[Mkguild] First Day on Patrol (1/3)

[C. Matthias]

I've managed to take advantage of spending more 
time at home and finished another Metamor Keep story.

Metamor Keep: First Day on Patrol
by Charles Matthias

June 30, 708 CR

Elvmere lifted a paw from where he crouched at 
the feet of his lady, chittering to capture her 
attention. But he always had her attention, and 
the gentle smile returned to him, made him swell 
in proportion, rendering the beastly noises into 
words. “My Lady, will we be safe?”

Softness touched her eyes and one hand gently pet 
down his fur between his ears. Her lips moved to 
open, and then she shut them into an even wider smile.

The raccoon craned upward, paws pressed against 
one alabaster thigh, snout and whiskers straining 
for her oval face. He did not know if he retained 
any human semblance. All he knew was his Lady.

Her hand curled around his ears and then under 
his muzzle. She leaned over, locks of raven-black 
hair cascading across her shoulders and onto his 
back. Her lips drew near as if to gently kiss his 
nose, but demurred only inches away. Voluminous 
blue eyes captured him. Her voice, sweet as honey 
and gentle as silk, lathered his ears. “My 
Elvmere. Be not afraid. You are protected.” She 
brushed with the tip of one finger across the 
black mask around his eyes and face. “Fight bravely, my Elvmere.”


The raccoon blinked open his eyes into the gloom 
of the men's acolyte chamber. He stared into a 
long-nosed and broad headed face. Large 
horse-like ears were lifted and turned toward 
him. As the nepenthe of dream faded, Elvmere 
recognized the face of his friend, Tamsin 
hin'Feros. The long pig-like snout hanging in 
front of his mouth, the large equine ears, the 
thin gray hide, and the short mane running from 
the top of his head down between his shoulders marked him as a tapir.

“It's time, Elvmere. Get your gear and let's go.”

“Must we leave before dawn prayers?” Elvmere 
asked as he sat up. His legs dangled off the bunk 
above the tapir's own. If he stretched his arms 
up he could almost brush his claws against the 
ceiling and its ancient frescoes. Acolytes from 
some forgotten era had painted scenes from the 
lives of the gods but most were now faded and 
covered in candle soot. Whenever they had 
artisans of sufficient skill among the acolytes 
they were cleaned and restored, but the few among 
the order were all women and so the men's 
chambers were left untouched for the nonce.

Tamsin lifted his snout in a muffled laugh. “You 
heard Captain Dallar, we must assemble at the barracks by dawn.”

“I know,” Elvmere whispered. He yawned and 
stretched, tongue curling and lolling out between 
his teeth. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to gather our scouting gear. Here.” 
Tamsin lifted a folded green uniform and handed 
it to him. Elvmere took it and set it on his 
feather pillow. “Get dressed and meet me at the 
temple front. I'll gather the rest of our things from the armory.”

Elvmere nodded and shimmied out of his 
nightclothes while his friend stepped tip-toe out 
of the acolyte's chamber. They'd selected the 
uniform from the barracks a few days before. It 
had taken two candlemarks to make sure they had 
one suitably sized for him. If they did run into 
brigands or worse, it was best not to make it 
easy for any to know they were anything other than Keep patrol.

He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out the 
small medallion with the circle and arrow symbol 
of Dokorath inscribed. Elvmere sighed and in the 
dark stared at it. Priestess Merai had gifted it 
to him last night after they'd returned from the 
barracks. It had been blessed and touched with 
the blood of sacrifice by both Merai and the 
Lothanasa. He cradled it in awe and a sense of shame.

I'm not worthy of Dokorath's blessing. I'm not 
brave. I didn't even believe Dokorath was a god a 
year ago. Will he truly protect me?

