[Mkguild] Dominion of the Hyacinth (4/10)

[C. Matthias]

Part 4 of Dominion of the Hyacinth!

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May 4, 708 CR


Rickkter growled under his breath, a sort of 
hissing snarl that sent flecks of spittle 
hurtling across his long tongue, past his jowls 
and short fangs, and onto the object of his 
irritation. Before him was a rather plain wooden 
chest with an ordinary key lock that he normally 
kept in his bookshelf behind the heavy and 
mind-numbingly verbose compendium of treaties on 
developments in warfare over the last few 
thousand years in the principalities of 
Sonngefilde and Kitchlande. Its plain exterior 
belied the intricate syzygy of enchantments that 
kept industrious thieves from pilfering its contents.

At least when there were contents worth pilfering.

The raccoon mage stilled the growl in his voice 
and slammed the chest shut. “I guess it's time to make money again.”

The chest wasn't completely empty, but the small 
satchel of coins would, with the way he hated 
frugality, especially during the warmer months, 
be expended before the Summer arrived. After 
waking in December to find his body completely 
emaciated and his muscles nearly useless he'd 
been left with no choice but to live off the 
savings he'd amassed in the previous year. While 
it had been almost two months now that he'd 
regained his strength, he'd demurred from several 
offers from both George and Misha in order to 
hone his skills and resume his studies; and of 
course there was Kayla whom he had spent a great deal more time with.

The other reason was that he had been watching 
for some terrible threat and he hated to be away 
from the Keep until he was sure that threat was 
past. Marzac had already tried to claim his 
beloved Kayla, and he had heard of what it had 
done to both James and Lindsey. Vigilance was 
necessary to ensure that it did not strike again. 
But the almost empty chest left him little 
choice; he was going to have to start accepting 
the offers for mercenary work from George and 
Misha more often if he hoped to enjoy his Summer 
at Metamor; or worse, translation work for the 
library. Marzac had stolen his last Summer away 
and he would tear down heaven and earth if 
something as banal as finances did the same for his next!

He had just enough time to shut the chest and 
return it to its hiding place when he heard a 
scratching at his door. Rickkter straightened, 
stretched his back, and then walked to the door, 
his claws clicking lightly against the stone. “Who is it?”

“It's Weyden.”

He could not recall the hawk soldier ever calling 
on him before and so immediately tensed. Still, 
Weyden was a good man and a steady soldier which 
was enough for the raccoon to grant him respect. He opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” Rickkter said with a nod of his 
head to the hawk. “What may I do for you?'

Weyden leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Did you destroy it?”

Rickkter blinked and flicked his tail, brow furrowing. “Did I destroy what?”

Weyden sighed and lowered his beak. “The hyacinth.”

His heart thumped. “Hyacinth? What do you know of any hyacinth?”

“Jessica planted one in Lake Barnhardt. I told 
you about it two days ago. You were supposed to 
go there and destroy it yesterday.”

Rickkter shook his head and ground his molars. “I 
don't remember that at all. But if a hyacinth was 
planted then I would forget things. Who planted it?”

“I just said... my wife, Jessica.”

“How do you know this?”

“Two days ago I stopped you and Kayla at the Deaf 
Mule and I told you all of my suspicions about 
Marzac corrupting my wife. She's doing very 
strange things lately, and it scares me. I told 
you especially about Kuna who I'm sure you've 
already forgotten about again. Are we going to 
have to go through this whole thing again?”

“I've never heard of anyone named Kuna.”

“I see the answer is yes.” Weyden's wings and 
tail slumped and he sighed. “He was the 
headmaster of the Mage's Guild until last month. 
Jessica turned him into a child and nobody has 
seen him since and nobody remembers him either! I 
can wait two minutes and tell you about him again 
to see if you've forgotten him again.”

Rickkter shook his head back and forth and 
gestured for the hawk to come inside. “I need 
something to write all of this down so I won't 
forget. And it is better you tell me here where 
there won't be any errant ears to listen in.”

Weyden hopped into the room, his long talons 
scratching at the stone as they tried to find 
some purchase. He glanced around the room with a 
quick sweep of his head, and then narrowed in 
disappointment. “I don't have a perch,” Rickkter 
admitted as he bent over his desk and tapped his 
ink bottle to loosen the ink. “I don't usually have avian guests.”

“I can manage. Most of the time I have to stand 
without a perch.” Weyden watched him for a moment 
as he folded his red-banded wings behind his 
back. Rickkter couldn't help but admire his 
speckled feathers, sharp talons, hooked beak, and 
fierce golden eyes. No matter how many times he 
saw an avian Keeper he was always struck by their 
otherness. It was a sensation that went beyond 
anything he saw in any who had become mammals 
like himself no matter how unusual, or even those 
who had become reptilian like that insufferable 
billiards champion Copernicus. The counter-curse 
that was cast to ameliorate Nasoj's spell gave 
the birds their human size back, as well as some 
number of wings claws that could serve as hands, 
but the posture of wings that granted them flight 
kept them more like the animals they resembled 
than the humans they were in spirit and at birth. 
Only those rare few who had become insects or 
some other oddity left him feeling as unsettled or more by their presence.

