. 
Shape shifting…

 

            “Ah,
a mage then.”  Lois nodded, pleased that
he had learned this fact.  That would
explain some things about this stranger.

 

            The
fox nodded in kind, responding, “An odd one to be sure, but yes.  I’m a mage.”

 

            Lois
was somewhat relieved at this.  For a few
moments, he had thought that he might have been dealing with someone
unnatural.  To find that it was just a
matter of a mage’s tricks gave him a bit more insight into the person with whom
he spoke.

 

            Lois
considered his next words for a moment. 
He had found out some information that would be helpful, but he would
need more to make a full assessment of whom he was dealing with.  He decided to take the next logical step, and
use what he knew and what he had seen to venture a guess at the fox’s
particular skills.  “You…  Read minds or something?”

 

            The
kit seemed indecisive for a moment.  He
seemed to be divided as to whether he should actually reveal anything about his
skills beyond what he had already implied. 
Finally, seeming to finally make up his mind, he said, “Or something
anyway…”  So, not exactly a mind
reader…  “I guess you could call them
whispers of the past.”

 

            Whispers
of the past…  That would go pretty far to
explaining how the fox had known that he had been in Lois’ spot.  Still, Lois wanted a bit more information;
whispers of the past was still too general for him to know what he could expect
in the future.  “Whispers of the past?” he
said curiously.  “I never knew that that
was possible.”

 

            “Neither
do most people,” the fox responded.  “I
wouldn’t believe it myself if I weren’t always hearing them.”

 

            “Which
is why you said you couldn’t concentrate… 
So it wasn’t me.“  Things had
begun to click now.  Piece by piece, Lois
was slowly putting together a better picture of what had caused the strange
occurrences upon their meeting.

 

            The
kit also seemed rather well pleased that they were beginning to understand each
other.  In response to Lois statement, he
said, “Nope, that window niche remembers you and it was quite vocal about it.”

 

            “The
niche remembers me?”  That was rather
unexpected.  “First off, I have never
known window niches to be very vocal about anything.  Secondly, it must have a good memory.  I haven’t been here in a few years, and I
can’t imagine how it can pick me out of all the people that must have occupied
it in that time.”

 

            “I’m
guessing you used it a lot and other people haven’t,” the kit said with a
shrug.  “They seem to find the oddest
things worthy of note.”

 

            Lois
nodded slightly, considering what this could mean.  What sort of thing could the window niche
remember about him?  “Well,” he said
after a pause, “I suppose it is true that I used it more than most.  That’s probably how I know how to find it
still.”



 

            “Plus
they remember the ‘different’ people, the ones who stand out somehow,” the fox
explained.  “I’m actually not surprised
it remembers you.”

 

            “Stand
out?”  Lois considered for a moment.  True, he was taller than most, and, even back
then he had already developed most of what he considered to be his more
recognizable traits.  Still, nothing
stood out to him as anything that would have stood out about him while he was
at the library.  He would have been reading
more often than not.  “I’m not
sure…”  Lois stopped abruptly, suddenly
remembering one particular oddity that had occurred towards the beginning of
the conversation.  “Sulky.  The niche remembers me as Sulky, right?”

 

            The
fox seemed somewhat embarrassed.  In
fact, Lois could swear that the Keeper was blushing.  “Umm… yeah…”

 

            Lois
had never actually considered that before, but the simple thought of being
referred to as Sulky by anyone, seen or unseen, heard or unheard, was
absolutely hilarious.  He was unable to
control his laughter at the thought.  Of
all descriptions he had ever heard of himself, this one was undoubtedly the
bluntest and, in a way, truest.

 

            He
continued to laugh almost uncontrollably, loud enough to be heard at a good
distance.  He finally reminded himself of
where he was and tried to calm himself down, explaining himself to the Keeper
as he did.  “If the librarian hears me,
it’s curtains.”



 

            The
fox gave a smile at this, apparently recovering from whatever embarrassment the
revelation of the niche’s opinion of Lois had caused him.  “True,” he responded.  “Librarians can get VERY anal about noise…”

 

            Lois
continued laughing, although it was now quieter and much more controlled.  Once he had finished, he commented, “Still,
Sulky…  You know, I never would have
though of it myself, but it is rather accurate once I think about it.  And getting tagged as Sulky by a window niche
no less.”  Lois shook his head, smiling
again.  “Only in Metamor…”

 

            “Only
in Metamor…” the fox agreed, chuckling softly. 
They stood there for a few moments, the fox looking curiously at the human.  “So what IS your name anyway?” he asked
finally.  “I’ve been calling you Sulky in
my head this entire time.”

 

            “Lois.
Well, Vincent Lois, but most everyone who knows me calls me by my surname,” he
said, holding out a hand to the fox.

