[Mkguild] Bidding Farewell (1 of 4)

[C. Matthias]

I finally finished a new Metamor Keep story.  Big 
thanks to Chris Okane and Ryx for beta-reading 
and making some contributions. :-)

Part 1 of 4

Metamor Keep: Bidding Farewell
by Charles Matthias


May 23, 708 CR


“It's been well over a year since I last lived 
here at the Keep,” Charles admitted as he stared 
out across the expanse of Euper from the 
battlement wall, “but I will still miss this place.”

“And it shall miss you,” Goldmark added with an 
affirmative squeak. “At least until you return.”

There was a chance he might never return, but 
Charles said nothing. Instead he stretched his 
legs – all four of them – before settling against 
the sun-warmed stone to relax. Goldmark, also 
four legged, reclined near him. His friend 
reached into a knapsack draped across his lower 
back and removed a a comb. As he groomed the 
dark, wiry fur of his lower back and haunches, he 
noted, “You appear to be feeling better.”

Charles reached an arm around behind his upper 
back and nodded. His fingers traced across the 
small bit of vine emerging from the join between 
his upper human-shaped and lower rat-shaped 
torsos. An ivy tendril crossed the bruise in his 
back soothing and mending in its subtle way. “I 
was fortunate to have good friends and hale warriors with me.”

“And dragons!”

“It is always good to have dragons!”

Both rats laughed. Their eyes met, dark and 
protruding above their snouts, before Goldmark 
turned back to brushing his haunches. “I almost 
envy you traveling across the world like this. 
Even before I became a rat I had never left the valley.”

“If Julian, Elliot, and your enterprise grows you 
may yet.” Charles slapped his tail against the 
rampart wall as he stretched. “How is business for you?”

Goldmark shrugged. “It is off to a promising 
start, but almost all of our business is through 
friends. Most of the merchant class prefers their 
own caravans. I fear we'll need more wagons and 
more men before we can celebrate.”

“You will manage,” Charles assured him. A smile 
creased his snout. “I would not hire anyone else 
to help bring my family home when we return.”

Goldmark returned the smile. “Thank you, Charles. 
You know, we can never repay all the goodness you've shown us over the years.”

Every morning for almost six years Charles had 
spent time with his fellow rats, trying to 
convince them not to fear what the Curses had 
made of them. For most of those years his efforts 
felt vain; but Eli's miracles came in their time 
and not his own. In this Charles trusted and 
hoped. “Show goodness to all the new rats in the 
valley then. I've heard we have almost a dozen more now from Bradanes alone.”

“We do! A few of them are even young ladies.” An 
excited chitter touched Goldmark's tongue.

Charles smiled wide, whiskers spreading. “Young 
ladies in need of good rats perhaps?”

“Julian has not wasted any time!” Goldmark 
slapped his tail against the stone and grinned, 
showing off his incisors. “Only two days ago he 
escorted a young maid newly made a rat through 
the gardens. She's quite fetching too with a dark 
hood and white creamy fur and tail...”

He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Goldmark! But 
two years ago our fur, snouts, whiskers, eyes, 
and tails were all reasons to hide where none 
could see us! Now we find them fetching! What 
Rats we are! It brightens me to hear it; you have 
no idea how long I have yearned to hear it.”

Goldmark blinked as the thought dawned within 
him. His smile faltered for a moment in surprise, 
and then stretched further across his snout. His 
ears lifted, his frame shifting as if he'd become 
lighter than air, as a squeaking laugh echoed 
Charles's own. “What Rats we are indeed! Hah! Now 
I guess it's time for Elliot, Hector and myself 
to find good Rat ladies of our own. And Sir 
Saulius too. I'm hoping for a young lass who 
likes her Rat large.” He patted his flanks and 
offered a raucous laugh. Charles felt a bit of a 
blush touch his ears, but after spending months 
in his taur form while journeying through the 
Barrier Mountains and Åelfwood, the twinges of modesty had subsided.

“And who enjoys walking on four legs?”

“Aye, I hope!”

