[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars III. Descensum (e)

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx

Pars III: Descensum

(e)


Sunday, May 6, 708 CR

On returning to the Inn, Charles and James gathered their things and 
their horses. After a short meal of plank-seared fish they bid 
farewell to their friends, none of whom had yet returned to Metamor 
along the soggy and mud-ridden roads, and then joined with Murikeer 
the mage who was also on his way back to the Glen. The three of them 
rode out of the Barnhardt gates beneath a gray sky. The city and the 
surrounding lands were quiet with all the Followers safe in their 
homes for their Sunday rest. The loudest sound was the sucking mud at 
their horses' hooves. Even the song of birds was muted as if they 
warbled from beneath the lake instead of flitting from tree to tree 
at its shore.

Murikeer was content to ride in silence as Charles would have been, 
but James seemed to feel the need to fill the air with his 
discommodious discourse. "Do you think we'll arrive at the Glen 
before the rain soaks us to the bone?"

The skunk lifted his monochromatic snout, while like-hued tail bushed 
behind him from the dampness in the air. "Last night's storm is still 
in the air, but it may spare us yet. Yonder trees will provide some cover."

Charles nodded as they followed the road up the slowly rising slope 
into the hills overlooking the lake. Fields stretched on either side 
with farms and flocks, while forests penetrated from the cracks in 
the hills. To the east the land did not rise with the road but rolled 
gently beneath a canopy of trees beginning to grow their summer 
green. By the time they reached the Glen the land would fall away 
sharply to the east, but for now the tops of the trees were still above them.

"Did you sleep well, master Murikeer?"

"Bad dreams did not trouble my sleep, if that is what you mean."

James's ears lowered, while Charles frowned. The skunk's words seemed 
to suggest that something else had bothered him. Though his wife knew 
Murikeer better than he, he'd never known the talented young man to 
be evasive in his speech.

"I still see the bell sometimes." The donkey's expression was filled 
with a loathing and an anger that only a man besotted and betrayed 
could understand.

"Did you see it last night?" Charles asked. He hadn't recalled 
hearing the donkey toss or turn.

"Aye, but only once. I don't know when it was. I laid staring at the 
ceiling for an hour, I think, before I fell back asleep." A 
self-conscious look of embarrassment filled his eyes; he flecked his 
supple lips as if cursing himself. "But they're just nightmares; 
they're nothing you need frighten yourself over."

"Marzac should frighten us all very much," Murikeer pointed out. "Is 
it possible the bell is not wholly destroyed?"

"It didn't feel the same." James' ears bobbed from the back of his 
head all the way to their tallest pose and back again before falling 
lazily outward from the sides of his head. "When I saw it before I 
was enchanted by its power and by its claims to want to help me. 
Now... now it feels like a menace thwarted but with no more power to 
do me harm. It's like a lone Lutin screaming from the other side of a 
gorge; there's not a lot it can do except give voice to hate."

"Let us hope then, that you are right." Murikeer blinked and stared 
at the end of his snout. Charles narrowed one eye, and then felt a 
drop bounce off his ear, cool and wet. He folded his ears back close 
against his head and lifted his snout to the sky. James and Murikeer 
followed his lead.

"I fear we are not going to escape a drenching. Those trees ahead 
should give us shelter, unless some spell of yours can keep us dry."

Murikeer stretched one paw out to test the air while shaking his 
head. "I cannot keep all the rain out, but beneath the trees I should 
be able to spare us what slips through their boughs."

"Then let us make as much haste as we dare." So saying, Charles 
nudged Malicon, encouraging the pony to walk a little faster through 
the muddy hillocks in the center of the lane. James and Murikeer fell 
behind him along the somewhat drier path where wagon wheels had not 
churned the earth. The patter of rain drops brushed snout, ears, 
tails, and steeds.

--------

The morning rain did not even last an hour, but the trio waited it 
out beneath a copse of trees at the top of a hillrise. Lake Barnhardt 
was not quite a mile to the south so they spent the time hiding 
beneath a spell of the skunk's to keep them dry as they watched the 
rain lather the lake. It rippled beneath the gentle pelting from the 
skies, rocking the many boats who still plied her waters. But the 
shower was over soon enough and they continued on their way, slow as 
it was through the muck and fresh mud.

