[Mkguild] Bearing the Wolf-Touched (1 of 4)

[C. Matthias]

Here is my next Metamor Keep story.  Sadly, I 
could not keep it under 10,000 words this time, 
but I did keep it under 12,000!  ;-)

Part 1 of 4.

Metamor Keep: Bearing the Wolf-Touched
by Charles Matthias


May 16, 708 CR


“Sir Charles, wake up and look! Dragons!”

The rat grunted as he rolled onto his back and 
blinked. Birch and elm clustered above him, but 
to the north he could see two shapes, one larger 
than the other, flying out of the mountains to 
the west. He blinked and pushed himself to his 
haunches, tail dragging beneath him across the 
loam, needles, and stone. They were too far for 
him to see clearly, but they certainly looked like dragons.

“So it appears,” he said, then stretched and 
stood. Muscles and bones found their place after 
his brief nap high upon the ridge where he hoped 
to build his keep in the Narrows. The ferret 
Garigan watched from an outcropping of stone 
while at the base of the ridge James waited with 
their mounts. The morning had only begun but 
after an hour of riding and climbing Charles had 
to lay down and rest. His dreams the last few 
nights had been unpleasant and he did not want 
his son seeing them; he'd only managed short naps when he managed any at all.

Garigan turned his gray and black snout toward 
the two figures gliding into the valley and 
gestured with the sweep of an arm. “I think 
they're headed for the Glen. Do you recognize them?”

Charles shook his head and blinked the last of 
the rest from his eyes. “Even if I knew them I 
wouldn't from this distance. Your eyes are better 
than mine. What do they look like?”

“Gray scaled, with a touch of red I think. The 
small one... I don't think I've ever seen a 
dragon so young come out of their mountain home.” 
Charles nodded as he plucked needles from his 
chain mail. “I think the larger is carrying someone; I can't tell for sure.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I rode a dragon?”

“Heraclitus?”

“Aye, and quite proud of being a dragon of 
Whales. I wonder who these two could be.”

Garigan turned and helped Charles rid his armor 
of the last of the needles and leaves, brushing 
down his tabard with one paw while craning his 
neck in a way only a ferret could to watch the 
pair of winged shapes begin circling above the 
mighty Glen redwoods. In a quieter voice he 
asked, “Didn't you say your friend Lindsey has become a dragon?”

The last of the sleep left the rat and with one 
heart beat he felt alert and a terrible 
foreboding. “We need to return to the Glen right away. If it is Lindsey...”

But very soon you will have the chance to aid two who suffer greatly.

Garigan stopped his work and blinked at his mentor. “Yes?”

Charles shook his head and offered the ferret and 
fellow Sondecki a smile. “If it is Lindsey then I 
cannot wait to see him again. And compliment him 
on his success; Calephas is dead thanks to him.”

“May he rot in hell,” Garigan spat and with one 
last look to check on the rat started back down 
the ridge. Charles shuddered then followed with 
one last glance at the blurry shapes descending 
to the Glen. He took no breath all the way down.

----------

Glen Scouts spotted the two dragons as soon as 
they crested the mountains but for most Glenners 
the day continued as any other Wednesday in 
Spring might. The fishermen were so busy 
reviewing their haul from the night before they 
were the last upon the lake to note the arrival 
of the serpentine beasts. As the pair circled 
down, heavy wings beating the air and stirring 
the shore into a froth, the fishermen nervously 
brandished scaling knives and spears. They did 
not raise their weapons, but kept them at the 
ready as they warily eyed the Glen's reptilian 
guests. Most dragons who visited Metamor were 
friendly but caution with strangers was the Glen way.

Gibson the frog had been preparing to take his 
son out on the lake when the pair descended from 
the sky. Unlike the fishermen who spent their 
lives beneath the mighty boughs of Avery, the 
merchant traveled the valley each Summer and 
Autumn and had become familiar with many of the 
dragons who traded service to Metamor for a lofty 
tale of adventure to tell in the decades to come. 
Most were known only in passing but he prided 
himself on remembering their names and greeting 
them each time he was graced to stand in their presence.

So as the fishermen anxiously cowered much like 
his one-year old son Bertram who hid behind his 
father's spindly legs, Gibson felt his heart lift 
in delight as he recognized the larger of the two 
dragons. He warbled and croaked as the pair 
circled with wings spread wide; when their long 
necks turned toward him he waved with both his 
arms, hoping they knew it as a welcoming gesture.

The dragons circled twice more before the larger 
beat his wings, sending up a spray across the 
lake and scattering the grass and fallen needles 
along the shore, and settled into a gentle 
landing on the well-beaten path about the lake. 
He then craned his head to watch the smaller 
dragon – still twice the size of any man – 
attempt the same feat. The smaller however 
wobbled as he neared the ground and only just 
kept himself from crashing by digging his claws 
into the rock-strewn earth and holding fast.

Gibson brushed a few needles from his tunic and 
then waved a long green arm as he croaked as loud 
as he could. “Pharcellus! Welcome to Glen Avery! 
What brings you and your friend here?”