Rickkter set the ink bottle down on the desk and 
feeling a trifle unnerved by his guest's intense 
stare turned to him and asked, “So what can I do for you, Weyden?”

The hawk took a deep breath, swelling out his 
chest and pushing his wings out a foot from his 
back, and then exhaled with an almost hopeless 
sigh. “You forgot again.” And then, in a voice 
that rose from a guttural whisper to a piercing 
screech, he continued, his beak widening with 
each word. “Rickkter, my wife is being corrupted 
by Marzac and has planted a hyacinth at Lake 
Barnhardt! Write it down before I have to tell you again!”

He blinked in surprise, and then turned to his 
desk to see the ink well, the parchment, and the 
long peacock quill with scintillating patterns in 
blue and green. “A hyacinth? Damn! How many times 
have you told me?” He lifted the quill, dabbed it 
in the ink, and wrote the name of that accursed 
flower across the top of the parchment in large 
letters. Beneath it he added 'Marzac' and 'Jessica' in slightly smaller script.

The hawk quieted, but the tension strained his 
voice so taut and filled it with such malice that 
it made him sound more aggressive than Misha when 
his temper snapped. “Twice so far today. I told 
you two days ago and had to repeat myself several 
times before you wrote it all down.”

“I wrote it down already? How did I forget?” 
Rickkter paused in his writing to let the ink dry.

“I don't know. You were going to visit the rats 
to charter a wagon to Lake Barnhardt when I left.”

“Something must have happened,” Rickkter mused, 
glancing at the words on the page. It was hard to 
believe that Jessica could have been so corrupted 
to have planted a hyacinth, or that the hyacinth 
had already gained so much power that it could 
erase itself from their minds in only a minute or 
two. When Yonson had planted the first hyacinth 
it had been in the ground for almost eight months 
before it had been discovered. He hadn't had as 
much trouble remembering that plant as he did the 
current one. It felt like trying to grasp an eel 
slick with slime with paws coated in thick oil.

“This new hyacinth couldn't have been planted 
until after Jessica returned from Marzac. I can 
remember Yonson's hyacinth in great detail. It 
shouldn't be able to make us forget anything from 
before its planting.” Rickkter brushed the end of 
the quill over his nose making his whiskers 
twitch this way and that. “But how? And where did she plant it?”

“Lake Barnhardt. It is where I was stationed when 
she returned from Marzac. She stayed with me 
there and must have found the small box I kept 
the hyacinth bulbs in. Yonson had me rescue what 
I could of the hyacinth after you burned it. 
There were two bulbs... I told you this before.”

“And I've forgotten. Tell me it all again and I 
will write it down. I am sorry, but since you 
seem to be immune for... some reason... this is a 
position you're going to be stuck in until we can 
get this situation resolved. Preferably the sooner the better.”

“Then may I suggest a few extra copies this time? 
To ensure this won't happen again.”

“A good idea, yes. And when that's done we're 
going to go visit somebody who can help us coordinate and who won't forget.”

“Why won't he forget? Everyone but me is 
forgetting and I am taking a terrible risk in coming to you!”

“Because he won't know why he's doing it.” 
Rickkter dipped the quill into the ink and sat 
down to ease his back. His striped tail flicked 
from side to side and his left ear twitched with 
nervous intensity. He hated Marzac. “Now tell me 
everything you know about this hyacinth and Jessica's corruption.”

Weyden settled his wings and checked his anger as 
he spoke. The raccoon war mage listened and copied every detail he could.

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Rickkter did not often have occasion to frequent 
hallways in Metamor that ran near the apex of a 
much larger arched hall. To his and Weyden's 
right they could peer out over Duke Thomas's 
throne room and audience chamber, while to their 
left was hard, cold stone. Long tapestries were 
secured to the railings and then to the ceiling 
above them with sturdy ropes, casting them in a 
strange gloom that cloaked both floor and ceiling 
but left their chests and faces exposed to the light rising from below.

Even with the incongruity of where the strange 
inconsistent architecture of the Keep brought 
them to go from one place to another, it was not 
enough to prevent his destination from washing 
from his thoughts every dozen steps or so. With 
Weyden – who was curiously unaffected by the 
forgetfulness of the hyacinth – at his side he 
did not need to fear being led astray. Still, the 
bird had to nudge him with a gentle wing from 
time to time to keep him from peering out over 
the throne room to admire the view.

