[Mkguild] Inchoate Carillon, Inconstant Cuckold (17 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

Man I've gotten bad about posting this.  My apologies!

Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold
By Charles Matthias



Sir Saulius awoke that morning with many things 
troubling him. There was little he could do about 
the subtle machinations the ram knight had 
seemingly suggested to them. He felt as if the 
ram were sounding them out to determine if he 
could have them as allies against enemies even 
here at Metamor and it made him very nervous.

Yet, at the same time, he also wondered if that 
might not just be a paranoid suspicion brought on 
by the rumors and cautions he had heard about 
this man. Still, one thing the ram knight had 
said lingered in his mind even after all else had 
been dismissed. The notion was both appealing and 
frightening. It carried with it uncertainty and 
love in measures he could not discern. But at the 
very least it was something worth pondering and 
far more appealing than any questions he had about the ram's loyalties.

Even though the sun had not risen yet and the 
morning was illuminated only by the many torches 
and lanterns scattered around the Glen, the rat 
knight did not find his squire in his home or in 
the stables. Both Armivest and Malicon were 
freshly groomed and saddled, so Charles had done 
his duties, but the rat was nowhere to be found.

Sir Saulius sighed heavily as he left the ponies 
and started across to the northern side of the 
Glen commons. He knew where his squire and friend must be.

He found the rat crouched over Ladero's grave 
with eyes shut tight, and his paws blending into 
the cross-shaped tombstone. Saulius was careful 
not to step on his squire's tail that stretched 
out behind him across the cleared ground as he 
crouched down at his side. He put one paw on 
Charles's shoulder and drew it back quickly when 
the flesh and tunic turned into stone beneath his fingers.

“Please,” Charles said in a voice that sounded 
like boulders rubbing against one another. “He's 
the only family I have here. Leave me with him for now.”

“We hath duties,” Saulius reminded him gently.

More and more of the rat's countenance took on 
the chiseled gray of granite. “The marker has 
kept watch over my son's flesh. Leave me with the 
marker for a few minutes more and then I will finish readying our ponies.”

Saulius shook his head as he stood. “Thou canst 
not stay amongst the dead. A few minutes, aye, 
but no more.” His squire's tail was stone now too 
as he stepped over it on his way back to the stables.

----------

To James's irritation he'd been assigned to scout 
with the exact same Glenners. While neither Anson 
the arctic fox nor Ralph the vole were truly 
bothersome – they were companionable enough in 
their own way, although they did keep far too 
close an eye on him – it was their scout leader 
Berchem who dug into his hide like a burr. He 
couldn't quite say what about the skunk bothered 
him – certainly not the scent since he'd long 
grown accustomed to Kayla's fragrance – but he 
longed for the end of the day when he could be rid of the man.

They continued their survey of the lands south of 
the Glen, this time walking along the lake only 
partially covered by ice now, before following 
the river through the narrow valleys that few 
into the hills and eventually to the Metamor 
River. James brought his ice axe this time and 
hung it from his belt loop where the bell had 
been the day before. The bell was buried in the 
bottom of his pack; he'd thought to leave it 
behind after seeing what it had done to the hare, 
but for some reason he couldn't completely part 
himself from it and so it sat in the bottom of 
his pack where it would be safe and present.

The terrain was a little more forgiving that day, 
though many of the rocks were slick with ice from 
the river and the early snow melt. James placed 
his hooves very carefully with each step; he 
would not give either Berchem or Lord Avery an 
excuse to take him off the mission. Charles had 
assured him that one more mistake could cost him 
his place. The donkey would not provide it.

Nor did he. The day wore on with a faint warmth 
permeating the air. The needles on the larch and 
spruce surrounding them glistened with icy drops. 
Birds sang above them and on every side. The 
ice-choked stream babbled as it wound its way 
through tumbled granite and quartz; already the 
banks were rising. Yet, despite the dangers, he 
kept his footing and after a few hours both Anson 
and Ralph gave him no more attention than they did each other.

Berchem continued to check on him, but James did 
his best to pretend that he didn't see the skunk watching him.

They reached a small outcropping of granite 
overlooking a flume through which the river 
quickly descended. The trees dispersed allowing 
them a narrow view of the land south of the Glen. 
They could almost see the towers of Lake 
Barnhardt in the distance, but the intervening 
hills blocked the city from view. Berchem stopped 
and stretched, his long tail lowering nearly to the stone beneath his paws.

“Where to from here?” James asked in a quiet 
voice as he stared at a stand of birch trees 
rising up at the bottom of the flume.