Charles laughed, shook his head, and turned to 
the battlements, resting his arms on the stone 
and his snout on his arms. “I had hoped Sir 
Saulius would be here to see us off, but he won't 
return from patrol up north for another week.”

“I'm sure he will wish it too, but I can hear him 
say it is the burden of duty.”

“Aye, he would,” Charles smiled as he thought on 
the rat knight armored and astride his pony. 
Saulius may be small, but he was proud with a 
fierce spirit and deep devotion for his friends. 
Charles was proud to be a knight like him.

His gaze swept Euper, the road, the river, and 
the forest beyond filled with merchants and 
travelers about their business. His family would 
not be among them for hours yet. Charles 
stretched, scraping the claws on all four of his 
legs against the stone, and then stood. “Let us 
quit the wall. I feel like walking again.”

Goldmark nodded and put his comb away. “Where shall we go?”

Charles gave the wall a gentle tail slap. 
“Wherever in Metamor our four legs shall take us!”

----------

Word came during the last few minutes of combat 
between two alarmingly mismatched foes. One stood 
tall, wide, and powerfully muscled; a pale hued 
Percheron stallion whose ears pricked the seven 
foot line etched on a wall. His opponent barely 
cleared five feet, a pine marten lithe and lean. 
The horse held a heavy practice mace and the 
marten a simple duelist's practice blade as 
distinctly flimsy against the mace as the marten was against the stallion.

The marten, however, was Malger Sutt, the last 
surviving heir of his House and Title, and 
sparred like a common guardsman, clad in a simple 
leather vest and short pantaloons. Given the 
address 'dae ross' which, while spelled and 
spoken in many different manners across the 
kingdoms, simply meant 'first heir of' his House, 
he acted less like the entitled royalty he was 
whenever he could possibly get away with it. For 
years he had comported himself as a moneyed 
socialite and, as expected or royal brats, 
sybarite. But always there had been a deeper 
agenda, carefully hidden by his rather public 
face of debauchery. And then, with the 
eradication of his sisters, brothers, the 
concubines and wives of his warmongering side, 
Malger had been left with it all and put to the 
road with assassins at his heel.

There, for years, he hid in the guise of foppish 
traveling minstrel which had suited him as finely 
as had his earlier years of royal privilege.

Until his Goddess said otherwise.

And now he was the Archduke Malger dae ross Sutt, 
holder of Western Pyralia. Though he had placed 
the onus on the shoulders of one better capable 
of stewarding those lands he kept the Title, and 
with it the privilege he had been raised to 
without the boorish elitism of his deceased line. 
Raising his practice blade before his muzzle he 
grinned at his opponent, who stood head and 
shoulders over him – towered to be truthful – and 
beckoned him to attempt his attack once more.

The stallion Versyd snorted, having been thwarted 
in every attempt for the past hour, took a 
staying breath against his understandable 
frustration, and stepped into snap a low, brutal 
swing with the mace in his off hand. Malger, his 
new liege though who looked no more noble than 
the horse against which he practiced, deftly 
leaned back without moving his feet and deflected 
the heavy mace with the heavy arm behind it upward easily.

In actuality it was not his purpose to strike the 
target moreso than overcome the parry, or 
outmaneuver it, neither of which the untrained young horse had yet perfected.

The Percheron had already proven himself a 
capable and dependable mount, with a smooth gait 
at any speed, and a proud stride perfect for 
bearing royalty. But Malger wanted him for a 
guard as well, and so Versyd and the other horses 
he'd hired in Glen Avery spent several hours a 
day training in close quarters combat with sword 
or mace. At present they trained with the Keep 
scouts, but Malger intended to hire personal 
instructors when he found one to his liking.

And as Versyd was to be his personal guard as 
well as mount, Malger insisted his eager 
Percheron practice his swordsmanship against the 
marten's tasseled blades. Versyd had both 
strength and stamina from years of pulling 
heavily-laden wagons, but he'd only received the 
most perfunctory training with a sword. No matter 
how many times Malger 'skewered' him he never 
grumbled at his defeat. In a little over a week 
he had already learned the danger of putting all 
his strength into his swings. It would not be 
long before he was a formidable fighter.

