[Mkguild] Felsah's Little School (2/7)

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School
by Charles Matthias

Part 2!


“I'm so sorry I didn't warn Misha off in time,” 
Felsah said to Akaleth as the human priest 
settled onto the cold stone floor of Felsah's 
monastic cell in the small set of living quarters 
behind the Cathedral. He had a little window 
overlooking the gardens and city to the south of 
the castle, as well as the mountain ranges on 
either side of the valley if he stuck his snout 
through the narrow opening. The room was only 
barely apportioned, with a sleeping pallet suited 
to his diminutive stature, a chest with two 
drawers for his robes and linens, a writing table 
with several letters, some sealed, some opened 
but folded, and a little shelf atop of which he'd 
placed several books. A yew was positioned above 
the pallet and the air smelled of animal musk and 
altar incense. Little bits of wood littered the 
ground around the desk which Felsah hastily began cleaning.

“When we went to Marigund the guards tried to 
kill me before we even entered the city gates. 
This was kinder and to be fair to myself, not 
undeserved. I was horrible to Misha and his friends when we first came here.”

“And this time?” Felsah asked, as he bent over 
and swept the last of the wood chips into one paw 
before dumping them in a copper pail with several 
other sticks poking out the top. His long tail danced in the air behind him.

Akaleth sighed and gently struck his breast with 
his fist. “I was rude and disdainful. It is a 
hard habit to break. Eli's grace has at least shown me my lack of charity.”

“Misha is a good man,” Felsah added as he brushed 
his paws clean. He hopped a single step and then 
relaxed on his haunches. “When Madog brought me 
here last Autumn for healing, Misha came with 
that axe of his to welcome me. Madog stopped him. 
We have talked a few times since I came to live 
here and have become as I am now. He has been 
enormously helpful to Father Hough and has kept 
the handful of Rebuilders who make Metamor their 
home from causing any trouble for us. Still, I suggest you keep your distance.”

“I have antagonized him enough and for that I am sorry.”

“He will forgive you if you show your good nature.”

“Speaking of good nature, Zachary is a most 
interesting fellow. He showed no fear at seeing a 
Questioner; he was more protective.”

“He protected me from a quartet of Rebuilders 
when I first came into the city as you see me now.”

“Very curious. Have you suggested to him that he 
should discern whether he is called to be a 
Yesbearn knight? You do not have one dedicated to you and you should.”

Felsah tapped his claws together and shook his 
head. “He is only recently changed and is still 
trying to learn his place. I will mention it to 
him as something to consider, but for now I think 
he is best where he is.” He leaned forward a 
little and in a quieter voice added, “Now I know 
the accommodations are more than suitable for 
Kashin and Czestadt, but what of this Hugo? Your 
letter informing me of your visit was a welcome 
one, but there was so much there that was hard to 
understand. Did Hugo really try to kill you?”

“A terrible misunderstanding on his part,” 
Akaleth replied as he looked at the mouse and 
tried to imagine the dark-haired human with the 
simple but clear-seeing eyes that he had once 
counted as his firmest friend. He hoped the 
distance and the change in body would never 
impair that friendship. “He repented and for that 
I was able to negotiate a lighter sentence. He is 
in my charge for the next three years. He is also 
a good man, very gentle and kind. I am teaching 
him the Suielish tongue so he can understand the liturgy.”

“Hugo is also a Rebuilder? That would explain his discomfort at Vespers.”

“How many rodents are there at Metamor?” Akaleth 
asked, gesturing with one hand toward Felsah's 
new body. “We met Kindle the mouse on the way here, and now you.”

“Quite a few here in the Keep and throughout the 
valley. I've met a few others myself, but only a 
few. Do you remember the name Charles Matthias?”

“The writer? The one who had been friends with Krenek Zagrosek?”

“That's him. He is a rat and a knight living in a 
little forest village to the north called Glen 
Avery. He, his wife and four children, all of 
whom are rats, live inside a large tree. Before 
he moved to the Glen, he hosted a monthly 
gathering for rodents at the Deaf Mule, an Inn 
and tavern popular with those living in or 
working in the castle. They still have it from 
time to time, and with so many new rodents 
amongst the refugees from Bradanes, they are 
trying to find a larger venue. I've even been 
invited, and I have thought about attending but I'm not sure.”