Elvmere lifted the medallion to his snout, 
fingers cradling it so he could see every curve 
of the bronze inscription. Gold limned the symbol 
but in the darkness even his eyes could see no 
glint. He took a deep breath and recalled the 
beam of pride in Merai's eyes when she bid him 
kneel. He had not hesitated, and around his neck 
she'd draped the medallion and intoned a prayer of blessing and protection.

If not my devotion, than Priestess Merai's will 
suffice. Dokorath, guide my hand and heart. Help 
me serve, and in battle help me protect my 
friends. Dokorath, I entrust myself to you.

Elvmere kissed the medallion and slipped it over 
his head. The metal bounced against his chest and 
even through his fur was cool. He sighed and 
dressed himself in the scouts uniform. It fit 
comfortably with enough give for climbing and 
crawling but not too loose to interfere with 
fighting. He could probably easily squirm out of 
it into his feral form if he so chose.

Once dressed he climbed out of his bunk and left 
the acolyte's chamber, the only sound the grumble 
and grunt of snores. He carried the boots they'd 
given him as he preferred to walk on his paws. 
He'd not worn shoes on his journey with Malger 
and Murikeer except when he'd had to, thickening 
and toughening his soles. Shoes or boots of any 
sort felt uncomfortable; he wore sandals in the 
temple because it was expected of an acolyte. He 
would wear the boots if their patrol Captain insisted.

Tamsin was at the temple entrance as promised, a 
buckler around his waist and shoulder with a 
sword strapped to his left and a dagger to his 
right. He held another in one hand and offered it 
to the raccoon. “You look like you were made for patrol, Elvmere.”

“Because I'm a raccoon; they live in forests like 
those of Metamor.” He took the buckler and 
managed to strap it on without assistance. The 
weight of the sword and dagger were familiar 
after weeks of guard duty and marching around 
Metamor's halls. “I'm still not sure how well I'll do, but I'm ready.”

Tamsin patted him on the shoulder and lifted his 
snout in a smile. “Of course you are. One last prayer before we go?”

He smiled. “Aye, one last prayer!”

----------

Dawn had arrived but the sun still lay hidden 
behind the Barrier Mountains. The sky was a clear 
blue from eastern to western peaks with halos of 
white where the snow-capped summits reflected 
rays only they could see. Along the valley all 
was bathed in a shadowless gray. Warmth already suffused the air.

Though colors were muted without the sun, the 
scents of Metamor's varied population and the oil 
and grease of armor and steel weapons were all 
the more powerful. Elvmere could smell the ram 
captain and his fellow soldiers and knew where 
they waited before he saw them. Before they 
rounded the side of the barracks as they made 
their way around the Keep grounds, the raccoon 
gave one last tug to his buckler to keep it straight.

“Ah, excellent, Tamsin, Elvmere, you're here.” 
The ram had a pipe between his flat teeth which 
he spoke around. “Join the others for last 
inspection. If everyone is ready, we will be able to leave in a few minutes.”

“Captain Dallar,” Tamsin inclined his head, long 
ears folded backward, “I trust we are not late?”

The ram shrugged. “The solstice was a week ago; 
we'll have more than enough time to begin. The Keep make you go roundabout?”

“We had more prayers and more gods to offer them 
too than we expected.” Tamsin gave Elvmere a 
slight nudge in the arm which the raccoon dodged. 
Dallar chuckled around his pipe as the two 
acolytes found their place next to a very young 
woodpecker. The woodpecker was wearing a green 
tunic with a baldric to which his supplies were 
hooked but no trousers. His black tail fanned out 
behind him while his dark talons clawed 
uncertainly at the ground. Bright yellow eyes met 
them for a moment before casting back toward the patrol captain.

Dallar dumped the ashes out of his pipe, ground 
them beneath a dark cloven hoof, and tapped his 
pipe bowl against one curling horn before 
slipping it into one of the pouches along his 
buckler. His white wool was short and must have 
been sheared a month back. He like the rest bore 
the green uniform of Metamor's patrols, his with 
the captain's bar emblazoned on his breast 
beneath the horse-head heraldry of the Hassan 
house. One two-fingered hand rested upon the 
pommel of a heavy sword hanging from his left 
hip. His dark eyes swept across the soldiers, 
only half of which bore themselves with any seasoning.