 

            The
fox took the hand, shaking it firmly as they were finally introduced
formally.  As he shook the hand, though,
his eyes suddenly trailed down to the hand, looking at it with a bit more than
the usual amount of scrutiny, as though he thought that enough staring would
let him see what the glove hid.  The
handshake ended, but he still held Lois’ hand, staring.

 

            Finally
the former assassin took it on himself to disengage, at which point the fox
jerked out of his reverie rather suddenly.

 

            “Well,
I’m sorry to break off our meeting so abruptly, but I still have some
reminiscing to do.” Lois said to prevent any further awkward silence.  He also had no desire to give the fox any
more time to spend focused on his hand.

 

            The
fox seemed to take the hint quickly, all too eager to continue on his way.  “Right,” he said.  “I’ve got to get going myself actually,
things to do and whatnot. Maybe I’ll see you around the keep sometime.”  He cut the pleasantries short there, walking
off quickly out of the library, leaving Lois standing amid the rows of
shelves.  He looked down to his right
hand, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. 
The entire episode had been disarming. 
Fortunately, the mage had been focused on the wrong hand.

 

            Lois
shrugged it off.  There was nothing he
could do now, and nothing had been revealed as far as he knew.  He finally returned to his reminiscing,
although he never again reached the level of concentration he had had before
the meeting.  He had been set on edge,
and it would take him some time to recover. 
Fortunately, the book helped him to distract himself for a few more
hours.

 

            By
the time he left, it was already dark outside the window that he had been
sitting in.  He had to extinguish several
candles that he had lit in the niche, then find his way to the shelf to replace
the book in partial darkness.  The
librarian hardly paid him any mind as he slipped out.

 

            It
was colder now that night had fallen, and Lois pulled his coat closer to him as
he exited the inner keep.  The saner
portion of the population had already abandoned the streets by now, but Lois
was used to walking alone.  All that he
really cared about was whether or not the inn had dinner cooking this
late.  He was starving, having eating
nothing since lunch almost eight hours ago.

 

            He
opened the door to the inn, then took a moment to look back over the lower
keep.  Lights were now beginning to be
put out, streets darkening as fewer and fewer houses left lights burning.  Lois watched as a few more flames were
extinguished, then silently turned and entered the inn.  At another time in his life, now would have
been the time he would likely have been leaving his room.

 

            He
shook his head.  That had been a
different time, and he had been a different man.  Things had changed, and he meant not to go
back.

 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *                                  

 

<I>From
the Journal of Vincent Lois</I>

 

<I>November
the 23rd, in the year 707, Cristos Reckoning</I>

 

            Today
the weather was finally clear enough for me to get out and about once
more.  For the first time in what seems
like a millennium,  I was able to wander
the streets of this keep.  It is so much
different now than it was before, and the Curse is not all that has worked to
make it so.  The people I once knew in
this keep are mostly gone.  Some left
before the storm hit, escaping the wrath of the Curse altogether by moving to
the south.  Others died in that same
battle, fighting to the last breath to keep this keep in the right hands.  One, I am told, went insane after being
Cursed, and spent the last four years of his life acting as though he had been
born a horse.  Others have fallen in
subsequent battles, and some few have died peacefully, a rarity among people in
such a violently contested area as the keep.

 

            Of
the few that survive, many bear little resemblance to the people I once knew,
although their personalities are clearly the same.  The craftsmen I once knew are almost all
gone, either dead, having lost their place of business to the effects of war,
or no longer having a form that allows them to ply their craft.  Of those, only one seems to have adjusted
well.  Instead of leaving his craft
altogether, he has taken on a student, who seems to have learned very well at
the hooves of her master.

 

            In
the end, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the one thing I spent my most
time with is still as I left it.  The
library seems to have changed very little apart from the forms of its
inhabitants.  The books are still there,
black ink scrawled across yellowing paper… 
Still just as I remember them. 
Besides that, only the stones of the keep itself seem to have remained
unchanged, and even they show signs of wear. 
Nothing escapes the effects of time…

 

            Tomorrow
I will see what might remain of the Deaf Mule. 
What I have seen of the rest of the keep does not give me much hope that
it much resembles what it was those many years ago.  Still, perhaps I may yet find that that one
thing remains somewhat unchanged.  One
can only hope…

 

<I>Vincent
Lois</I>

 

*                      *                      *                      *          

            Lois
closed his journal and sighed for a moment. 
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop beside the travel-worn book and
glanced over at the single window in his room. 
He had made sure to get a room with an accessible window in it, even
though it cost a little bit more, especially to ensure that it was a private
room.  Money had long ago ceased to be an
object, however.