“Do you like being a jerboa?”

“It has wonders and challenges. I discover new 
things all the time. But enough of me. You told 
me in your letter that you would be coming here, 
but you did not explain why. I am grateful, more 
than you can guess, for your visit. But why did 
you come? You knew that the other Metamorians would not be happy to see you.”

Akaleth sighed and leaned back as far as he was 
able without falling over and let his gaze rise 
to the yew on the wall. He pondered the tortured 
and agonized flesh of Yahshua and hoped that 
there was at least an iota of worth in the 
suffering his own torn and reddened flesh had 
endured. “I am here because Patriarch Geshter is 
very interested in Metamor Keep. The news that 
has come from this place has been mixed. His 
Holiness wants a first hand account of this place and its spiritual needs.”

“That is why I was sent and stationed here,” 
Felsah pointed out with a single up-raised claw. 
“I have been writing letters for a few weeks now 
reporting what I see to the Bishop, to the Grand 
Questioner, and to his Holiness.”

“I believe,” Akaleth replied in a low voice, 
“that he wishes me to carry back those messages 
which cannot be written in letters.”

Felsah's whiskers twitched and his large eyes 
narrowed, almost squeezing out either side of his 
head, an expression that Akaleth wasn't sure was 
supposed to be intimidating or thoughtful. “You 
mean, you're here about Vinsah.”

“If you have learned anything I can safely carry 
that back with me. Everyone wants the 
excommunication lifted but we must be sure that 
it can be. We must be sure that it was the 
corruption directing the excommunication and not that it was deserved.”

But Felsah shook his head. “I have to ask you not 
to speak on Vinsah. There are things I am still 
learning. If anyone knew what I know right now 
they would never lift the excommunication.”

“What do you mean by that? So Vinsah did return safely to Metamor?”

“He did,” Felsah admitted with a long sigh. “But 
something in him has changed; he's not the same 
man we once knew. He's not the same man I bled for.”

“What has he done?”

“He believes that he is doing what Patriarch 
Akabaieth and the Spirit Most Holy were directing 
him to do. He brought all of Patriarch 
Akabaieth's journals with him and gave them to 
Father Hough for safekeeping. He and I have been 
reviewing them to try to discern what he thought 
he saw in them that led him to make that 
unbelievable choice. I wanted you to know that 
before I tell you so that you will not think it 
something he did out of spite; I do not believe 
that at all.” Felsah paused and took a deep 
breath. Akaleth used to grow impatient when 
others did everything they could not to answer 
his questions, but he knew that Felsah would only delay with good cause.

The jerboa lifted his snout, a measure of dignity 
appearing on his jowls and large ears. “When 
Bishop Verdane brought me to Metamor Keep we 
surveyed the valley and I kept an attentive eye 
and ear open hoping that I would hear news of 
Vinsah, but I heard nothing, not even a hint or 
whisper of his whereabouts. Some asked me if I 
had heard of Vinsah arriving at Yesulam, but only 
a few. I told them what I could, but did not 
speak of his excommunication; it was clear that 
they had not heard of it. During the plague I was 
trapped outside of the Keep and so contented 
myself with assisting Father Purvis in Lorland as 
he adjusted to his new parish and his new shape. 
I also had to adjust to my new shape.

“Once the quarantine was lifted I returned here 
to Metamor and spoke with Father Hough. He told 
me that Vinsah had returned a few days before the 
Yule, and what had become of him. I immediately 
rushed to confirm this, and sadly I did. 
Vinsah...” Felsah sighed and shook his head, eyes 
narrowing with regret, “Vinsah has elected to 
become an acolyte in the Lothanasi temple.”