“I know for some of you this is your first 
patrol. Let me set your fears at ease; you are 
joining an experienced team. We have been in the 
field together since last Autumn and have been 
nearly everywhere in the valley already. We are 
going to be making a two-week sweep of the fiefs 
and villages south of the Keep. We'll stop in 
Lorland for a few days before making rounds 
through Goffs Oak, Ticehurst, Sawtry, and Iron 
Mine. We're going to spend some time on the roads 
and some in the fields and forests. The Summer 
Festival ended six days ago; the worst I expect 
to see is a few stragglers who haven't figured 
out the festivities are over and a few merchants 
who stayed too long. There may be brigands, but 
they usually stay near Jetta and Llancarfan at 
the valley mouth to avoid the Curse; we won't be 
going so far south. Honestly, the most combat I 
expect to see is helping village-folk keep peace 
by braining drunkards or capturing poachers and thieves.

“But I do expect each of you to fight if we must. 
I and my men will help each of you learn your 
strengths. Other than Van,” he nodded toward a 
human boy who looked thirteen in size, but thirty 
in the twist of his lips and confidence in his 
eyes. “And Maud,” he said with another nod toward 
a human woman who stood next to the towering 
giraffe. “Other than them, all of you are animal 
cursed. You will each have things you can do no 
human could hope to do. Going on patrol is the 
best way to learn what they are. Now, other than 
my unit, I know Tamsin there has patrol 
experience. Tamsin, I expect you to help the rest.”

The tapir lifted his snout and grinned. “It will be my honor, Captain.”

“Good! Now, stand ready for inspection.”

As soon as he said this the two hawks, giraffe, 
woman, boy, and tapir all stiffened their backs 
and stood half-a-hand higher – the giraffe 
probably stood a hand higher, he was almost twice 
Elvmere's height and the raccoon wondered how he 
could even fit inside. The others – the 
woodpecker at his side, a brown-furred ram, and a 
blue-red speckled lizard – all did their best to 
stand the same way. Elvmere was grateful for the 
Temple guard duty he'd been on the last two weeks 
as he managed to comfortably hold the pose. His 
tail twitched from side to side, but the rest of 
him remained still, even his whiskers.

Dallar walked down the line of soldiers, stopping 
to check weapons and gear. He was rigorous with 
the soldiers in his unit but completely silent. 
When he came to the lizard, after looking over 
his weapons, Dallar gestured to the pack he 
carried and asked, “Wyaert, do you have enough to 
keep warm? We have cold days in the Summer, 
especially in the forests and mountain foothills.”

The lizard – a tokay Elvmere remembered – cracked 
his wide jaws and said in a croaking voice, “I 
have an extra set of garments in my pack, Captain. I'm ready.”

“Good, good!” Dallar offered the tokay a smile 
before striding to the other ram, one whose horns 
were only as long as the raccoon's fingers. 
Elvmere remembered from the night before when 
they'd first met with Dallar and the team the 
other ram had transformed only a few months 
before. His coat was hairy like a goat, but the 
face, other than the color, was much like Dallar's own.

“Sedric, have you bracers for your legs? With all 
the walking we're going to do, it will help keep 
your muscles strong. I know what it is to have hooves.”

“Oh, nay, I have none, Captain! Uh, where do I find some?”

“I'll give you a pair of mine in a moment.”

Dallar had nothing to say to the woodpecker only 
offering him a nod of the head before moving on 
to the raccoon. Elvmere took a deep breath and 
pressed his thumbs into his fingertips rubbing 
the claws one across the other as the ram looked 
him up and down. After a short perusal, he 
chuffed and said, “Tamsin has taught you well, Elvmere.”