 

            He
stood and walked over to the shuttered window, pulling it open so that he could
see clearly beyond.  The roofs of the
nearby buildings had already shed most of the ice from the earlier freezing
rain and only a few small streams of water remained visible, trickling between
shingles and off slanted edges, sometimes into drains, sometimes simply landing
on the street below.

 

            Lois
reached out of his window and grabbed ahold of the exposed beams that held the
roof solid.  It felt rough, and seemed
dry enough to ensure good grip…

 

            He
returned inside only long enough to extinguish the flame in the lantern, and
then he hefted himself up and out of the window and onto the roof.

 

            Lois didn’t sleep that night.  He spent several hours sitting out on top of
the inn’s roof, thinking.  He likely got
a good bit of rest there, in all honesty, but it was fitful and separated by
lines of thought that led off into nothing. 
The decisions of his past always ran through his mind when he had any
time to sit and reflect, although they were not just his own decisions that
bothered him.

 

            He second guessed a lot of people he
had known.  Alternate possibilities had
always intrigued him, so sometimes he tried to piece together what might have
been if a few select people had chosen differently.  Unfortunately, whenever he let his mind
wander in that way, it would eventually lead back to the one person he could
never reconcile in his ideas of what the world might have been.

 

            He had known his father only in his
younger years, but it was not only a result of his life as an assassin that he
had the gift to find things meant to be hidden from him.  He had always had a knack for being in the
right places to overhear things, and he had never passed up an opportunity.  Through a long string of conversations he had
managed to create a patchwork of evidence that led him to see the truth about
his father.

 

            The boys in his home had always
teased him about his lazy father, but Vincent Lois was nothing if not
stick-necked and stubborn.  He refused to
acknowledge any fault on his father’s part, even when the law of the land sent him
to the manor to serve as incentive for his father to pull his weight.

 

            Through the long years of his stay
in the manor, Lois never missed an opportunity to go back and see the man.  He was always sitting somewhere with a full
view of his ever-empty fields, delighting himself in nothing but sunrises,
sunsets, and the maxims and “wise sayings” that he had collected over years of
listening to foreign travelers.  Lois
hadn’t much cared for the sayings, although they had a natural effect of
rubbing off on him whether he paid much attention or not.

 

            As the years grew on, and the pieces
of conversation slowly filled in the empty pieces, Lois had begun to realize
that the claims of his childhood tormentors and the gossip about the manor were
the only logical explanation for the strange behavior of his father.

 

            Lois had never worked up the courage
to confront his father about his idleness. 
All he had known at that time was that, idle or not, he wanted to be
able to live with his father again.  His
strong work ethic was directly a result of that fact, but even the diligence on
his part was not enough to make up the amount of cropland that had been wasted
by his father as each year passed.

 

            And then Lois’ father had died.

 

            Lois hadn’t accepted it when he
first heard it.  He had simply run off,
disregarding any orders to the contrary, until he stood beside his father’s
bed.  He was the only one there besides
his mother to shed a tear for the man, and the same was true of the
funeral.  Vincent should have been
working at the manor during the small affair, but he couldn’t find it within
himself to not be present.  By that time,
he was old enough to realize what was happening, and idle or not, good father
or not, he felt it was his responsibility to be there.

 

            It still brought no satisfaction, no
ease for the pain.  He had hoped that the
dirt would bury his own sorrow as it did his father, but it only deepened..

 

            Lois had still never understood his
connection to the man.  His father, by
all rights, had only ever spoken to him. 
Whenever he needed anything, he would call Vincent or his mother to
provide for that need, yet the young man had always felt a deep, abiding sense
of loyalty to his father.  It was such a
frustratingly illogical thing; no one else in his life had generated that sort
of attachment, and, although the man’s flaws were obvious, no one he had ever
met had defied his second guessing so thoroughly.

 

            What if his father had been a
diligent worker?  The question had occurred
to Lois more than once, but he could never reconcile the rest of reality with
that one change.  Regardless of the
hundreds of possibilities he could think of for what may have happened if any
minute detail had been different elsewhere, the fact that his father was an
idle man whose life’s work was worth less than the cost of the food he ate was
a constant, not a variable.

 

            Nothing frustrated Lois more than
something outside of nature that remained constant.  Change, or at least the possibility of
change, was something that simply had to be there.  With his father, however, there was no such
possibility.

 

            Lois finally caught himself short in
his frustrated cycle of thoughts sometime just before dawn.  He sighed to release some tension, but that
wasn’t quite enough.  Lois stood up on
the inn’s roof, stretching as he did.  He
knew one thing that would release that tension, and so he started off at a jog,
lightly letting his feet fall along the shingles of the roof, following the
slant of the roof without allowing it to affect his footing or balance.  He jogged a lap around the rooftop to make
sure his footing, then took off with a rush, changing rooftops smoothly and
without breaking stride.