Akaleth opened his mouth, failed to utter even a 
sound, and closed his mouth again. For several 
seconds he sat on the cold stone floor, his legs 
and thighs numb from its cool touch even through 
his thick Questioner robe and linens, capable 
only of staring at the robed desert mouse as he 
tried to conjure an image of the raccoon Bishop 
bowing in obeisance before the Lightbringer 
demons. He could not make himself do so.

A distant bell tolled the changing of the hours 
and a cool breeze poured through the window to 
flicker the lamp. Shadows danced along the walls 
while his host turned to lower a small curtain 
over the window. The afternoon sky had begun to 
fall into the starry depths of night, but the 
fading red glaze across the mountains was 
replaced by a simple mosaic of flowers and leaves 
with the Questioner cross in the middle. Akaleth 
turned his gaze toward the stack of books near 
the desk. “Are those Patriarch Akabaieth's journals?”

“Some of them,” Felsah replied with a nod. He 
hopped toward the stack and rested a paw with 
long fingers and short claws on the topmost book. 
“Father Hough has the rest. I spend a few hours 
every day reading them and taking notes, trying 
to learn all that Vinsah would have seen. He 
doesn't even call himself Vinsah anymore. He says his name is now Elvmere.”

“That sounds Sathmoran.”

“It is, though a very ancient and archaic name 
very rarely used now. I have tried learning more 
about it in the Keep's library, but there is so 
much there, and the organization!” This last he 
said as if the word were wholly inappropriate to 
describe reality. “To be charitable, it is not as 
rigorous as the library at St. Kephas. I have not 
found anything I can use yet, but I will continue to try.”

Akaleth nodded and pursed his lips. “I will have 
to reveal this on my return to Yesulam. Patriarch 
Geshter will believe his excommunication a valid 
one; apostasy is... there is nothing I can do to 
protect him. And why should I?”

“There has to be some explanation for it!” Felsah insisted.

“To exonerate him or to understand him? Do you 
pursue this because you wish to save Vinsah's 
soul or to make your suffering to cover his escape have meaning?”

Felsah's tail curled around his legs and he 
gingerly picked up the tuft and began rifling 
through it with his claws as if he were combing 
it. “Aye, I am tempted to try to justify my 
suffering. But I want to save Vinsah too. I 
just... the only path before me is to read these 
journals and hope to learn why he has done what 
he's done. If I know that, then perhaps there is some way I can reach him.”

“I will pray that you do, and pray that Vinsah's 
eyes are opened once more to the truth. You have 
perhaps six months at best to peruse these 
journals yourself. Once Patriarch Geshter learns 
of them he will want them delivered to Yesulam.”

“You won't take them with you now?” Felsah asked, 
dropping his tail tuft in surprise.

“If you do learn anything that can help save 
Vinsah, I want you to learn it first. You can do 
more for Vinsah here than any of us can do for 
him in Yesulam, at least for now.” Akaleth 
uncrossed his legs and stretched each in turn. He 
grunted and patted his stomach. “Now, it would be 
good to share a meal together, and perhaps you 
can show me what you have learned from these 
journals so far. There will be plenty of time for other matters tomorrow.”

The jerboa bobbed his head up and down and 
shifted the top volume from the stack and carried 
it in his thin arms. “I have marked a few entries 
in this journal I think you will find very 
interesting. Read them while I see about 
something to eat.” After setting the book down, 
he hopped toward the single door to his cell and 
then chittered, glanced back over his shoulder, 
“It is very good to see you again, my friend.”

Akaleth smiled. “And you, my friend.”

----------

“Bring us a pair of meads and some stew,” Misha 
said to the young cat woman dressed in a tunic 
cut rather lower on the cleavage than Caroline 
ever would. “You don't happen to have any muffins still, do you?”

But the feline only shook her head. “Nay, they 
sold out an hour ago. You'll have to wait until 
tomorrow when we have another fresh batch. We do 
have fresh loafs of bread and biscuits from this 
morning that we can warm for you.”

“That will do fine,” Misha replied with a curt 
nod of his snout. The young woman almost sashayed 
between the tables back toward where the auruch 
Donny was filling mazers with the latest brew for 
the patrons clustered around the long bar near 
the pool table. Misha turned his gaze away after 
the second flick of long tail, and shook his 
head, chiding himself for even getting to the second flick.