Berchem lowered his arms and gestured at the 
makeshift bridge of stone beneath which the water 
dropped. Beyond the spruce clustered to the edge 
of the stone outcropping, roots digging into what 
soil they could find. “We break for a short meal, 
then we cross the river and return back the other 
way. Anson, Ralph, check around for anything 
unusual. James will prepare something for us while I keep watch here.”

While the fox and vole disappeared into the woods 
on either side of the granite vantage, James 
lowered his pack to the ground and pulled out 
some of the foodstuffs they'd brought. Wrapped in 
some parchment was a bundle of cheese, hard 
bread, and some sausage. This he set aside and 
pulled out a small waterskin. His breath caught 
in his chest when he saw the bell glinting in the 
sunlight at the bottom of his pack. The donkey's 
lips trembled, stretching forward as if hooks 
were pulling them toward the bell, before he was 
able to look away and set his pack aside.

Berchem rested against the edge of the 
outcropping, bow in hand as he scanned the birch 
trees at the bottom of the flume. His tail lay 
back across his legs, the striped tip flitting 
from side to side. James glanced at the skunk 
once and then turned to the food. He cut several 
slices of cheese from the wedge before doing the 
same for the sausage. He then wrapped all of it 
back in the parchment until the others returned.

He glanced at the trees behind them, noting their 
heavy boughs and wide branches and sighed, ears 
waggling behind his head. “I wonder if Baerle and the others are out there.”

Berchem snorted behind him. “Tree scouts don't come this far.”

“But could she see us out here?”

The skunk rolled onto his side and slipped back 
below the lip of the rock outcropping. “No, she 
couldn't. What are you worried about her for anyway?”

“Oh,” James felt a sudden chagrin overtake him. 
He hadn't even realized he'd been talking out 
loud. He glanced down into his hands and spread 
his hoof-tipped fingers a little. “Oh, just, hoping that she's okay.”

Berchem studied him for a moment before rolling 
his eyes. “Forget about her, James. She's not 
worth it.” He crawled back up to the drop-off and 
continued watching the birch. “Now keep your eyes 
and ears open. Let's hope there's nothing out there except our friends.”

James was too stunned to move. What had the skunk 
just said about Baerle? That she was not worth 
it? James felt his heart burn within him and his 
one hand wrapped about his sword hilt. Was there 
anything she wasn't worth. He shifted about on 
the granite block, tensing his hooves beneath 
him. He could feel the bell thrumming in his bag 
nearby. His eyes locked on the skunk's back. 
Berchem concentrated on the woods before him; 
there was nothing to keep James from acting.

The donkey stood, gingerly drawing his sword, so 
softly and so gently that it did not even rasp as 
it left the sheath. His nostrils flared and his 
tail flicked from side to side, while powerful 
muscles coated in gray hide rippled beneath his 
tunic, breeches, and cloak. The sword felt 
comfortable in his grip, yet it felt wrong as 
well. He took a careful step forward, hoof 
finding good purchase against the granite.

A crackle in the brush to his left made James 
spin and lower his blade. Anson the white-furred 
fox emerged from behind one of the Spruce with 
his ears lowered and a wriggle in his black nose. 
“Looks clear to the east. And is that Jurmas's 
fresh sausage I smell?” His tail wagged as he looked at James.

“Oh... uh... aye, it is.” He sheathed his sword 
and lowered his ears, couching back over his 
pack. “It's ready. Just... we're just waiting for Ralph.”

He cast a quick glance back at the skunk, but 
Berchem was still propped against the 
outcropping. James chided himself on his 
foolishness. What good would his sword have done 
him anyhow? He could feel the throbbing, the very 
tolling of his bell deep within his pack. His 
lips quivered and his heart beat faster. There 
were much better ways to learn what the skunk meant by his foul imprecations.

Tolling.

He smiled and curled his right hand, imagining 
the haft of the bell rubbing against his palm.

Tolling.

“There's cheese and bread to go with it,” James 
said as he lifted the paper wrapped food. “Would you like some too, Berchem?”

The skunk waved one arm at him. “When Ralph's here.”

James nodded and handed some of the cheese and 
sausage to the fox. He took a bit of bread for 
himself and rolled the morsel around on his 
tongue and between his flat teeth. He swallowed 
and added, “I have it for you, Berchem, whenever you're ready.”

Tolling.

His ears twitched and he fondly patted the bottom of his pack with one hand.

----------

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

Charles Matthias


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