 

 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *                                  

 

<I>November 24, 707
CR</I>

 

            Thomas walked quickly and resolutely
through the halls, making for his study. 
He was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he walked, but he did
not slow down, even as he took another turn in the hall.  Kyia apparently either wanted him to be late,
or was obliging and giving him some time so that he could straighten himself
before appearing before his subjects, but it was taking him longer to find the
room today.

 

            Finally, though, he reached the
meeting area.  Guards flanked the door,
one at either side, standing straight already as Thomas approached.  If possible, they stood straighter as they
saw him round the bend, not letting their stances slouch even slightly until
the horse lord had passed through the open door.

 

            One of the guards closed the door
behind him, cutting him off from the two of them, as well as the personal
entourage that always followed the Duke when he went anywhere.  He had grown used to this happening every time
he entered such a meeting in a rush, so he paid it no mind.

 

            Oddly, of the people that were
normally summoned to counsel the Duke in these matters, two were present, and
neither was the one who had sent the summons to the meeting.  He was aware that Melissa would be unable to
attend, but at least his military advisors should all be present.  Thomas looked around again, but Misha and
George were the only ones in the room. 
They stood up from their seats around the table as he entered and paid
him his due respect.



            “Where’s Andwyn?” Thomas
asked, somewhat out of breath as he looked between his two head military
advisors.  The fox and the jackal
exchanged glances before Misha responded for both of them.

 

            “I don’t know.  Knowing him, he’ll probably take a few
minutes to show up, probably have a meal and some wine while we wait…”

 

            The Duke snorted derisively.  He could not at the moment think of anything
to say in the bat’s defense.  He had an
odd habit of making even the simplest of things needlessly complicated.  Being late to a meeting that he himself
called was rarely considered good form.

 

            Of course, the Duke of Metamor could
do little at the moment to either help or hinder Andwyn’s arrival.  He slumped down into the chair that was
provided for him at the head of the table at the center of the meeting room,
rubbing one side of his face with his hand.

 

            Andwyn finally did show up, in about
as much of a huff as Thomas had ever seen him in.  As he noticed that all other parties had
already arrived, he was quick to make sure he was the first to speak.

 

            “My apologies for being late.  It seems Kyia wanted me to receive a bit of
an update in my information before I delivered it to you.  She had me wandering her halls for several
minutes before running into a messenger who was bringing me updated
information.  I assure you, I was not
late by choice.”

 

            “As long as the information is good,
I won’t hold it against you,” Thomas responded. 
He regarded the spy master quietly as he approached the table.  The bat seemed to be trying to find a proper
way to put the information, which was something that Thomas felt to be totally
out of character for the bat.  He was always
calm and decisive, even in the most dangerous of situations.

 

            “I believe that there might be a new
threat to your security, my liege,” Andwyn finally said.  “My spies tell me that a man has entered the
city that I have been watching with interest for years, a man best known for
being a prime suspect in the assassinations of no less than five well-known
public figures, and has been publicly convicted of at least three other
assassinations.  His infamy has waned of
late, but you may still have heard of him: Vincent Lois.”

 

            “I haven’t heard of the man, no,”
Thomas responded.  He glanced over
towards Misha and George.  The fox was
already looking over at the scoutmaster, who seemed to be thinking the name
over.

 

            “Vincent Lois…” George mused quietly
to himself.  “I believe we may have
crossed paths once or twice.  Let’s
see…  If this is the man I remember, he
would be tall, dark hair, always carrying the same pair of daggers as his only
melee weapons.  Would that fit the man
you’re talking about?”

 

            “Likely the same,” Andwyn agreed,
nodding.  “He also has a trio of scars
that run between his eyes, arcing just over his left eye.  I wouldn’t wonder that you haven’t mentioned
it, though; he received those scars some time after his last assassination of
note, probably back… six or seven years ago now.”

 

            “So he has not been active lately,
then?” Thomas asked, breaking in before George could speak up again.  “At least that much is good.”

 

            “Not active as an assassin, true,”
Andwyn confirmed.  “However, he hasn’t
exactly let his daggers rust in that time. 
Since his latest assassination, he labeled himself a bounty hunter and
started taking jobs hunting down pests of particular note from the Giantdowns that
managed to slip through our patrols.  He
personally led the group, so his blades have certainly been well used in these
few years.”

 

            “Reckless,” George noted.  “That does sound like the man I knew.  He’s an extremely talented fighter, after his
own style.  He’s not a ring fighter; I
know I could beat him in a ring easily, but you’ll never restrict him that far
in a real-life situation.  He’s far too
quick, and knows very well when he’s outmatched.  My prior encounter with him, I was actually
assigned fifty of my employer’s best, and told to wait right outside his
room.  Apparently news had leaked to him
of Lois being given a decent amount to ensure his death.  I carried out my assignment to the letter,
but eventually my employer had to leave his quarters to deal with matters of
state.”