Elvmere felt his chest swell at the praise even 
as he exhaled in relief. His breath caught again 
when Dallar pointed at his feet. “You have almost 
human feet; why aren't you wearing the boots I gave you?”

“I am more comfortable without them. I've walked 
the length of Sathmore barefoot. I do have the 
boots in my pack... in case it rains.”

Dallar snorted and nodded. “You'll want them if 
it does, lad. Very good.” The ram moved to the 
tapir, but his scrutiny of Tamsin was even 
quicker. He then clapped his hands together, the 
hoof-like nails making a clacking sound in 
addition to the normal clap. “All right, we've a 
long way to go, let's get to it. Van, Maud, 
gather the pack horses and secure the food. 
Weyden, Jessica, Myrwyn, stow your gear and 
follow us in the sky. Sedric, come with me. The 
rest of you wait here. We'll be leaving in a few minutes.”

The woodpecker lowered his beak and chirped 
something under his breath before walking with 
bobbing head toward the two hawks. Dallar led 
Sedric into the barracks, while Van and Maud went 
into the stables around the corner. Tamsin 
stretched his arms and legs and chortled. Elvmere 
turned to his friend and tapped one finger atop 
the Dokorath medallion beneath his green patrol tunic. “You've taught me well.”

Tamsin flashed him a snout-raised grin. “Like I 
said, you were made for patrol!”

“Heh, we'll know in two weeks I suppose.”

“Stop fretting. Or do you need another twenty prayers before we go?”

“Dokorath probably welcomes the devotion!”

Tamsin nodded and chortled, stomping a three-toed foot. “Oh aye he does.”

----------

Elvmere was surprised at how quickly they 
traversed both Keeptowne and Euper to reach the 
well-traveled road south through the valley. One 
minute he and Tamsin were jesting outside the 
barracks and the next they were walking two by 
two with a pair of pack horses through the city 
streets as merchants and vendors gathered to 
begin their day. Dallar set a quick pace the 
raccoon found easy to match; it carried them 
through the streets before those merchants 
clogged them with booths and wagons. And as they 
were a Metamor patrol, they passed through each 
city gate with smiles and waves. In two 
candlemarks the tough soles of his feet and the 
claws of his toes were digging in the hard-packed dirt outside the walls.

Dallar led them down the road for another 
candlemark before stopping. The road kept 
straight with cleared fields on either side the 
entire time. Rolling hills dotted the countryside 
and where the road crossed over these stone walls 
had been built to keep the road clear and level. 
They passed a few shacks for guards and travelers 
caught in the rain fashioned from woods. When 
they reached the first watch tower the ram bade 
them halt. “We'll stop here for a few minutes. It 
is good to get word about the road ahead. Tamsin, 
Elvmere, see the guards in the tower and find the 
news. I'll wave our birds down; we can talk 
briefly when you return. Sedric, Wyaert, I want 
you both to practice with your swords as we wait.”

Elvmere watched the tokay and brown ram shrug off 
their packs and reach for their swords, before 
turning to follow his friend toward the tower. 
The others kept their packs on, but the giraffe 
did recline against the wall to watch.

The tower was fashioned from three pylons around 
a fourth that rose like a pyramid, crossed 
together with scaffolding, and then spreading 
apart to cradle a cupola with a roof of wooden 
slats. The cupola was open to the air on every 
side and he could smell a faint odor of woodsmoke 
within. Pounded into one of the slanted pylons 
were iron rungs; these ran all the way up before 
switching to the central pylon. Elvmere put a 
hand over his eyes as he followed them up to what 
must have been a trap door in the bottom of the cupola.

“You first,” Tamsin said as they walked toward 
the ladder. “Raccoons like being in trees, don't they?”

“I do actually,” Elvmere admitted. On a few days 
free of Temple duties, he'd ventured into the 
Keep gardens as a normal raccoon and reclined in 
the branches, hidden from the many Keepers going 
about their business. There was something 
comforting about the feel of his claws in the 
bark and it set his mind and heart at ease.