“All right,” Rickkter groused as he leaned back 
against the wall, their little table at the Deaf 
Mule well sheltered from casual listeners. The 
raccoon was running his claws over his neck fur 
as if he were still checking for tufts cut free 
by the ensorceled blades. “I think it's time you 
told me how you knew who that Questioner and his entourage were.”

“And time you tell me what you saw when you 
looked at that Questioner,” Misha pointed out 
with a grunt. “And how you knew that Yesbearn and how he knew you.”

“Fair enough,” Rickkter replied as he crossed his 
arms, dark eyes peering up at the ceiling. 
Lanterns swung from the rafters bringing a warm 
illumination to the tavern. The crowd was large 
that evening, with more than a dozen clustered 
around the pool table as the lizard Copernicus 
mercilessly dispatched challenger after 
challenger, and twice that many gathered near the 
bar to drown the weariness of a day's labor in 
the warmth of a good tankard of ale. The tables 
were mostly filled with an assortment of 
soldiers, merchants, and day laborers all of whom 
were engrossed in their own conversations. The 
nearest two tables to their own were filled with 
other members of the Long Scouts, affording the 
two of them a chance to speak freely.

Misha had suggested they talk in his office back 
at Long House, but Rickkter would have none of 
that. The fox owed him a meal and this was where 
he wanted it. Not that Misha minded; Donny's 
cooks were excellent, even if they didn't have any muffins that evening.

Rickkter narrowed his eyes, but did not lower his 
gaze from the lantern over their table. “The 
Yesbearn knight is a man named Czestadt. He is 
from eastern Sonngefilde and when I joined the 
Kankoran he was already advanced in rank.”

“So he is a battle mage?”

“Of sorts. He cannot summon fire, ice, or 
anything of that sort. He has one real magical 
skill, but he is a consummate master of it. 
Swords. If it is a bladed weapon he can wield it 
even if he isn't touching it. That's how he put 
those swords to our necks. If he'd meant to kill 
us we wouldn't be here talking; at best we'd be 
at Coe's having stitches sewn into our flesh, but more likely we'd be dead.”

“He is that powerful?”

Rickkter shrugged and finally lowered his snout, 
casting a quick glance at the other Longs nearby. 
“Yes and no. It has been more than a decade since 
last I saw him; I didn't recognize him at first, 
not until he used the swords. Had I known it was 
him, he never would have been able to do it. I'd 
have stopped him. I did stop him once I had a 
chance, but I think he was more interested in making a point than in fighting.”

Now it was Misha's turn to cross his arms. “What point would that be?”

“That fighting them was going to cost lives. Aye, 
I could have killed Czestadt... eventually. 
But... let me tell more of his past first. He...” 
Rickkter stopped when he saw the cat woman 
returning with a pair of mazers filled to the 
brim with a sweet and hearty smelling mead. She 
smiled to them both and the raccoon could have 
swore that she purred at him; this feline was 
only barely old enough to deserve the title of 
woman and it seemed that her youthful nature was 
getting the better of her. If she wasn't careful 
a drunk fool might bed her and despoil her forever.

He sipped at the mead, savoring the aftertaste of 
honey, while wondering why he had even cared 
enough to ponder the foolish choices of some 
young woman. The answer floated into his mind 
with the rapidity of a spring flower's perfume: 
Kayla. The comely young skunk had won his heart 
and it seemed, civilized him in ways he hadn't 
expected. A part of him knew he should be 
irritated by this, but all he could do was 
imagine a sweet melody hanging in the air as he 
shared some succulent morsel with her while 
laying on the soft grass with a moonlit lake 
radiating a silver glow in their fur.