 

            “He didn’t last long, I assume?”
Misha asked.

 

            “Poison dart to the back of his
neck, even though we had formed a box around him.  Lois must have escaped in the ensuing
panic.  Afterwards, there were only
forty-nine left in my group, and we found a body stuffed into a chest in the armory.  To the best of our knowledge, he had killed
one of them before we began our assignment, taken his uniform, and waited for a
good shot.”

 

            “And now Lois is here,” Andwyn said,
looking towards Thomas.  “What my spies
have told me is that he intends to stay here in Metamor, to settle here in the
Valley.  I am not sure whether or not
such is his actual intent, but recent events make me uneasy about his
presence.”

 

            “He’s an assassin!  The fact that he is present at all should be ample
cause for unease!” Thomas asserted, pounding one hooflike hand on the table for
emphasis.  The nature of his hand made it
especially effective; the echoes took a few moments to die down.

 

            George was the first to
respond.  “As I see it, moving to the
Valley would not be an altogether surprising move for Lois.  As I remember, he was not too much younger
than I am.  If he has not yet reached his
forties, they are not long in the coming. 
By this time, regardless of how well he has taken care of himself, his
old wounds will have started weighing on him. 
A man like him is used to gambling with his life; to gamble with his
body is hardly much of a stretch.”

 

            “We can’t discount his having
ulterior motives just because his alibi is believable, however,” Misha spoke
up.  “He might be looking for a chance to
make an attack before the Curse takes him, and then escape beyond the
boundary.  He might even try to carry out
any such mission just before or after the Curse takes him, and then assume a
new identity once his form has changed.”

 

            Thomas sighed and leaned back in his
seat.  He then turned to Andwyn.  “You said that you had been delayed by Kyia
so that you received updated information before you came here.  What is the nature of that information?”

 

            “Lois has been in the keep for a few
days now,” Andwyn explained.  “My men
have been observing him to see if he would make any suspicious moves, until
just last night, he left his room through the window and went running across
the rooftops.  My men lost him; Lois is
very accomplished at finding paths, even on so strange a terrain as the roofs
of the lower keep.”

 

            The Duke sat up straighter.  “He’s been here for a few days?  Why have you delayed so long in calling a
meeting, then?”

 

            “I think it’s rather obvious,”
George cut in before the bat could say anything.  Thomas saw the smirk at the edge of his
muzzle a moment too late to stop the cutting comment from coming past the scout
master’s muzzle.  “He didn’t think it was
necessary to inform you that he invited an old friend over to stay for a
while.”

 

            Andwyn turned a glare on the jackal,
but refrained from commenting, instead turning back and responding to the
question that the Duke had posed to him. 
“Sir, I thought it best not to trouble you with his presence.  I have had spies assigned to him since long
before he entered the walls.”

 

            “If he’s anywhere near as dangerous
as George suggests, that isn’t even close to enough,” Thomas insisted.  “If he can penetrate a group of fifty men to
kill a target, he can give your spies the slip without even thinking about it.  He could have moved against me while your men
were still scrambling back to inform you that he was out running rooftops
somewhere.  He could have gone after
Alberta…”

 

            “Rest assured, my liege, I have my
spies set up a watch over her as soon as they realized that he had escaped our
surveillance.  She is safe.”

 

            “Then why were you so desperate to
call this meeting?  I know you Andwyn,
you have an uncanny knack to be completely unmoved in even some of the worst
circumstances.  You say that you decided
not to tell me until there was a suspicious move.  What move did the man make that made it worth
your while to finally report his presence?”

 

            “Lois uses the rooftops as vantage
points from which to gather information for his assassinations,” Andwyn
offered.  “Few people would dare try to
follow his paths; a false step could be fatal. 
Also, few of his targets are inclined to look up when they believe there
is nothing to see.”

 

            The Duke took a quick glance at the
ceiling, but saw nothing out of place, so settled back to looking at his spy
master.

 

            “At any rate, this assassin is here
now,” he said.  “We need to deal with him
somehow.  Any suggestions?”

 

            “It is not generally our practice to
turn people away from the Keep, especially not so soon after this past winter,”
Misha observed, his tail twitching thoughtfully.  “We need all the additional manpower we can
get.  Lois may be a threat, but if he is
in earnest about settling here permanently, there may be a way to turn his
skills to our advantage.”

 

            “That would be an advantage bought
at great personal risk,” George cautioned. 
“Even if he isn’t after you now, he’s never one to give up an
opportunity for action.”

 

            “Perhaps we could move him somewhere
farther away, for safekeeping as it were,” Andwyn suggested.  “Somewhere without rooftops for him to escape
on…”

 

            “You don’t suppose an assassin like
Lois would know when he was being shelved?” George snorted incredulously.  “He’d be back at our doorstep in a heartbeat,
demanding reassignment if we were lucky, taking revenge if not.”