The watch tower was even easier to climb. He 
zipped up the rungs even with his pack still on 
his back, and after half-a-minute was knocking on 
the bottom of the trap door. Tamsin was several 
rungs below him, chortling at his speed. He heard 
the sound of boots above him and a metal latch 
drawing open. The door swung upward and Elvmere 
put his hands on either side of the opening and 
pulled himself through. The edge of his pack 
bumped the floor once before he leaned forward and slipped inside.

There were two guards in the cupola, one of them 
a human man, and the other a gray-furred wolf. 
The man stood next to the trap door and the 
central pylon. “Welcome; not here to relieve us I suppose?”

“No, we're on patrol to the south,” Elvmere 
replied, offering both guards what he hoped was a 
warm smile. He tried not to lift his jowls too 
much as he did so. Even Metamorians sometimes 
misunderstood when an animal Keeper showed their 
fangs. “How long have you been here?”

“Since midnight,” the human replied with a shrug. 
“Our relief should come in an hour or so. Want to know about the roads then?”

“Aye, have there been many travelers?” Elvmere 
moved to the edge so he could peer out over the 
field and road. Tamsin grunted as he scrambled 
his bulk through the trap door. The wolf watched 
them without making any sound other than the 
rustling of fur as his tail wagged.

“Nothing more than local farmers going about 
their day. See for yourself.” The human soldier 
stepped behind Elvmere and gestured with 
outstretched arm to the south. The forests that 
dominated the hilly lands just south of Metamor 
continued for a short distance before giving way 
to cleared fields that flanked the river south of 
a rocky defile. Thatch homes dotted the 
cultivated fields with their rows of wheat and 
vegetables. The forests clung to the mountain 
foothills and in the midst of one rise he saw 
another watchtower. When he squinted he thought 
he could see another past the farms, but the eyes 
of a raccoon were not meant for such distances.

Staring out across the fields and forest south of 
the Keep framed by mountains on either side, 
Elvmere could not help but recall his first foray 
from Metamor over a year past. The whole venture 
seemed ludicrous to him, but he'd trusted his 
Lady when she told him it was time to go. He even 
walked barefoot as she'd instructed him and 
refused to ride a horse or in wagons except for 
the brief times when he'd been given no choice – 
the time they'd be pressed into service in the 
mountains of southern Sathmore to repel an 
invasion from Breckaris sprung to mind. It had 
also been the first time he'd accepted the name 
his Lady had bestowed upon him – Elvmere.

It was strange to admit, but the name suited him 
better than the one he'd been born with. At 
least, it suited the young raccoon he now was 
better than the old man he'd been only two years before.

Elvmere leaned against the wooden railing, claws 
idly digging at the wood, ears turned toward the 
air. The scent of human and wolf was strongest, 
but the pleasant spice of pine drifted up along 
the breeze. He could even hear the sweet songs of 
birds nesting and freshly hatched chicks begging 
for their meal. The clanging of swords from below 
and the murmuring of Tamsin and the other two soldiers completed the symphony.

He took a deep breath and let it out slow, 
languorous, and satisfied. Elvmere felt a faint 
surprise but deeper delight. He was looking 
forward to the next two weeks of patrol.

“Hey, Elvmere,” Tamsin called. He turned; the 
tapir had his arms crossed with a wide grin on 
his snout. He stood in front the forest side 
wall, a contraption with a wheel and ropes fell 
away behind him. He nodded toward a bar hanging 
off the rope. “Have you ever tried one of these?”

Elvmere shook his head. “Nay, what is it?”

“Quick escape,” Tamsin reached up and grabbed the 
bar. Elvmere walked over and peered over the 
railing. The pair of ropes descended at an angle 
down to the edge of the woods. “Guards can ride this down in a few seconds.”