But when the message came, Malger had to cut 
short their practice. The time for waiting was 
over. He had but one errand to run before he set his plans in motion.

“His grace, the Archduke emeritus Malger Sutt, 
Lord of Sutthaivasse and master of Western 
Pyralia, answers your summons, your grace!” 
Andhun the bull bellowed by way of announcing his 
presence to Metamor's Duke. Most of the Duke's 
personal guards remembered him from his days as a 
court minstrel and seemed a little awkward with 
the marten's nobility; then they were servants 
together, now he was to be served. At least 
Andhun, one of the Duke's favorites, still gave 
him the same smoldering glower to assure him if 
he did anything untoward to the Duke he would be 
reduced to a gelatinous paste beneath the bull's 
massive hooves, followed by a familiar wink to 
wish him luck on his visit. No matter how much 
the rest of the world had gone topsy-turvy, it 
was nice to have some things stay the same.

The marten shot Andhun a glance and lift of one 
brow, as exasperated by the lengthy lung-emptying 
bellow of his entire title as he ever was. To 
Thomas, Duke of Metamor, the marten was a friend, 
though his title put the stallion a step below 
him in the ranks of nobility he took pains never 
to abuse his status. Besides, Thomas was a 
Midlands noble, not a Pyralian one and Malger was guest in his Keep.

He had been escorted to a small informal audience 
hall where he found the Duke standing with a 
chalice of wine between two thick hoof-like 
fingers peering down at a map his adopted 
daughter Malisa was populating with pewter animal 
figures. Malger needed only a glance to see 
Metamor Valley and its beastly barons; a squirrel 
for the Lord of the Glen, a badger for the master 
of Iron Mine, a lion for the mage of Hareford, 
and so on. He noticed no marten upon the board 
and wondered how long it would be before his likeness joined them.

“Ah, Malger!” Thomas said with an expansive sweep 
of his arm. “Is there some new wrinkle in matters 
supernatural? I have much gratitude still to show 
for your help this last week.”

Malger shook his head and offered both the equine 
Duke and human Prime Minister a fang-filled grin. 
“Happily my role in those affairs is at an end 
for now. A new adventure awaits me and I come to 
bring you the news.” Thomas's ears lifted but 
Malger did not wait to be asked. “Two days hence 
I shall depart Metamor in the company of Sir 
Matthias and his family. We shall journey to 
Sondeshara in hopes of finding healing for 
Jerome, Charles's Sondeckis friend who has been of great help to Metamor.”

“Ah, I have heard of this. I have also heard the 
dragons Pharcellus and Lindsey will be joining 
you. May the gods grant you a safe and uneventful journey.”

Malger laughed. “Well, not too uneventful! So 
many of our beastly appearance treading unmasked 
in foreign lands will be sure to cause a stir in every port.”

“Very true,” Thomas offered him a hopeful and 
thoughtful gaze. “Sir Matthias, you, and the rest 
showing yourselves to the rest of the world has 
given me new confidence. I will be making a ducal 
visit to some of the southern fiefs later this 
Summer; my first since the Curses were laid. It 
is about time they saw their liege again.”

Malger glanced at the map once more. Malisa, a 
devious grin creasing her lips, lifted her hands 
to reveal a horse-head statue at the southern 
edge of the map. “We've been working on this for 
a year now. Our vassals need to see our strength 
and courage; as do our enemies. We've withstood 
two sieges in less than ten years. There will not 
be a third from either north or south.”

“No there will not,” Malger agreed with a wider 
grin. “Which brings me to my question for you, 
Thomas. The journey to Sondeshara will be long 
and we will need to resupply in almost every 
port. Is there any errand I can perform for Metamor?”

Thomas and Malisa turned to each other, neither 
speaking for several seconds. Though Malger 
prided himself on the art of reading others he 
could guess nothing of their thoughts. Thomas 
took a deep breath, swinging his long equine head 
back to the marten, and in a low voice replied, 
“Actually, there is something you can do for Metamor.”