 

            Thomas sighed and slumped in his
chair.  “This is all wonderfully
brilliant.  We have a man in the Keep
that might be after my life, and we can’t send him away because he might decide
to kill me, of all things.  Is there any
possible scenario where he might not try to kill someone?”

 

            “Unlikely, it is his employment,”
George noted.

 

            “Since it’s pretty well decided that
he’s going to be after someone, we had best be ready,” Misha commented.

 

            “I’m not going to lock myself away
in the face of danger, especially when we have no idea whether it is real or
imagined!” Thomas insisted.  “There has
to be some other way.”

 

            “As long as you stay in the inner
keep, Kyia should be able to make sure that Lois doesn’t show up,” Andwyn
suggested.

 

            “I can’t restrict myself to just the
inner keep, either,” the Duke insisted, giving the bat a particularly nasty
glare.  “There has to be something more…
proactive that we can do to make sure that he doesn’t cause us any trouble.”

 

            The four of them sat back for a
while.  Misha glanced at George for a
moment, but George just shrugged and went back to his own thoughts.

 

            Andwyn, as usual, gave very little
sign as to whether he was getting anywhere or not.  Thomas took one glance at him, and then went
back to his own thoughts.  There was just
so little that it seemed they had available to them.  Andwyn and George seemed quite convinced of
the man’s talents.  Beyond trying to find
him again and kill him while his back was turned, there seemed like nothing
that they would consider advisable.  If
they didn’t come up with something else soon, he might have to order just that…

 

            “Ah…”  Andywn started, then stopped abruptly,
glancing around the table quickly.  His
beady eyes didn’t stay in any one place for too long, but it seemed like he was
trying to make sure that he had everyone’s attention.  Finally, he continued.  “I think I may have happened upon a possible
solution.”

 

            “Well, spit it out,” George
demanded.  “It isn’t like you have much
competition at the moment.”

 

            Andwyn shot him a dirty look, but
turned to Thomas to continue.  “As I see
it, our main problem at the moment is that we’re guessing wildly at why he
might be here.  We really don’t know if
he has any plans to harm you at all, so we are forced into a wild circle of
possibilities which may or may not end up affecting what we really need to deal
with.  I’d say the best way to solve our
problems is to find out what his motives really are.”

 

            “That would make things easier, but
accomplishing that objective brings up its own list of problems,” Thomas
said.  “What assassin in his right mind
would outright state his intent to kill a monarch if asked?”

 

            “Given the right circumstances, Lois
has done similar things before,” Andwyn replied.  “He has been known to take the same job for
multiple employers before.  His first
assassination of note was accomplished by much the same method.  The common people of a small city in the Midlands
were being weighed on heavily by their lord, who seemed to have little better
to do with their money than fill his own coffers.  Lois took it upon himself to organize the
protests against the ruler, then took the assignment to kill the man.  At the same time, however, he used the riots
of the townspeople to convince the lord’s guards that things would be better
with the man gone.  He eventually was
able to convince them to hire him to kill their ruler as well.  All he really had to do was walk straight
through the doors into the throne room and kill the man; by the time he had
finished his sabotage of the ruler, there was no man who would stand for him,
and Lois walked away with two payoffs.”

 

            Thomas nodded slowly.  “I see. 
So, you think we should send someone to hire Lois against me so we can
gauge his reaction?”

 

            “Not just anyone, sire,” the bat
said, smiling a very unsettling smile. 
The rest of the group present drew back slightly, even though two of
them were predators themselves.  “I
suggest that I go and perform this task. 
Lois is a master of conversation; he finds out what people really want
by carefully directing the path of dialogue wherever he wants.  If we sent someone else, they would need to
be thoroughly proven against Lois’ tactics, and it would take time to do so.  As spy master, this sort of thing is well
within my skills, and I am willing to take the assignment if you so wish.”

 

            Thomas was somewhat unsettled by the
idea, but he managed to keep his expressions neutral.  Andwyn had been held at arm’s length for much
of his time as spy master.  Very few
people trusted a man who had so many eyes and ears hidden in the shadows.  Throughout his service, however, Andwyn had
never tried to harm his sovereign.  In
several instances, he had been the first to offer assistance in sticky
situations such as this one was proving to be. 
He had never failed where success was possible, and that in itself
brought Thomas some measure of confidence. 
Between that fact, and the fact that the bat’s assessment of the
situation had been so accurate, Thomas felt that the bat was the only one that
could be trusted for the task, reluctant though he was to entirely justify his
motives.