A moment later the orange tabby-colored feline 
girl returned with bowls of fresh stew, the meat 
scent driving them both to salivate, as well as a 
small basket with fresh biscuits reeking of 
butter and the bite of walnut. Misha wasted no 
time in shoveling an inviting chunk of potato 
dripping with broth into his snout, while 
Rickkter sampled one of the soft carrots, chewing 
twice before swallowing, eyes ever on that woman. 
Once she had returned to the bar to tend to other 
customers, he picked up one of the biscuits and 
began tearing off small chunks of bread and 
dipping them in the broth until they were sodden and scrumptious.

“Czestadt was one of my instructors with the 
Kankoran when I first arrived. He taught me how 
to use a sword, but I could never touch blades 
the way he and a select few of my old clan could. 
Blademasters they were called, and while none 
could best them in a combat with just swords, 
very, very few were ever good enough to defeat a 
warmage who had mastered all of the elements. 
There have only ever been three black 
Blademasters of the Kankoran in the over 
two-thousand years. Czestadt would have been the 
fourth if he hadn't become a Follower and 
abandoned the Kankoran to join the Driheli knights.”

Misha furiously licked a bit of broth that had 
smeared across his jowls before narrowing his 
gray eyes and asking, “Who are the Driheli? I've never heard of them.”

“An order of knights based out of the city of 
Stuthgansk.” At Misha's blank expression, 
Rickkter continued. “Stuthgansk is the principal 
city on the northeastern coast of Sonngefilde. 
The Kankoran, the Dragons, and the Hevagn have 
long wanted to control that city; it controls all 
of the trade with Manzona and eastern Galendor. 
But the knights of Driheli have long been a 
bulwark to protect the city. That and the 
infighting between the mage clans of eastern 
Sonngefilde. Czestadt isn't the first Kankoran to 
join the Driheli, but he was one of the most 
powerful. And it didn't take him long to rise 
through the ranks, or so I heard. He was a Knight 
Commander when I left Sonngefilde. I never 
thought I would see him again. I wonder what 
happened that made him join the Yesbearn. Both 
orders are fanatical so I suppose it isn't that much of a change...”

Misha chewed a bit of meat, more of the broth 
clinging to his whiskers, while he pondered the tale. “Were you friends?”

“He had been an instructor, and several years my 
senior. We were on good terms, but once I turned 
toward mastering the elements, we rarely spoke. I 
bear him no ill will, and I would be surprised if 
he bore me any ill will. He never kept grudges, 
but he wasn't so naïve to trust anyone who'd 
crossed him again.” Rickkter paused to lap up 
another mouthful of mead. He brushed his snout on 
his sleeve and then spooned up more stew and left 
it cooling in the air. “If he is now a Yesbearn, 
then I think we can safely say that all he is 
interested in doing is protecting that 
Questioner. He'll die to do so, but he'll kill a lot of people first.”

They ate in silence for a moment before Misha 
took another drink of his mead and began drumming 
his claws on the lacquered table. “So he can move 
swords. Why couldn't he move yours?”

“They weren't really swords as such. Clymaethera 
and Trystathalis were once dragons; I've told you 
this before. He can only touch true swords. 
Anything which has been tainted as he would say 
by living essences is different. He cannot make a 
sword I hold in my hand move against my will. It 
is the same for my dragon swords. Something else 
already holds them. He cannot touch them. But 
that is only a small weakness. The reason he 
almost became a black is because he has mastered 
one skill that is beyond even me.”

“And that is?”

“He cannot be killed with a blade. Cut his head 
off with a sword and it will grow back.” Misha 
blanched and a spoon dripping with meat and a bit 
of potato hung quivering halfway to his snout. 
“It is as grisly as it sounds. I've never seen it myself but he has the skill.”

“How do you even test for such a skill? Does 
somebody cut his head off on the chance to see if 
he's figured out how to grow a new one?”

Rickkter was grateful that he had managed to 
swallow his drink before Misha had finished 
speaking, or he would have sprayed the fox with 
mead. As it was he laughed loud and heartily, the 
very image of Blademaster after Blademaster 
lowering their heads before an executioner to see 
which of them had it right. After he'd finished, 
he took another drink and shook his head. “Nay, 
nay, nothing quite like that. The ordeal that 
they must endure to master the skill has killed 
before, but not often. Usually they just fail and 
have to try again. Czestadt defeated the ordeal on his fifth try.”