----------

Their four legs took them many places throughout 
Keeptowne, though after wandering aimlessly for 
an hour, Charles grew bored and soon steered them 
toward places he knew and had once been 
frequently. First on his list were various shops 
and stalls in the market where he'd often 
purchased a morsel to eat or supplies for his 
work. Some he had not returned to since leaving 
the Writer's Guild two years before, and some 
were not there anymore, victims of the Winter 
Assault he had never before mourned.

He spent a few minutes in each place speaking 
with those he knew, listening to them describe 
their families and their hopes for the prosperous 
days of Summer and Autumn ahead. Many had heard 
of his investiture and congratulated him on his 
title and his family. All offered to keep him in 
their prayers, be they Followers or Lothanasi, for the long journey ahead.

Charles sought an excuse to purchase something – 
anything – from each merchant he visited, as if 
to relive those days now past. Apart from some 
fruits and cheese, most of which the merchants 
insisted they take as a parting gift, there was 
nothing he could justify; seeing those he'd once 
known well again was all he truly needed. There 
were a few times when he feared his larger 
four-legged body and tail would knock something 
from its shelf and he'd be forced to pay for its 
repair, but Goldmark, far more used to the 
vagaries of the taur shape, always stopped his 
tail or hindquarters from wreaking havoc in tight spaces.

Morning slipped past and soon the fullness of the 
afternoon was upon them. Charles turned their 
course back toward the keep. The mighty edifice 
was once his beloved home, and yet somehow there 
was a sadness clinging to its towers.

Goldmark was happy to accompany him on his 
meandering journey, but even he could sense 
something else in his friend. In a quiet voice, 
as they approached Gregor's Bakery, he asked, 
“Charles, are you saying goodbye for a year, or forever?”

Charles sighed and thumped his tail against the 
hard-packed earth freshly laden with straw. “I 
wish I knew. But aye, I might not return from this journey.”

“Then tell me, where else do you wish to say goodbye? We can visit them all.”

He pondered the question for a moment and shook 
his head. “I don't want to just visit these 
places. I wish I could live in them again. Only 
now when I may never see them again do I realize 
how much I appreciated all I had and all I knew 
here in Metamor. I am sorry I forgot. I am sorry I am dragging you through it.”

“You don't need to apologize to me, Charles. I am 
sorry I took so long to come up and live in this 
world. I am happy to spend one more day with a 
dear friend. So where would you like to go?”

Charles glanced at the sky and then at his fellow 
rat. “There's only a few places left I should 
see. I didn't see the dragons in the sky so my 
family isn't here yet, but they will be soon. It 
is best not to keep four little rats and their mother waiting.”

Goldmark laughed, patting Charles on the shoulder 
as they continued their way into the Bakery. They 
chatted with Gregor the capybara Baker who had 
finished his cooking for the day and was 
overseeing his apprentice, the tabby Brennar, 
hard at work before the ovens. Both rodent and 
cat insisted the pair could not leave 
empty-pawed, and certainly not before sampling 
Brennar's latest accomplishment. The soft 
cake-like pastry was sweet with a creamy goo in 
the center; it took only a few minutes to eat and 
another few minutes of licking the goo from their claws.

Nor did they leave without first a firm 
hand-shake and back-slapping and many wishes on 
the success of his voyage and a speedy return. 
But leave they did and made their way through 
busy streets into the central bailey about the 
Keep. Charles slowed his pace as they neared the 
old converted barracks, retracing steps he'd 
taken hundreds of times before over many years. Silent, Goldmark matched him.

It was nearly two years now since he had left the 
Writer's Guild; there were a few new faces, but 
most were familiar and some good friends. Tallis, 
his fellow rat, and Nahum the fox, both now 
Headmasters for the Guild, were eager to show him around.

The interior had not much changed since his days; 
a fresh bit of molding here and there, some new 
paint, a few additional tapestries, but otherwise 
it was as he remembered it. Charles closed his 
eyes and could feel years swim through him as the 
many writers and scribes of Metamor worked on 
crafting, copying, and critiquing to fashion 
stories of life at Metamor, or of life anywhere, 
to be sold to the wealthy, noble or merchant it 
did not matter, and added to all the great libraries of the world.