 

            “I see no other acceptable
alternative,” the horse lord said at length. 
“I put this matter in your capable hands, Andwyn.”  Thomas quickly turned his gaze on Misha and
George, both of which seemed less than pleased by the decision.  His meaningful look was all they needed to
accept his reasoning, although neither submitted willingly.  “Bring me whatever information you find,”
Thomas continued towards Andwyn.  “If you
see valid reason to suspect his motives, take him into custody immediately.  Good luck.”

 

            “Thank you for your confidence, my
liege,” Andwyn said, giving a nod that was his closest approximation of a
bow.  Thomas momentarily winced at the
formal title, but didn’t correct his spy master.  “I will perform my duty tonight, if all goes
well.  If he has not yet returned to his
room by then, I will send men to warn you.”

 

            Thomas nodded.  “Very well. 
With luck, he may have no intentions on my life.  With slightly more, you won’t give him any
ideas.”  Thomas looked meaningfully at
Andwyn, but the bat didn’t flinch.  “If
there is nothing more to discuss, I suggest that we all return to our
responsibilities.”

 

            Thomas stood, and the others
followed him.  The Duke of Metamor wasn’t
quite certain what his responsibilities would entail for the rest of the day,
but now that this inconvenient business was finished for the moment, he meant
to start it by finally breaking his fast.

 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            Lois’ day had been rather
bland.  He had gotten himself
reacquainted with the Deaf Mule, but only briefly.  Although the connection was still present, he
had felt too out of place to really settle into a conversation with any of the
inhabitants.  This concerned him; he knew
that he was likely to be cautious after his encounter with the fox in the
library, but it wasn’t just that.  As he
sat in a chair off to the side in the Mule, whenever he spoke, he felt himself
trying to direct the flow of conversation his own way, as he so often did when
trying to get as much information about a possible job as he could.

 

            This realization had left him in a
bit of a funk.  The free atmosphere of
the Deaf Mule had always invited him to be more open, more free with his
speech, but the people with which he had spoken those many years before were
nowhere to be found, and he found that striking up a conversation in such a
familiar venue felt wrong to him now.

 

            It angered him somewhat, and
confused him even more.  His anger was
due to the fact that the that openness of conversation and familiarity with the
tavern’s inhabitants had been one of the things that he had so missed about the
Keep.  That it was now, at least for the
moment, lost to him gave him no end of questions.  Would he ever regain that familiarity?  Was it even worth his trouble to live in the
Keep and suffer its Curse if so much of what he had called home was lost?  Could he bear to change forms to stay in a
Keep that no longer carried the joy of that time so many years ago?

 

            Lois entered his room quietly.  He had come back a little later than was his
custom, more because he had been walking slowly than by design of any
sort.  He lit a lantern just inside the
door then carried it to the table where his journal sat.  It didn’t cast much light, but it would be
enough to write by.

 

            When he set the lantern down on the
table, however, he noted that there was another lantern there.  He quietly chided himself.  He had left it there the night before, just
before he had gone to the rooftop to think. 
He stood and took the extinguished lantern with him and hung it up
beside the door.

 

            “Hello, Lois.”

 

            Lois suppressed the twitch of motion
that would have brought him full circle with both daggers in hand.  His opponent was behind him and had the
tactical advantage provided by surprise and readiness.  If he was a true threat, he would have made
his move without announcing his intentions.

 

            Sniffing as if in dismissal, Lois
turned and moved smoothly over to the table, eliminating all sign of fear from
his steps.  He sat down at the table,
opened his journal, and had his quill pen dipped and held ready in his hand
before he said anything in response.

 

            “Good evening, to what do I owe the
pleasure of a spy in my room?” Lois asked.

 

            “To your talents, Lois,” the voice
responded.  It was closer; whoever it was
had followed him.

 

            “To my talents?” Lois
responded.  He scratched out the date on
the journal page in front of him, then moved his pen down and took his time
thinking of his first words.  “I have
many talents, true, but to which set do I owe the visit?  My skills as a bounty hunter, scholar,
negotiator…”  Lois shrugged as he came up
with an extra to throw in.  “Money lender
perhaps?”

 

            “No, Lois, none of your better
advertised employments,” the person responded. 
Lois was reasonably certain that the voice was male now, although his
knowledge of the Keep kept other possibilities in view.  “I am speaking of your skills as an assassin,”
the voice clarified.

 

            “You have need of an assassin?” Lois
asked, raising an eyebrow even though the person behind him couldn’t see
it.  “By the look of things, you have
most of the skills yourself.”

 

            A strange, chirping chuckle came
from behind him.  “My skills have already
run their course,” he stated once he was done laughing.  “In my current position, using those skills
in any manner that might be traceable might be harmful to what prestige I have
managed to build in the Keep.”