“What's the ordeal?”

Rickkter shook his head. “I don't know; I never 
tried it. Only a Blademaster can attempt it; it 
would kill a warmage in seconds if we dared. I 
know a few who did; afterward, there wasn't much 
left to bury. But... that is the limit and extent 
of his powers. He knows one thing and knows it 
better than anyone else alive. And he believes 
one thing, and will die for that belief without 
hesitation. That is what makes him dangerous. And 
also what makes him harmless so long as we do not threaten his charge.”

“So my coming out in force to make sure that Questioner didn't do anything?”

“Bad idea, but you didn't know what Czestadt 
could do. Wolfram looked rather pissed too at 
being used like that, but I'm sure if you let him 
work with the Long Scouts on a mission he'll forgive you.”

“I will think of something,” Misha replied with a 
grunt before shoving another mouthful of hot stew 
down his gullet. He swallowed and gestured at 
Rickkter's left paw. “How's the terrible wound on your hand?”

Rickkter glowered at the fox but said nothing. He 
sipped his mead, ate another spoonful of stew, 
and took another sip of mead, shadowed eyes never leaving the fox.

Misha chuckled to himself, well remembering the 
raccoon's surprise when that little rat had 
latched onto his hand. Despite his own anger, 
that was an image he would cherish for many 
years. “What did you see when you looked at the Questioner?”

“It was like staring into the sun after spending 
a week trapped in a tomb.” Rickkter rubbed his 
forehead with his thumb, the little black claw at 
its tip dragging the fur of his brow back and forth.

Even though he'd seen the raccoon recoil from the 
Questioner, he still had a hard time believing 
what he heard. “My sister said that they couldn't 
see anything when they looked at that priest. And 
that wasn't just one mage, but seven from the 
mage guild in Marigund who studied him!”

“The mages of Marigund don't know as much as they 
think they do. I knew a few things they've never 
heard of and no, I'm not going to share. Tell me 
more of what your sister said. How did you know who they were?”

“They visited Marigund about a month ago. After 
what happened with Marzac they sent a letter to 
Yesulam with questions about what had happened 
there; they knew that Yesulam was involved 
somehow, which is more than any of us knew.”

“And Yesulam sent a Questioner to Marigund? When 
was the last time any Questioner had set foot in 
that city and lived to tell the tale?”

“At least a hundred years ago if not more,” Misha 
frowned in distaste at the mere thought of those 
inquisitorial priests fouling his home city with 
their presence. “They certainly did not expect 
it, but Elizabeth did say that the priest, the 
Yeshuel, and the Yesbearn were the right people. 
Goaded Demarest and the rest apparently. She 
didn't tell me all that much; I think she wanted to vent more than to warn me.”

“But she told you enough that you recognized them.”

“It wasn't that hard,” Misha pointed out as he 
dipped a chunk of biscuit into his bowl and 
drenched it with the last of his broth. “How many 
trios of Questioner, Yesheul, and Yesbearn do you know wandering the Midlands?”

“True. But what of that mage? Hugo, was it?”

Misha nodded and grimaced. “That was the part I 
couldn't believe. I knew Hugo when we both were boys.”

“Were you friends?”

“No, but we were friendly. Hugo was always closer 
friends with his rat than with anyone else. Same 
rat that gave you that terrible wound.”

“It wasn't funny the first time, Misha.”

Misha smiled, a smile so wide that he had to 
lower his jaw and stick out his tongue so his 
cheek ruff could twist with his mirth. “I think 
it's hilarious!” Rickkter scowled across the 
table, his eyes narrowing and his teeth grinding together.

“So this Hugo... how did he end up with those three?”

The fox continued to chuckle for a few moments 
more before he finally regained his composure. He 
shook his head, and then brushed his snout with 
one sleeve as if his mirth were a soup stain in 
his fur. “He tried to have the Questioner killed. 
His plan failed, and he ended up in exile. To 
everyone's astonishment, the Questioner asked 
that Hugo be given into his care during his 
period of exile. I haven't seen him in years, but 
I wish I could say that it surprised me. Hugo was always overzealous.”