The main hall was filled with younger members of 
the Guild working on copying manuscripts, so 
Tallis and Nahum led the two rats back into the 
offices where they could talk and share a bit of 
cheese, bread, and wine. The writers asked after 
Charles's family and Goldmark's business and 
Charles asked after the progress on their latest 
compilation and if there were any promising new 
members. They told fond memories of the early 
days of Metamor when the Curses were new and 
tales of survival when their animal side came to 
the rescue. They laughed anew at embarrassments. 
They cheered for each triumph. They groused at the bitter disappointments.

And when the time came to leave the Writer's 
Guild, Nahum and Tallis held Charles tight in a 
firm hug and promised to pray for their safe 
return. Charles offered a long sigh as they 
continued onward, steps dragging, head turning to 
glance back. After doing so for a third time, 
Goldmark bumped his lower body with his 
hindquarters. “The Keep's in front of us, 
Charles, and in another couple of hours evening 
will be too. If there's nowhere else you want to 
say goodbye to, we can head to Long House and 
meet your family. I'm sure they've arrived by now.”

Charles took a deep breath, stood tall on his 
four legs, lifted his snout high, and sniffed as 
well as peered about. “Thank you for accompanying 
me, Goldmark. I don't think I could have done this alone.”

“You did teach us we rats must stick together!”

Charles felt a smile touch his snout. “So we 
must! There is one last place I would like to go, 
and then we can retire to Long House.”

Goldmark stood beside him and lifted his snout, 
sniffing. Apart from the delicate sweetness of 
Spring flowers, there was also a hint of roast 
mutton. Both rats tried not to drool. “Oh? Where is it? Oh!”

The scent drew their noses toward one side of the 
Keep. Nestled there was a large wooden building 
now fortified with stone. Both rats smiled as 
nothing more needed to be said. Together they 
headed to the Deaf Mule for one last round of 
savory meat, frothing ale, and a game or two of pool.

----------

“Oh no! Not him!”

Misha was delighted to welcome the Matthias 
family at Long House one more time as they waited 
to begin their journey south. He loved seeing the 
four little rat children scampering around and 
playing with the other Long Scout children. So 
much laughter, so much energy, all of it filled 
him with the hope one day he and Caroline would 
be blessed with a family of their own. He was 
also glad to welcome Garigan and James, men of 
quality and courage, friends of Charles and the 
Longs. The rat merchants were only going to stay 
long enough to deliver all of the supplies Lady 
Kimberly had brought for her family on the 
voyage, but they too were welcome; they had 
already delivered relief supplies for Hareford 
and Mycransburg at Misha's request so he knew they could be trusted.

But the red-haired young man was entirely different. He wasn't actually a man.

“Pharcellus!” Misha exclaimed as the dragon in 
human guise followed the last of the rats into 
the wide open main hall of Long House. The young 
man turned his head at the name, saw the fox, and smiled buoyantly.

“Hello Misha! Did you miss me?”

The fox could only laugh and shake his head. What 
else was one to do with a dragon? “Thank you for 
all you have done and are doing. Just... please behave inside Long House!”

Pharcellus tilted back his head and laughed. “Oh, 
Sir Brightleaf, you know we dragons are very careful!”

“And very big!” Misha muttered, though 
Pharcellus's youthful enthusiasm and genial nature was already winning the fox.

Lady Kimberly reached him and threw her arms 
about the fox's chest. “Oh, Misha. Thank you.”

“For what, milady?”

“For keeping my husband safe again.”

Misha's one ear lifted and his snout stretched in 
a warm smile. “Milady, thank you for letting him 
come to my aid. Without him we would not have 
succeeded.” Or probably survived. “Your quarters 
are already prepared and we will gladly help you 
with your things. Charles is off exploring 
Keeptowne but as you've arrived now I'm sure he'll return soon.”

A note of uncertainty filled Kimberly's voice. 
Anxiety trembled her whiskers. “Did he tell you?”

He nodded. “We will dearly miss him if you must 
stay there. I have taken the liberty of inviting 
some of our friends, both yours and his, here 
tomorrow evening. It's not a party, but... a 
chance for everyone to spend a little time 
together before...” He hated it and couldn't 
force himself to say it. “Before... you know.”