 

            Lois nodded slightly, thinking.  He made it a point to know the chain of command
in most cities, and Metamor was no exception. 
He had managed to eliminate a good many of the upper echelon as
possibilities for who was currently interrogating him.  That had left a good many less powerful
people, far more than Lois could ever hope to weed through, but the last
declaration helped whittle it down just a little more.

 

            “Not an inconsiderable amount of
power, either,” Lois ventured finally, writing a few more letters on the page
in front of him.  He found his thoughts
on paper were somewhat fragmented, but it gave him the appearance of
nonchalance while he tried to identify the lurker.

 

            “You can understand, then, how I
cannot allow my skills to be used for anything beyond what would seem permissible
within my line of work.”  The person took
Lois’ comment in stride, which was not what the assassin had hoped for, but his
comment had been helpful in its own right.

 

            “So, you look for someone who has
just arrived at the Keep for some reason, and do not resort to using someone
already present,” Lois noted.

 

            “No one present in the Keep
possesses your peculiar genius for the art, Lois,” the person responded.  “Also, the Curse is a wonderful thing in the
hands of a man like you.  You would not
need to run.  Simply strike before the
Curse takes hold and then hide until your form has changed entirely.  You could assume an entirely new identity at
the end of the job, and no one would be the wiser.”

 

            “Except, of course, for you.”

 

            “Such service comes with its
benefits.  Even if I did find out how you
had been changed, or where you had gone into hiding, it would profit me nothing
to reveal the truth.”

 

            “Except, of course, the elimination
of the one person who could finger you as my client, Andwyn,” Lois
declared.  He turned in his chair and
locked eyes with the bat, who now stood just a few steps away.  The bat smirked, seemingly satisfied by Lois’
actions.

 

            “You never fail to impress, Lois,”
the spy chief commented.

 

            Lois ignored his comment and went
back to the question at hand.  “So, you
want me to kill someone.  Who?”

 

            “My lord, the Duke,” Andwyn said,
taking some volume from his voice in case of eavesdroppers.

 

            Lois snorted and turned back to his
page.  “You’re shameless, Andwyn.  No change from when I was here those many
years ago, although possibly in a body better suited for your shadowy deeds.”

 

            Andwyn shrugged off the
comment.  “I did not come here for a
meeting of the mutual admiration guild,” he noted.  “I’m here on business, and you of all people
should know to respect that by now.”

 

            Lois nodded, deep in thought.  “Me of all people…” he mumbled.  “If I didn’t know your methods and motives so
well, I would call that a veiled threat, but I’ve been acquainted with you long
enough to know that is as close as you ever come to removing that veil.”

 

            Andwyn gave a strange sigh, which
seemed to naturally lace itself with a quiet whistle.  “I want this job done, Lois.  I want a yes or no answer, not this drawn out
nonsense.  It profits neither of us at
the current juncture.”

 

            Lois nodded, still thinking.  “I’m still curious as to why you don’t do it
yourself, honestly,” he commented.  He
turned his head around so he could read the bat’s body language.  He hoped it was still near enough to the
human version that the signs would remain obvious.  “After all, your inner circle is still the
only one who know what really happened to Lord Thomas IV.  A very nice trick, being willing to wait for
a slow acting poison to kill him so that it could be disguised as lengthy
illness.”

 

            Andwyn’s posture changed
noticeably.  “I did no such thing!” he
insisted in a hissing voice.

 

            Lois smiled.  “Check and mate, Andwyn.  Tell me, did the Duke put you up to this, or
did you come up with the idea?”

 

            “No such thing!  I seek the death of the Duke of Metamor, and
I have come prepared to pay for it.”

 

            “Andwyn, no one who is truly serious
about such a thing would deny the credit for such a high-profile kill,
especially not with the shock you showed when I suggested it,” Lois
answered.  “You seek answers, to know
whether I am here to kill your liege. 
Your plan has failed, but I will not send you back to your master
without the things you came for.”

 

            Andwyn seemed to have deflated a
little, but he responded nonetheless.  “What
is it?” he asked after a moment of silence.

 

            “Tell Lord Thomas that I seek
residence here.  Tell him that I am
willing to be placed in prison until the Curse holds me if that will ease his
fears, and tell him that, as soon as the Curse takes me, I wish to swear myself
into his service.”

 

            Andwyn nodded.  He seemed satisfied enough, but grudgingly
so.  As Lois remained quiet, he started
to turn and head for the window to leave.

 

            “And Andwyn?” Lois called after
him.  The bat just looked up at the man’s
smug, smiling face.  “I’ve been retired
now for long enough to know that I don’t want to go back.  You can tell the Duke that too, if you like.”

 

            Andwyn nodded, then flapped his
wings and disappeared through the window.

 

            Lois watched him go in silence, then
turned to continue his journal for the day.

 		 	   		  
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