The larger dragon, gray of scale with crimson 
highlights along each, turned his purple-flecked 
golden eyes upon the frog and his long snout 
opened in a delighted smile. Something shifted 
along his back and Gibson noticed the man-shaped 
creature the young dragon had carried. The face 
was of a solid, dark-haired foreign man, and the 
arms were strong and stout, but his ears were 
pointed and covered in fur, and his legs looked 
like those of a wolf; he even had a tail like 
many a Keeper. His silvery black fur shimmered as 
it settled in the churning wake of dragon-flight. 
He climbed down from Pharcellus's back, slipped 
past the younger dragon who reached out a foreleg 
to touch him, and then bent down in a bed of 
needles beneath the branches of an old pine and 
closed his eyes tight. His only raiment was a 
tattered black robe which he clutched with the 
ardor of a child for a favored doll.

Gibson thought there was something familiar about 
the beast-man's face, but the sinister touch and 
wrongness of his deformed shape, even for 
Metamor, squelched any recollection. He turned 
back to the dragons in what he hoped would be taken as polite curiosity.

Pharcellus studied him for a moment before a 
gregarious laugh echoed within his massive chest. 
“Gibson, I believe! And who is hiding behind your legs?”

Gibson lowered his hand to the top of his son's 
head. The boy cautiously peered around his 
father's knee. “This is my son, Bertram. Bertram, 
this is Pharcellus the dragon, one of Metamor's friends. And the other...”

The younger dragon, gray in scale but with a 
lighter touch to his scales, more vermilion, 
craned his neck before taking a few quick steps 
to work out the tightness in his legs. “It's me, 
Lindsey! I'm Pharcellus's younger brother. 
Bertram, you can come climb on my back if you'd like.”

Pharcellus glanced at his brother and even Gibson 
could see the beam of pride in the dragon's eyes. 
Bertram stared with yellow eyes as wide as they 
could and only clutched his father's leg even 
tighter than before. Gibson croaked a laugh and 
patted him on the back. “Come, Bertram, these are 
friends. Dada will show you.” So saying he 
scooped his little boy, gangly legs and all, into 
his arms and carried him toward the pair. Being a 
frog Bertram couldn't hide his large face though he tried with all his might.

“It's safe, Bertram. Dada's here. They won't hurt 
you. They want to say hi. Can you say hi?” Gibson 
stopped a few feet from the pair and the smaller, 
Lindsey, took two steps forward, lifting his head 
only a hand-span to bring it level with the 
little boy. A tongue flicked out from between 
sharp fangs and whispered past the back of the 
boy's head. Bertram squirmed but did not turn. 
Lindsey teased him with his tongue twice more on 
either side of his head, and the little frog 
finally shimmied around so one eye could see.

Lindsey bunched his body and then sat on his 
haunches like a dog. Bright, golden eyes 
glimmered in the morning sun. “Hello, Bertram. I'm Lindsey!”

Pharcellus's bigger head swung into view, but not 
nearly as close as his brother's. “Hello, 
Bertram. I'm Pharcellus! It is a great honor to meet you.”

Bertram stared for a moment longer, then turned 
his head back into his father's chest. But a 
moment later he shifted it back half-way so the 
edge of his eye was visible. A little croak 
escaped his throat. Gibson warbled a pleasant 
laugh. “I think my little boy wants to play with the dragons, doesn't he!”

This time, when he put Bertram down, his son did 
not try to hide. Instead he took a cautious hop 
to where Lindsey sat. Lindsey watched him but did 
not move. Bertram reached out an arm and poked at 
a leg or tail. Lindsey slithered out his tongue 
to tease the back of the frog's head. Father and 
older brother watched for several seconds as 
their beloved kin began to play together.

“So, Pharcellus, what brings you both here to the 
Glen?” Behind him he could hear the fishers 
resuming their duties and the arrival of other 
curious Glenners eager to marvel at the sight of 
not one but two dragons in their land.

Pharcellus lifted his head and stared at the 
figure crouching beneath the sheltering pine. 
“For the sake of our friend, Jerome. We brought 
him here because this is where Charles Matthias 
lives. He is the only one who might be able to 
help break the spell on him and restore him. And 
we needed to return to Metamor anyway; there is 
much to discuss of the events in Arabarb. Why you 
should hear what my brother accomplished in 
Fjellvidden against the loathsome Calephas!”

Gibson cast a glance behind him and could see 
Lord Avery and his closest men descending the 
road from the commons to the lake. “I'm sure 
milordship will want to hear the tale, as do I! 
But Sir Matthias is visiting his fief, the 
Narrows, to our south and may not return until evening.”

The dragon's gaze also saw the many coming to 
greet him and he settled down upon the ground, 
the spade tip of his tail paddling the edge of 
the lake. “Then we will wait here for knightly 
rat to return. Do you think yon fishermen might 
spare two flight-weary dragons some of their delicious catch?”

Gibson warbled and shrugged his shoulders. “I'm sure we can ask!”

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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