Kimberly smiled to him and lifted her snout, 
pecking him on the nose. “You are a true friend, Misha. Thank you.”

“Caroline will be back shortly with some fresh 
food for tonight; I'm not sure what she's going 
to find, but it will be good! If any of you need 
some refreshments after your journey we do have stocks here we keep.”

“A little something to wet the throat would be 
nice,” Julian suggested. The white-furred rat 
carried one of the Matthias children in his arms. 
Elliot, the other rat merchant, stood beside him 
with another child. Garigan and James followed 
after with the last two. All four children were 
groggy as if they'd been sleeping; in a little 
while Misha was sure they'd be scampering over 
everything. The other three men carrying them all nodded at Julian's request.

Misha glanced over the travelers and frowned. 
“What of Lindsey and Jerome? I expected to see 
them with you. Charles told me he was the reason for this voyage.”

Pharcellus stepped forward and lowered the 
satchel he carried. “Jerome is not comfortable in 
such a large city. He and Lindsey are waiting 
outside in the forest where he feels safe. I will 
be joining them once my friends are settled here.”

“I did hear,” Misha said, a growl slipping into 
his throat. “Is there nothing we can do for him?”

Garigan handed little Bernadette off to Baerle 
the opossum and stepped toward dragon and fox. 
“No, there is nothing.” The ferret struck his 
chest with an open palm and narrowed his eyes. 
“What Gmork did to Jerome touched him to the very 
core of his being. His Sondeck has been changed. 
No magic here at Metamor can help. The guilds 
sent representatives to try, but they could not 
affect what dark sorcery had been afflicted upon 
him. Charles' skunk friend was the only one who 
could begin to prize it out, but he claimed it 
was enmeshed with his spirit as deep as the Curse 
we bear. He could not, and as much dared not, 
pluck at its web. Only in Sondeshara does Jerome have any hope of healing.”

Misha ground his fangs. “Why is it our enemies 
only multiply? We destroy one only to have 
another take his place. And each new one seems worse than the last!”

“Man is not meant to know peace,” Pharcellus 
observed with a shrug of his shoulders. “Not in 
this life. Such is denied even to we dragons, 
mighty and fearsome as we are.” Misha's ear 
lowered, tail ducking down, somewhat surprised at 
the dragon's philosophical bent.

“Are you sure you are Pharcellus?”

A disconsolate moue crossed the young man's face. 
“You might not recognize me anymore as a dragon, 
Misha. I have a scar – A SCAR – on my wing!”

After words of such depth, the outburst of 
draconic vanity made Misha tip back his head and laugh.

----------

Charles was disappointed when Copernicus did not 
appear to whip his tail at pool one last time; 
but it was his only disappointment. He settled 
for trading wins with Goldmark while they downed 
ale and gorged on hearty stew. The potatoes were 
preserved from last year and the meat was salty, 
but it was the same delicious stew he'd come to 
expect from the mighty Auruchs who ran the Keep's 
favorite tavern. It brought back years of pleasant memories.

He paused at the doorway when they left, one hand 
holding the wooden jamb, feeling its contours as 
if trying to preserve them. Goldmark waited, 
saying nothing, until with a long sigh, eyes turned forward, he let go.

They reached Long House not long after and for a 
moment Charles recalled the first time they had 
ever set foot or paw in the massive hall. Misha 
and he had been playing predator and prey, 
running about the Keep in feral form as part of 
his Long Scout training. Charles only had to 
survive the day, and as he'd raced to escape they 
had discovered – or the Keep provided – Long House.

And there, within the Long House was a chamber 
plucked from the depths of his home far to the 
south, a shrine with an altar filled with the 
Sondeck at which he and his student could partake 
of their Calm and find rejuvenation. Within the 
chamber he had used an ancient trap to pin the 
fox down and win their contest. Before the year 
was out he would see again the place from which the shrine sprang.

He averted his eyes from the special door.

Meredith the bear was waiting for them at the 
entrance and he lifted Charles, even in his taur 
form, from the ground to give him a firm embrace. 
“Charles, you're back! Everyone is waiting for you.”