By the noon hour they reached the lands that Baron Barnhardt claimed 
as his own but which belonged to Charles to administer. A grim smile 
played across his snout as he swept one arm across the vista to their 
west. Short cliffs rose to the north, while rolling hills framed the 
entrance to a combe that spread out as it neared the mountains. The 
deepening gloom of the sky made it difficult to see the mountains, 
but he knew they were there.

"This is now my land. One day I will build a fortress here and 
merchants from Metamor will find safe passage all the way to Hareford at last."

"That is rather ambitious," Murikeer noted, riding a little closer to 
get a better view. "I thought you loved your home in the Glen."

"I do." Charles leaned back in the saddle and then repositioned his 
tail with his free arm. Malicon's slow but heavy gait rocked his tail 
back and forth atop the pony's flanks. "But this is my responsibility 
now." In a quiet voice he added, "No matter what Barnhardt thinks."

"Is that what the Baron was arguing with you about?" James asked, his 
eyes searching the land that now belonged to his friend.

"Aye. He still claims it belongs to his family. I am sure at some 
point that this matter will go before Duke Thomas to be resolved. I 
am confidant that his grace will recognize my claim."

No one could deny your claims.

"I have heard a little of this dispute," Murikeer cautioned, laying a 
conciliatory paw on the rat's arm. "It has persisted for as long as 
any Glenner can remember. I do not think it will be resolved in one 
day." Charles glanced down at the slender fingers resting upon his 
wrist, each tipped with a narrow but surprisingly stout claw in dire 
need of a file's touch.

"Probably not," Charles admitted, frowning at those claws when he 
considered that his own were very similar, and in a similar state of 
roughness. Surveying his property had lent him to use his claws, 
rendering them ragged, but he imagined that Murikeer had less cause 
for his claws to be in such a sorry state. "But after all I have done 
for Metamor, I cannot imagine he would not recognize my claim."

"For Baron Avery, to whom you have sworn your sword." The skunk 
tightened his grip reflexively as his mount swayed to step over a log 
fallen across the trail. Charles felt the touch of sharp claws 
pressing into fur. With a short twitch he pulled his arm free and 
then let out a hiss when, as he had feared, sharp claws and soft 
flesh disagreed with the motion.

"Ahh, ouch! Ware your claws!" He drew in his injured wrist with a 
glare down at the welling of blood from the small gash. "You've cut 
me, Murikeer."

The young mage's ears backed in consternation as he, too, gazed at 
the dark blood staining Charles' fur. "Forgive me. I still tend to 
forget how sharp my claws get if I don't file them regularly." 
Murikeer produced a white cloth from his satchel and reached for 
Charles' bleeding wrist. In softer words the skunk added, "I fear you 
are too confidant; the tangle of claims on this land is thick and his 
grace may be loath to offend his vassals by choosing against them. I 
am just advising you be cautious and restrain your confidence and 
your ambition. Please, let me clean that for you."

Charles relented and allowed the skunk to dab the small blot of blood 
at the top of his wrist. The wound stung, but it was no more serious 
than the many cuts he'd received just from forging paths through the 
tangle of trees and culverts on his land in the last month. When the 
skunk was finished cleaning the wound, he wrapped the cloth around a 
small stone and returned all of it to his satchel with a care that 
seemed unusual.

You should worry about what mischief Murikeer intends. He's 
suspicious of you; they all suspect you. They are wrong, you are not that weak.

Charles ran his furless fingers across the wound and scowled for a 
moment before turning his gaze back to his land. "Your concern is, I 
confess, well-placed. But until I hear otherwise from Duke Thomas, I 
must do what I know to be right and proper, and to fulfill my duties 
to the land I have been granted as my fief. Have you not also begun 
to repair and rebuild the place that Baron Avery bequeathed to you?"

"That is different," Murikeer noted with a faint laugh. "No one else 
claims my lands as their own."

"We shouldn't argue," James suggested, head tilted back and gazing at 
the sky. The clouds above churned and continued to darken. "We're 
going to get more rain soon."