“There's a second bar at the bottom,” the wolf 
interjected, stepping over to rest a paw-like 
hand on the bar. “Ride this one down and the other comes up.”

Tamsin's grin widened. “Care to try?”

Elvmere laughed. “All I do is hold on?”

“Aye.” The wolf grinned and wagged his tail. “Let 
go and you'll break your legs, maybe more.”

Elvmere nudged Tamsin in the side as he 
straightened his sword then reached up for the 
bar. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and 
tensed his shoulders. “You just don't want to climb down the ladder again.”

“Ladders are for going up!”

The wolf patted the railing and then swept his 
paw forward. “Just step up to the ledge. Keep 
your elbows bent or you can wreck your shoulders when you jump off.”

Elvmere took a deep breath, stared out over the 
drop, and chortled. “Aye, never done this.” He 
put one foot on the railing, toes and claws 
curling over the wood, and then jumped forward. 
The rope whistled and the gears squeaked as he 
rushed forward. His weight yanked down and he 
felt a jolt through his elbows and shoulders but 
he kept his body coiled and elbows bent. The air 
zipped past and the trees and ground rushed 
forward; his heart beat fast and his teeth ground 
tight. He held out his feet as one large oak 
zoomed at him. He connected with a well-worn part 
of the bark, claws digging in. His knees and hips 
bent with the impact. He bounced back, hands 
letting go of the bar, collapsing on the ground. 
He gasped and crawled away, shaking his head from the rush.

“Akkala!” He managed in between gasps, begging 
the goddess of healing for his breath back.

He managed to stand and straighten his pack and 
sword as another zipping resounded and Tamsin 
struck the tree. The tapir jumped backward and 
landed on his three-toed feet, gasping for only a 
moment before laughing. “I guess I should have 
warned you about the landing. Hah! You did great!”

“Oh my!” Elvmere gasped, hand to his chest as the 
world settled back to normal around him. “Aye, you should. Ow!”

“Tamsin! Elvmere! Enough foolishness!” Dallar 
shouted from the field near the tower. Elvmere 
turned and was surprised to see they and the 
tower were at least two hundred paces away. He 
grunted and started off at a trot back toward the 
others. Tamsin chortled for a moment as he 
hurried to keep pace. By the time they reached 
the rest of their patrol he'd caught his breath.

All three birds had landed and assumed their most 
human shape, watching as the younger ram and the 
tokay lizard traded blows. The two hawks were 
near the giraffe and two humans trading comments, 
while the young woodpecker perched upon the stone 
wall by himself. The combatants reminded Elvmere 
of his practice fights with Tamsin; the 
brown-furred ram especially used simple moves and 
used them over and over again while the tokay 
seemed to swing his sword more like a hammer against stone.

Elvmere shrugged and smiled toward Dallar as they 
approached. The ram shook his head and turned his 
attention back to the combatants. Elvmere settled 
next to the woodpecker and asked, “How was the flight?”

Myrwyn lowered his long beak to preen at the 
feathers of his right wing arm. He lifted it a 
moment later, wide yellow eyes fixed on him. “The 
air is pretty still today. I'm not as good as they are at flying.”

Elvmere frowned. “How long have you been cursed?”

“About three months now. You?”

He grunted, though the excitement he still felt 
from riding the rope down kept him from feeling 
as much like an idiot as he knew he was. 
Lothanasa Raven had forbade him from speaking of 
his past from before he became Malger's 
apprentice on their journey through Sathmore. 
Asking another Keeper about when they became 
cursed naturally meant they would ask him the 
same. The true answer was not even two years 
past, but so much had changed in those two years 
he'd come up with a response both true and 
evasive enough to forestall further inquiry.

Elvmere favored the woodpecker with a smile, even 
as he put his hands behind his head and made a 
show of looking back at the contest. “Ah, it 
seems a life time ago now. I was a different person then.”

He almost needn't have worried because Myrwyn 
merely bobbed his head and resumed preening the black feathers on his wings.