“Meredith! Oof! It's good to see you too! Oof!” 
The bear offered a rumbling laugh as he put the 
rat back down. Goldmark shook his head in silent 
mirth. “I expected to see my children scampering 
off the balconies. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, most everyone is on duty still. Misha, 
Caroline, and your family are in your quarters 
here. Julian and Elliot returned home not long 
ago, and Garigan went into the shrine a few 
minutes past. The dragon went off to do dragonish 
things.” The bear rumbled, dark eyes looking the 
rat up and down. “I say it is good to see you 
again. Must you always leave us so soon?”

Charles sighed. “If it were in my power I would 
not have left last year. Maybe I'd be out there 
in the woods scouting for Metamor right now. But 
this is for my friend; after all he's done for 
me, I could never abandon him. Did you see what they did to him?”

Meredith shook his head and then scratched behind 
his neck. “Nay, they stayed out in the forest. 
But Garigan described it. Is this Gmork really so 
powerful as to make a man a beast in heart as well as flesh?”

“It is what Nasoj wanted for all of us. I 
actually like being a beast in flesh and wouldn't 
change back if given the chance.”

Meredith's smile widened, showing off his 
considerable fangs. “Hear, hear! My life is better as a bear! And yours a rat!”

“Will you be joining us? I should go be with my family now.”

“I have to stand watch here, but I will see you 
again this evening and for however long you are 
here; I won't go out on patrol again until next week.”

“Then I will see you again soon; I am eager to 
hear of your adventures, my friend.”

Charles took a step into Long House and noted his 
fellow rat did not follow him. “Goldmark?”

“I am going to my home now. Thank you for sharing 
your day with me, Charles.” Goldmark stepped to 
his side and patted his upper back, flanks and 
tails bumping. “If nothing else, we will see you 
again for your journey to the edge of the valley.”

“Give Julian and Elliot my thanks and tell them I 
look forward to seeing them again soon.”

Charles watched his friend leave the Long House 
and then he headed deeper within to the quarters 
it had provided his family. He had never truly 
lived in them, but had he not been exiled to the 
Glen he knew they would have been home. There was 
a spacious main room with a wide stone floor 
covered by animal skins and comfortable chairs 
flanked by a staircase and landing leading up to 
the bedrooms. Doors on either side led to a small 
kitchen and the privy. And scampering around the 
floor were his four children while his friends 
reclined on the skins or in the chairs.

Kimberly glanced up at him and smiled, noting his 
four-legged stance with amusement. “Welcome home. Did you enjoy your day out?”

“Hello, my love. It was good to see many beloved 
places again. I smell ham and honey.”

Caroline thumped her heavy tail against the floor 
where she sat nuzzling her beloved fox. “We 
finished eating a while ago. We saved some for you.”

“I just ate at the Deaf Mule, but I will have it a little later.”

He was surprised by how long it took, but his 
children had been so engrossed in their game they 
hadn't noticed him when he first came in. But the 
moment was brief and before he could take another 
step they mobbed his legs, each of them clinging 
to one, all squeaking at once for his attention. 
Charles laughed and walked into the room, lifting 
each leg and child with great care, before 
settling his bulk next to his wife and tickling 
his children with his toes. His children and all 
of his friends laughed, their warmth greater than a roaring fire.

----------

Night settled across Metamor and with it the 
warmth of the day vanished. Spring was in full 
blossom but there was still snow in the mountains 
which brought a chill wind through the valley. 
Charles felt it through his fur not as an alpine 
wind but as the emptiness of a desert midnight. 
He always smelled the desert when standing in the Sondeckis Shrine.

Garigan, garbed in his green Sondeckis robe, 
knelt before the stone altar imbued with the 
Sondeck, his paws stretched across its gray 
surface, snout relaxed in a repose as still as 
death. Charles watched the ferret for a full 
minute before he could see the slight swelling of 
his nostrils with each breath. He could not 
recall how long it had been since he had 
experienced such a deep Calm. He ached for it.