“Apart from having a familiar, what sort of magic does he practice?”

“I don't really know. Elizabeth would know but I 
don't. By the time he entered the mage guild I 
was already crawling through the fields and the 
woods trying to read all the signs I could. Our 
paths rarely crossed after that.”

Rickkter nodded and finished off his mazer. He 
licked his jowls clean and then drummed his claws 
along the table. “I can probably find out on my 
own. It looks like you're going to have to talk to your sister tomorrow.”

“Aye,” Misha agreed, downing the last of his 
mead. He wiped his snout again, this time 
drenching his sleeve in the last of the froth. 
“And this time I will try to learn all I can 
about them. Had I known they'd be coming to 
Metamor, I would have been better prepared.”

“I'm not convinced that they are a threat 
anymore,” Rickkter said with a yawn and a stretch 
of his arms. His paws came to rest in his lap, 
thumb claws tapping as he pondered. “I know 
that's the Questioner that was making threats 
against everyone he questioned last year but when 
I saw him then, he didn't seem to have a glimmer 
of light about him. I think they are here for 
exactly the reason they claim to be here. If 
there is some other motive, it probably is 
something we'll never understand, some business 
of Yesulam we probably don't want to understand, I'd wager.”

Misha frowned, his jaw finally shutting, all 
traces of his earlier jocularity gone. The 
professional warrior with his tight, but relaxed 
poise, had returned. “You may be right, but it 
never hurts to keep an eye on them. If his grace will let me.”

A sudden cheer from the pool table made both 
their heads turn. The massive lizard Copernicus 
was waving his pole aloft in both hand, while a 
dozen other keepers applauded and cheered him on. 
Through the crowd they could see Michael the 
beaver chewing chips out of the wide end of his 
pole as his eyes fixed on the table with almost 
feverish dismay. Misha laughed and shook his head 
at the sight, while Rickkter just rolled his 
eyes, “Doesn't that lizard ever lose? Anyway, 
what were you saying about his grace?”

“Oh, that! I'm just worried Duke Thomas might 
want to assign me to clean the stables for a week 
after I put together that welcoming committee.”

That made Rickkter laugh. The raccoon slapped one 
paw on the table, tipped his head back, and 
belted out a hearty, deep-chested laugh. He 
settled down after several seconds, and still 
gasping for breath with a few unused chuckles 
trying to occupy his mind, he managed to say, 
“Stable duty would be good for you. I'd visit you 
every day too... so I could laugh!”

Now it was Misha's turn to glower at his friend. 
But the fox could never truly stay angry with a 
friend for long, not as long as it was just a bit 
of embarrassment they faced. Once the weapons 
were drawn, it was a completely different affair, 
but it had been a very long time since he'd ever 
had to contend against the fox's considerable 
skill and magical axe. He hoped he never had to again.

“Duke Thomas hasn't said anything about this to 
me yet today which makes it worse. I'm sure it is 
coming, it's just a matter of when it comes.”

“You'll be fine,” Rickkter reminded him with a 
grunt. “So what do you intend to do about them now that they're here?”

“Nothing,” Misha said with a soft grunt. “I'm 
going to keep my distance from them. Unless 
Elizabeth tells me something dramatically 
different from what we know, I'm going to do 
nothing and let them be. I have enough things on 
my mind at the moment, Madog, Bolva, Lindsey, 
Dupré, Charles, Arla's wedding present, I think 
leaving my nose out of this one will do me some good.”

Rickkter glanced at the pool table where the 
plaid beaver was begging for a rematch. He 
snorted and shook his head. “Some people never 
learn. Anyway, I think I will renew old 
acquaintances but otherwise keep my distance as 
well. But let me know what you learn from your 
sister. It's not every day we have such interesting visitors.”

Misha chortled, lifted his empty mazer, then set 
it back down again. “How very, very true!”

----------


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

Charles Matthias
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