Charles noted the sky and twitched his whiskers. "Then let us 
continue. My lands can wait for another day." Murikeer offered no 
argument. Holding one hand to his satchel to keep it from bouncing he 
urged his mount to a quicker pace. A shimmer hung in the air above 
them coaxing the patter of drizzle to fall a short distance away from 
them as they followed the flanks of the young mage's mount. The 
sucking of mud at hooves and the heavens grumbling was all they heard 
for the next hour.

--------

The rain returned in earnest shortly before they reached the Glen, 
shrouding all but the nearest trees behind a gray, hissing pall that 
not even Murikeer's magic could entirely keep at bay. His magic was 
aided by the limbs of the trees towering overhead to shield them from 
most of the downpour but they were still damp by the time they 
dismounted and went their separate ways. James asked the rat if he 
needed him for anything but Charles demurred, assuring him that he 
just wanted to spend the rest of the day with his family and that, 
the skies depending, they could resume their exploration of his land 
on the morrow.

He stabled Malicon and took a few minutes to clean some of the mud 
from his pony's hooves and hocks. Thankfully the hay and oats he'd 
stored there the day before were still fresh. While Malicon 
gratefully sated his hunger, Charles removed his gear and cleaned 
them as Sir Saulius had taught him. He felt some measure of peace in 
the performance of such simple acts. Being a knight meant that his 
was a warrior's life and a leader's life. He did not need to skulk in 
darkness nor pass unnoticed in the brush. But he did need to have a 
union, a partnership even, with a horse.

That thought made him smile and step to where Malicon fed. The roan 
pony lifted his head and stretched his neck toward the rat, a 
confident gleam in his eyes. Charles stepped closer with a pleased 
laugh, wrapping his arms around the pony's neck even as his long head 
pressed into the rat's back. "Thank you, my friend. I should go see 
my family now."

Malicon whickered and lipped his shoulder, biting him there 
affectionately. He gently pushed the pony off and then stroked one 
paw down his neck a few times. "Enough of that now, Malicon. We will 
ride again tomorrow."

His pony did not make him linger any further and so Charles braved 
the rain one last time, racing from the stables to the door of his 
home between the roots of the redwood. He felt the squish of mud 
between his toes, and felt it sink beneath his claws. But the warmth 
beyond his door made him forget such discomforts immediately.

"Charles, your home!" his wife exclaimed with delight as she stood up 
from her needlework beside the hearth. A pleasant fire burned within 
casting a burnished glow about the room. Four of his five children 
scampered about the floor in some game of their own devising. The 
fifth was not there. His heart shuddered and his knees trembled as he 
remembered that his fifth would never be there. How could he have 
forgotten that?

You never were able to say goodbye.

Charles pushed that thought aside to bend down and scoop his four 
living children in his arms as he stood in the doorway, rain slashing 
behind him and soaking his tail which had not yet slipped through. A 
chorus of delighted squeaks filled his ears and he nuzzled each in 
turn, whiskers amidst whiskers, their bright eyes filled with his face.

"Oh, I am so happy to see you all!" he exclaimed as he lifted them 
off the floor in his arms. Their legs and tails dangled in the air, 
the latter trying to curl about his chest as their feet dug into his 
wet tunic for some purchase. "My you have grown so much since I saw 
you yesterday morning!"

"Get the monsters, Dada?" Erick asked with an excited squeak.

"Did you?" little Charles chimed in, paws gripping his shoulder with 
a boisterous energy.

"Aye, we defeated the monsters and kept everyone safe. They made a 
satisfying whump when they hit the floor! Which is what I'm going to 
do to each of you!"

They squealed excited delight as he swung them down toward the wooden 
floor quick enough that their head and ears almost brushed the 
elk-skin rug at their feet. Tails prodded his chest and sides as they 
frantically sought purchase. He slipped his arms back and dropped 
them one by one onto the floor from the mighty height of a single 
hand. As their tail and rear struck the rug and warm wood beneath 
they offered another excited squeak that would have made a normal 
human's ears hurt. But for rats it was just one more chorus of family life.