Once they turned away from the upper arch down a 
corridor that ended in a single wooden door the 
issue of his memory became moot. There was 
nowhere else to go. The door was moderately 
proportioned with only a small brass plate 
affixed to the center identifying the occupant's 
name and his position within Metamor's court. 
Rickkter glanced at Weyden who kept a satchel 
over his shoulder; the satchel contained 
something important but by this time the raccoon 
had completely forgotten what it was. The hawk 
only nodded his head. This must be where they had intended to go.

Rickkter hated asking this man for a favor, but 
he must have decided to come here because he 
could help them. He rapped the door with his knuckles and sighed.

“Come in; the door is unlocked.”

Rickkter lifted the latch and pushed the door in. 
The single room beyond was rather small, almost a 
storage closet in size, with shelves stacked with 
ledgers and organized parchments, decanters of 
liquid of every color imaginable, stoppered 
ceramic jars, and even a small pillow stuffed 
with thin metal pins. A single latched window was 
set against the ceiling and out of reach at the 
other end of the room beneath of which was a 
spotless brass platter whose purpose Rickkter did 
not wish to speculate on. The ceiling was not 
fashioned from stone but was a trellis of iron 
rafters of various sizes. Hanging from these was 
Andwyn the bat and an elaborate crossbow system 
with multiple bolts pointing at their heads.

“Oh, it's you,” Andwyn said as he reached over 
and pulled a small lever with his wing; the 
crossbow lifted back into the trellis where it 
was hidden from casual inspection. “I'm sorry 
about that, but I wasn't warned of your coming.”

“I had heard you were paranoid,” Rickkter noted 
as he stepped cautiously into the cramped room. “But threatening guests?”

“I spent six years living as a bat in Nasoj's 
castle. One does not treat guests well there.”

He snorted and nodded. “In sooth. Do you have 
some time? I am apparently here to ask you a favor.”

Andwyn shifted about, his feet carrying him from 
one iron hook to the next, backing toward the 
window to give the two of them room to enter. “A 
favor? Apparently? Do you know why you're here?”

“No, but Weyden does. Close the door.”

Weyden nudged the door shut with his wing and 
then presented the satchel to the raccoon. “The 
letter you wrote to remind you what you want to know is on top.”

“Thank you.” Rickkter flipped open the satchel, 
shielding it with his body so Andwyn wouldn't 
see, and then pulled out a folded letter he'd 
scrawled the words 'Read me' on the front top of. 
He opened the letter and scanned the words. His 
claws dug at the edge of the parchment in fury as he remembered.

He licked his jowls and then lifted his eyes once 
more to the bat. “Aye, a favor. And you cannot 
know the reasons for what I am about to ask you. 
Do not even ask why. The less you know of the 
why, the better chance we will be successful.”

The bat folded his wings over his chest and 
widened his small eyes. “You wish me to do 
something for you but not to know why. Such 
favors cannot come freely. And if I learn they 
have been in any way disloyal to the Duke, and I 
will learn you can be assured of that, the cost may be more than you can pay.”

“It is not disloyal I assure you,” Rickkter 
replied. His few exposures to the chief spymaster 
for Metamor had convinced him that he was a man 
who would die by his own hand rather than betray 
his liege, and woe to any one who dared try. 
Andwyn did not make threats. He only stated the 
terms of the arrangement as they had to be in his 
mind. He had no time for anything else. Misha and 
his friends might not understand that, seeing in 
the bat's words threats and condescension which 
were never intended as such, but Rickkter did.

“Then what is the favor you seek?”

“You have a system of couriers that you use to 
deliver information around and into and out of 
the Valley,” Rickkter said with a flick of his 
tail and a lowering of his ears. He wondered if 
the bat would deny it or become angry at his 
secrets being exposed but the bat remained still 
with attentive ears. “I want to use those 
couriers to pass along messages to select 
individuals tonight. Doubly-sealed messages; the 
couriers should not know to whom the messages are 
meant until they arrive. Can you do this?”

Andwyn plucked his snout with the end of one 
wing. “If the individuals to whom they are sent 
are living near a courier post then aye it can be 
done. I will need to know where the messages are to be sent.”

“Fair enough. Also, the messages must seem to be 
from Duke Thomas.” Andwyn pulled his wings even 
tighter about his chest. “No one is to know the 
reason why they are receiving their orders until 
they are assembled where I want them to be assembled.”

“The cost for this favor is rising.”

“I know,” Rickkter replied with a hiss. “And if 
there were any other way I would not have come. But can this be done?”

“You say I cannot know the reason why. But I must 
know; how long will this venture of yours take?”

“It should be over tomorrow. One way or another.”

“Then in two day's time I expect you to return 
here and report on the success of your venture, 
its reasons, and its consequences. After which 
time, we will discuss ways in which you can return the favor to Metamor.”