Unlike every other chamber within the Keep, the 
walls of the Shrine were fashioned from clay 
blocks. In six months time, if all went well, 
nearly every building he would see would also be 
fashioned from dried clay. He stepped back ten 
years every time he entered the Shrine. This time 
was different; this time he felt his future before him.

“I will have my family with me, this time.” 
Garigan's ears did not move. The ferret probably 
did not even know he was there. “I will not be afraid.”

Charles walked to one of the chests at the rear 
of the room, opened it, and lifted his black 
Sondeckis robe. He shimmied within its confines 
and felt warmth coat him. The new growth of vine 
nestled above his tail stirred against his fur 
before it and the robe settled into place. He 
couldn't take the entire length of vine the Wind 
Children had gifted him with last year on the 
voyage; it was simply too long now to even wind 
about his body when he did have four legs. The 
day after the dragons returned with Jerome, he 
had visited his vine to give it thanks and 
goodbye. One of the purple flowers had turned to 
face him and the rat bent forward to sniff the 
blossoms. Before he could touch those gentle 
petals a seed had fallen from within.

Tears had touched his eyes as he plucked the seed 
from the stable floor and pressed it against his 
back above his tail. He felt it burrow into his 
flesh, all without pain. The next morning the 
first sprout of vine poked a green tendril from 
the same spot. The Wind Children's gift, his 
plant friend, would be with him even in 
Sondeshara. Charles felt a smile return to his 
snout even as the memory touched his heart.

Attired in his robe, Charles knelt on the 
opposite side of the angel from Garigan and 
pressed his hands against the altar. Strength 
filled him and he felt a rush of heat. His eyes 
snapped shut and he found himself standing in the 
desert sands looking across a vast city and 
oasis. Its towers, its streets, and its lights were all familiar.

I once loved this city.

His paws sunk into the sand even as his eyes 
turned the city about, noting every avenue, every 
tree, and every rock. Day and night were present 
together, gold glimmering with brilliant sunshine 
and pools of water silver with the moon. He saw 
markets with wide awnings and domed ceilings 
where he and his friends traded chores for fresh 
figs and dates. His eyes walked through the 
practice rooms and commanded his limbs to perform 
each drill. His gaze brought him to the Cathedral 
and its crypt where one day he'd hoped his bones would rest.

And everywhere his eyes went, there the Sondeck 
abode. Its power suffused his flesh and drove his 
every deed. In it he found both repose and 
exhilaration. He was no more a knight, nor merely 
a rat; he wasn't even a man named Charles 
Matthias. He was a filled vessel, a cup running 
over, and an arrow springing from the bow. His 
life was not his own but a part of something 
vast. It was gift given to many and shared.

I belong in this city.

He could feel his claws digging against the stone 
of the altar and his eyes opened. The desert and 
city were gone. It took him several seconds to 
breathe. He stared at the gray slab and lifted 
his fingers away. Charles wanted to feel 
unsettled by everything he'd been shown, but all within him was calm.

“What was it?”

He turned to the ferret. Garigan had also lifted 
his hands from the altar and looked to the rat 
with serene curiosity. “I saw the desert sands, 
the pools of water bubbling up, the trees and 
grains, the clay homes, the brick streets, all of 
it. Was it Sondeshara? It's never done that before.”

“No, it hasn't. And aye, it was Sondeshara.”

Garigan reached across the angel and gripped the 
rat's shoulder. “It wants us to know all will be 
well when we reach your city, Master.”

“Perhaps,” Charles admitted. “But who is it? Has 
the altar ever spoken to you before? Has it ever 
shown you anything you had not thought of yourself?”

“No.” If this bothered the ferret, he gave no 
outward sign. “Has it never done so for you?”

Charles stood and invited Garigan to do likewise. 
“Those are more questions than we need for 
tonight. We have a very long journey ahead of us. 
Come, let us practice together for an hour and 
then we both need our sleep.” Was it, Charles 
pondered, a vision granted by the altar, or a 
gift granted by Metamor herself? After a moment he let the worry slip away.

The ferret smiled and joined him. Charles gave 
the altar one last stare before stepping to the 
middle of the shrine and allowing himself to truly savor the Sondeck within.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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