"Dada, my pretty dress," little Bernadette said, even as she lay on 
her back, paws gripping the edge of the green kirtle she bore. Little 
Baerle bore the same kirtle in blue. His two of three sons were each 
wearing short leggings that came to their hocks, with loose-fitting 
tunics that they would grow out of over the next few months, both of 
a similar plain brown fabric.

"Oh it is very pretty, Bernadette," he replied, leaning forward to 
apply a gentle kiss with the top of his snout atop her head. He then 
turned to Baerle who had rolled into a seated position, little paws 
holding the tip of her tail as if it were a stuffed doll. He stroked 
the back of her head and then kissed her too. "And you look very 
pretty too, Baerle."

"I love you, Dada," Baerle said, her soft blue eyes filled with joy.

Charles felt as if he should burst into tears. His children loved him 
dearly and he them. It ought to be enough to sooth the loss of the 
one, but he knew his arms could hold more, his ears should hear more, 
and his heart should capture more than just the four before him. He 
hid the tears that wanted to blossom from his eyes by grasping all 
four of his little ones remaining in his arms again and hugging them 
close. "Oh, I love you all too!"

Of course he heard Kimberly rise from her needlework, but he still 
enjoyed the gentle touch of her hand on his back, the soft prick of 
her claws, and a hush of her breath against the back of his ears. 
"Welcome home, Charles. I will bring a wash basin for your muddy paws."

"Thank you, my lady. And something hot to eat. All of this rain has 
chilled me."

Kimberly brushed her snout against his and he leaned into the touch. 
Then she patted their children on the head before making her way to 
the kitchen. Charles set his children down again and leaned back to 
keep from toppling his muddy paws and ankles onto the clean floor. 
"Now why don't you fi... four go and find a place to hide. Once your 
mother has helped me clean my paws, I am going to come find you!"

They squeaked their delight at the idea and scampered off around the 
room and then up the stairs toward their rooms. He took a deep breath 
and laughed. Only yesterday, for a few hours, he had been nearly that 
young in body and mind. A bit stronger still thanks to his Sondeck, 
but just as mischievous and prone to trouble. At least his rump 
wasn't sore from the spanking anymore. That would be a trifle 
embarrassing to explain.

Kimberly returned a moment later carrying a small basin filled with 
water and a towel over her shoulder. He sat down and dipped his feet 
in the water, scrubbing the mud from his toes and claws, then dried 
each with the towel. She watched him and in a quiet voice asked, "Why 
were you needed?"

"Jessica planted a hyacinth; the corruption of Marzac nearly took 
her. But we arrived in time, the hyacinth was destroyed, and all is 
well again. We couldn't be told why we needed to come or we would 
have forgotten to do so. That was the power of the hyacinth. But it 
is gone now."

"Marzac. I hate that place. It has done such terrible things to us."

Its power is broken now.

"Its power is broken now," Charles said with a quick nod. "And for 
that we can all be grateful."

She sighed in relief and wrapped her arms about his chest. Her head 
rested on his shoulder. "I feared for you."

He sighed with a smile and put his hands on her arms and held her 
close. "I am fine. I fear always for you and our children when I must 
go. I will make sure you and they will always be safe."

"We are safe here at the Glen," Kimberly replied, an unasked question 
in her voice.

"I know. But I have my new lands to tend. One day we will live there, 
and I will make sure that we will all be safe there too."

She smiled and stroked one hand down between his ears. "Go find your 
children before they get into mischief. I will ready you something 
warm to eat."

He pulled her into a tight embrace and then the two of them stood up 
together. "I love you, my lady."

"I love you too."

They held each other for a few more seconds before they stepped 
apart. Kimberly opened the door and flung the muddy water out of the 
washbasin, before shutting it and carrying basin and towel back to 
the kitchen. Charles stepped toward his armor tree and removed the 
sword at his side, though he would wait until he had rounded up his 
children before removing his mail shirt.

"Here I come!" he shouted up the stairs, taking them one at a time, 
left hand brushing along the wooden wall, eyes bright with the game.

Remember, you only need to find four children, not five.

He nodded to himself, his smile faltering a moment as he climbed the steps.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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