Dallar allowed the combatants to trade a dozen 
more blows before bleating and waving his arms. 
“Enough for now! We've more road to cover today; 
I'd like to be in Lorland by lunch. Elvmere, what of the roads ahead?”

The raccoon blinked and turned to the south. “It 
looks clear, sir. Nothing but farmers we could see.”

“Good, good. Weyden said the same.” Dallar 
flecked his lips, revealing the flat teeth behind 
them for a moment. “Everyone gather your gear, 
it's time to keep moving. Elvmere, you're with me 
on point. Maud, Van, give Wyaert and Sedric some 
pointers on fighting. Larssen, you and Tamsin 
take the rear. Weyden, Jessica, Myrwyn, I want 
two of you in the sky and the third riding with 
our supplies for the rest of the trip. Switch 
every candlemark so you can stay rested. Myrwyn, 
you can take first rest.” The woodpecker blew out a sigh of relief at the news.

Tamsin patted Elvmere on the shoulder and flashed 
him a tooth-filled grin as he walked toward the 
giraffe. Elvmere chittered under his breath and 
turned toward the ram captain to begin the walk again.

----------

Dallar said nothing at all as they walked for at 
least two candlemarks. They reached the 
cultivated fields not long after resuming their 
trek; short walls of rocks of all sizes fitted 
together and others fashioned from long cuts of 
wood marked off the fields for each of the farms. 
Thatch huts dotted the land between them. Some of 
the fields were left fallow, with sheep and 
cattle grazing under the watchful eyes of shepherds.

The ram had them moving at an easy but steady 
pace. Elvmere had no trouble keeping abreast and 
from time to time could even savor the feel of 
dirt between his claws and toes where freshly 
turned fields overflowed onto the road. The 
weight of the sword and pack were as comfortable 
as the instruments had been when he'd traveled as Malger's apprentice.

He chuffed at the memory and his snout cracked in 
a smile. For a moment he wished he could be 
journeying from town to town with his master and 
the skunk mage Murikeer again. It had been hard 
days walking many miles only to play and sing for 
hours to earn a meal and a place to sleep, and 
sometimes all they had was a bitter gruel and a 
smelly barn with rain-damp straw for a bed. He'd 
remembered being very uncertain at first when 
Malger offered to take him on as an apprentice 
for the sake of appearances during their 
pilgrimage through Sathmore. It was a land alien 
to him and he in a body also alien to him. 
Malger's confidence and Murikeer's selfless 
charity had been a comfort to the anxious 
raccoon. It had been easy to slip into the role 
of apprentice. He'd enjoyed learning the many 
instruments and to find the unexpected melody in 
his own voice, despite Malger's lecherous taste in song.

I wonder, what if I had stayed his apprentice and 
accompanied him on his journey to Sutthaivasse? 
Would he still be teaching me music? Would I be 
learning the sword from him instead of Tamsin and the patrols?

No, foolish thought, I couldn't have. It never 
even occurred to me to think it. If I had... I 
would... would not be Lothanasi now. I'd still be trying to be... Vinsah.

Elvmere chuffed again and shook his head; it was 
best not to dwell on such things. Nostalgia was 
often a poor judge of the times. Besides, if he 
was going to let his mind wander from his patrol 
duties then he should at least ponder something 
useful like philosophy. Dallar noticed with a 
slight turn to his one eye facing the raccoon. 
His lips moved and in a grunt he asked, “Are you well, Elvmere?”

“Aye, just remembering the last time I walked these roads.”

“As a minstrel's apprentice?”

“Aye.” Elvmere let his eyes focus on the fields ahead.

Dallar rolled something around in his mouth a 
moment before asking, “How are you feet?”

“Good. I like the feel of dirt beneath them.”

“You should wear the boots for more than just 
mud. In battle, an injured foot can kill you.”

Elvmere shrugged the pack on his back, tail 
flicking for a moment before nodding to the ram. 
“I am more comfortable without them, Sir, but if 
you order me I will put them on.”