Rickkter ground his teeth together but forced himself to nod. “Agreed.”

“Good. Now, you need official instructions 
directing how many people where?” The bat plucked 
a small fruit from the shelf-top and began to 
chew its ripe sinews. Juice dribbled down his snout.

“Six letters. Three should go to Glen Avery, one 
to Tarrelton, and two more here in Metamor Keep. 
It would be best if they all arrived early in the 
morning. Can you manage that?”

“Six copies of a simple order? Of course. To 
where will I be sending them? I assume you want 
them to refrain from discussing anything with anyone?'

“Instruct them so, not that I think it will work 
with everyone.” He was fairly confidant that 
Charles and James would talk with each other on 
their way down from the Glen, but the rest would 
keep their tongues behind their teeth.

“It will only take me a few minutes to pen such a 
letter. But where am I sending them?”

Rickkter glanced at the sheet in his paws. He 
could feel Weyden stirring behind him. The hawk 
was nervous and anxious to return to his duties. 
“Have everyone report to the gates of Lake 
Barnhardt and to wait there for further 
instructions. No one is to enter the city until 
instructions have been given. Use a secret 
word...” he turned to the hawk and cocked him an inquisitive glance.

“Beehive,” Weyden blurted and then shrugged his wings.

“Beehive it is,” Rickkter said with a nod. It was 
as good as anything else. And with no connection 
to what was written on his paper, they were not likely to forget it.

Andwyn gestured to one of the shelves on the 
other side of the room. “You will find fresh 
parchment there between the blue and green books. 
Mark the names of the individuals you wish to 
send to Lake Barnhardt. Once each letter has been 
written you may seal them with the wax there.”

Rickkter found the parchment just as the bat said 
he would. The small desk the bat kept was as tall 
as his shoulders but he found ample quills and 
ink. He quickly scribbled the names on each and 
then blew across the ink until it was dry. Once 
all six were complete he turned them over so the 
names would not be visible, stepped back by the 
door, and patted the hawk on the shoulder. Weyden 
sighed through his beak and dug his talons into 
the stone floor, scratching it and his talons.

Andwyn's feet carried him across the trellis over 
to the desk where he proceeded to unfold his 
wings and grasp the quill with his wing claws. 
More nimble than Rickkter would have expected, he 
had to admire the bat at work. His penmanship was 
crisp and clear and within only a few minutes he 
had constructed six identical letters conveying 
exactly what Rickkter had requested. Rickkter 
took and folded each in turn as the bat finished 
with them, using wax and a signet ring sitting on 
the bat's desk to leave the impression of the 
Hassan horsehead heraldry upon them.

“Now,” Andwyn said, pointing with one wing toward 
a second bookshelf. “You will find larger sheets 
of parchment there on the second shelf from the 
top. You can fold the letters within and seal 
them a second time. Do not mark them, but simply 
tell me where each will go and I will see to it that they arrive tonight.”

Rickkter found the much larger sheets of 
parchment as the bat described. He placed the 
three letters for Glen Avery in the center of the 
first sheet and folded it around them before 
sealing it shut with the wax. He did the same for 
the letter to Tarrelton, and the two for Metamor 
Keep. It was strange to send an order from Duke 
Thomas to himself, but that was the only way he 
knew he could guarantee that he would arrive. He 
had to give himself a reason the hyacinth wouldn't make him forget.

He could only hope it worked.

The bat took each of the doubly-sealed letters 
and nibbled on the edge before dropping them on 
the shelf next to his half-eaten fruit. “Is there 
anything else I can do for you?”

Rickkter turned and gave Weyden a querying look. 
The hawk shook his head. “Nay,” Rickkter replied 
with a relieved sigh. “That is all.”

“Good.” Andwyn's jaws turned downward in an 
upside-down smile. It was unsettling even to the 
raccoon. “And a word of warning; you will find my 
quarters quite different in two days.”

“Of course.” Rickkter bobbed his head. “In two days then.”

Rickkter and Weyden happily closed the bat's door 
behind them as they left. They walked in silence 
for a minute, the paper still clutched tightly in 
the raccoon's paws. His eyes strayed from the 
script to the railing overlooking the Duke's 
throne room only to be drawn back after a few 
seconds. “You should get back to your patrol now, Weyden.”

“I know. Here's your satchel.” Weyden slipped the 
bag from over his wing and offered it. Rickkter 
took the strap in one paw and hefted it over his 
shoulders. He was grateful he hadn't had to offer 
the bat any of the various interesting trinkets 
or written promises he'd brought. It did make him 
wonder how much the bat suspected.

“Do you think it will work?” Weyden asked.

“I don't know,” Rickkter growled under his 
breath. He glanced at the sheet of paper and 
growled even more as he recalled exactly why he 
had come to see the bat. “But it better.”

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

Charles Matthias