Dallar's eye did not leave him, but his ears 
lifted up against his horns in a caprine grin. “I 
will but not today. Tell me, how long have you been training for this patrol?”

“About a month. I've been on guard duty at the Temple these last two weeks.”

“Have you ever swung a sword before a month ago?”

Elvmere shook his head. “Not since I was a boy.”

Dallar grunted. “A young man your age, temple 
acolyte or not, should know how to swing a sword. 
And by the time this patrol is done, you will.”

“Aye, Sir,” Elvmere nodded his head. “If I may be 
so bold, I hope we do not have to use our swords for aught but training.”

“You'd be a fool if you wanted anything else. You 
don't carry yourself like a fool, even if you go 
down the quick line without learning how to stop first.”

Elvmere hissed between his teeth, a sudden heat 
filling him at the casual way the ram had spoken. 
Some of his muscles were still sore. “They didn't tell me!”

Dallar actually turned his head as they walked. 
The ram's hooves made soft crunching noises on 
the small rocks littering the road. He chuckled. 
“As I said, you don't seem a fool to me. Young, 
but no fool. Have you been to Lorland before?”

He gritted his fangs and chuffed, trying to laugh 
at himself. “I passed through here, but I've 
never stopped at the town. How much further is it?”

“These fields and farms are Lorland, or at least, 
it's northern lands. We should be at the barracks 
in town in an hour. You'll come with me as we report in.”

“Report?”

“Aye, Metamor patrols must report to the barracks 
in each town when we arrive. You'll see. This 
will not be your last patrol, Elvmere. Perhaps 
you'll enjoy it more than life as a temple 
acolyte. Are you a disciple of Dokorath?”

Elvmere lifted one hand and traced his claws over 
the outline of the bronze medallion hiding 
beneath his patrol tunic before reaching inside 
and drawing it out. “This? It was a gift from the 
Lothanasa and Priestess Merai to protect me on my 
first patrol. I am not Dokorath's disciple, but I 
will give him my prayers and do him honor. I seek 
his protection and his guidance. And bravery. I'm 
not sure how much I have of my own.”

“You should talk with Weyden; he wants to be 
Dokorath's disciple. Perhaps he can help you find your bravery.”

Elvmere cast a quick glance at the sky but could 
see neither the hawk nor the woodpecker flying 
above. Behind them the black hawk perched upon 
the wagons amiably chatting with the woman. “I 
will, when there is time. There will be time, Sir?”

“We've two weeks for patrol, Elvmere, we will all know each other better.”

The raccoon nodded. “Aye, in sooth. Could I have 
a chance to walk with him later today? I'd really like to.”

The ram chuffed and flicked one ear, eyes lifting 
to the horizon. Beyond the hills ahead they could 
see clusters of thatch-roofed huts, communal 
barns, and the towers and walls marking the town 
at the center of Metamor's most fertile land. “I 
don't see why not. Are you going to learn magic at the Temple too?”

Elvmere nodded. “Priestess Merai wants me to 
begin training later this Summer or Fall.”

“Then speaking with Jessica could help too. 
Perhaps she can teach you something. Even witchlights would be useful.”

“Aye,” Elvmere felt a twinge in his heart. 
Murikeer had offered to teach him magic when they 
had traveled together a year ago. He had refused 
of course; Patildor did not practice magic, 
unless they were a member of a Southern mage 
clan, or one of the other exceptions shoehorned 
in so they could make converts. He chuffed at his 
reluctance and bitterness and felt a strange 
relief and youthful eagerness. What if he could 
actually use magic too? He had – wanted – to try. 
“Aye, I really should. Thank you, Sir.”

Dallar offered a faint smile, a slight curling of 
the ends of his jowls, brightening of his eyes, 
and lifting of his ears against his curling horns. “Good man.”

Elvmere walked a little taller.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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