<html> <body> Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias March 6, 708 CR James reported to the brewery as soon as he rose the next morning. The donkey had not slept well the night before, strange dreams of vaulted ceilings occluded by thick, oppressive shadow waking him several times during the middle of the night. Still, his anxiety was born not of the nightmares, but of the mountains they would traverse; and most especially who he would be traversing them with. Charles was one of the few people he knew cared about him and in the year they had known each other, James felt that their friendship was more than just comrades in arms, or from shared interest. They were brothers in a way that defied lineage. But, to James's continual frustration, he was the younger brother. As much as he admired and cared for Charles, whenever the two of them were placed together, everyone preferred to be with the rat. And then there was Angus. The badger was a good teacher and had convinced James that he could actually swing a sword. Yet, he always felt like a student in his presence, as if the badger were always evaluating him and pondering what next he needed to learn. James would always be his inferior. These misgivings gnawed at his heart and darkened his dreams like banners blackened with soot flying low to the ground. Yet it was the opossum Baerle that twisted him and drove him mad. Every time he awoke with her face in his eyes he frantically searched for his bell, hands trembling until thick fingers wrapped about its handle and gave it a swing. The sweet note would sooth his nerves and allow to return to sleep. He wanted to have a chance for Baerle to see what he was capable of. But with Angus schooling him, and Charles outshining him, there would never be a chance for the opossum to notice a foolish donkey like him. But, as he rushed into the brewery to volunteer himself for scouting duty, he had a few days before the trek into the mountains with which to approach her. To his surprise, he found that there were only a dozen or so people in the brewery waiting. Amongst them was Angus who was busy discussing assignments with the others assembled. The collected miasma of animal scents from last night blended with the ever present wine and ale that permeated the bear's establishment made James's nostrils twitch, but of those that were fresh, he did not smell the opossum. “Ah, James,” Angus said as he approached, “We've got something easy for you today. Just a simple scouting patrol south of the Glen. Berchem here will be guiding you through the forests.” The badger gestured to a stocky skunk standing to his left conversing with a pair of shorter Keepers, a vole and arctic fox that James recognized. His heart tightened and his hand wound about the handle of his bell. “I was hoping to join Baerle on her rounds today.” He couldn't believe he'd said it, but there it was out for all of the others in the Glen to know. The skunk's eyes narrowed a moment and then he shook his head and turned back to the other two to whisper something James couldn't hear. Angus shook his head. “She's up in the trees the next few days. Now I know you have mountain experience, but trees are different. Hooves do not belong in trees. Don't worry, she's one of our most experienced, she'll be fine. And so will you. Now, we hope that plague doesn't get up here, and to make sure it doesn't, the southern borders need to be watched carefully. Anybody trying to slip through, well.” The badger folded his paws under his chin and narrowed his small, dark eyes. “I don't need to explain, do I?” James's long tail fell still between his legs and his ears lowered in disappointment. Glumly, he began to shake his head. “I understand. I'm ready to go as soon as everyone else is.” The badger half-grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Good. I'm glad we've got you with us again, James.” But as his hoof-like fingers stroked the silent surface of the bell, the imagined tolling that he could hear drowned out the compliment. ---------- Despite the weariness in his heart, Charles had to admit that it felt good to be in the saddle and doing something. He would have surely lost what composure he still had and destroyed his furnishings as he used to do when the anger of the Sondeck grew too powerful had he been left to his own devices. As Saulius's squire, it was simple enough to slip into the subservient role and allow another to direct his actions. Only a few days ago the routine grated on him because he wanted to hurry back to his wife and children. Now they were out of reach and the equestrian life was a welcome escape from the fear that he might never see them again. And to his immense relief, Saulius informed him that morning that they would be riding north along the road toward the border with Hareford to patrol there. So far from Metamor as that, any temptation he might suffer to sneak off and find some way to breach the Keep's defenses could be easily kept at bay. It also amused him that his friend and knight, Sir Erick Saulius, had seen fit to decide their patrol route with Angus and Lord Avery before consulting with Charles. In fact, the Sondecki turned squire had not been consulted at all. It made Charles realize that for however many days it took before the woodpecker had completed his preparations, Saulius would be taking charge of all of his affairs. There was solace in that. So after rising and eating a brief meal of eggs and biscuits, Charles attired himself in his mail and tabard, then tended both his steed Malicon and Saulius's mount Armivest. He cleaned their hooves, combed their hides and manes as he had been taught, then secured their saddles and reins. He brought both out to the knight rat who studied them with a critical eye before nodding his approval. And a few minutes after that, they were in the saddle and heading north at a slow trot along the road. They rode side by side, tails dangling over the hindquarters of their steeds and occasionally being tickled by the long, coarse hairs of their pony's tails. Their ears and eyes were alert as they listened to the rhythmic clopping of hooves on the hard-packed earth, and the weight of their swords rested against their thighs. And yet for all that, they relaxed as they rode, allowing the peaceful serenity of the cool winter woods around them to sooth their nerves. The road took a northeasterly course for roughly half an hour before turning northward along a slight ridge that sloped down sharply to the east. From there they could look out over the tops of the trees and see the Valley through a faint morning mist. Folds and folds of hills, tree tops mostly barren but some still cluttered with white, and little sign of habitation. To the northeast they could glimpse the squat towers of Hareford, but only if they stood up in the saddle in just the right place. They slowed their pace at that point and what should have taken only a half hour ended up taking a full hour. The air was crisp but a slight wind coming from the south suggested the warmth they'd felt a few days earlier in Jetta. A few birds were already beginning to claim territory and their bright songs echoed on either side. Some of the larger woodland creatures darted across the road only to disappear within the underbrush; Charles spotted a fox, a badger, and two groundhogs amongst them; there were several others that moved too quickly for him to recognize. The eastern bank of the road leveled out ten minutes before they reached the bridge. Charles smiled as he saw it. The stone bridge crossing the cleft through the earth was new, built only a year ago after the former wooden structure had been toppled to the ground by the rat and his fellow Sondeckis as part of their plan to keep Baron Calephas from reinforcing Nasoj's army assaulting Metamor. And it had worked, even if falling timbers had wounded him seriously enough that he'd had to spend the rest of the fighting laying in bed. He even rubbed his cheek where Baerle had slapped him a few days later when she found out about Kimberly. And in a few days time, he would be in her company again while separated from his wife, wandering through cold mountains on a perilous mission to protect Metamor. At least she wouldn't be pining for him this time. A short distance past the ravine and bridge the road intersected an East-West road cutting along another ridge overlooking a shallow defile. The Dragon mountains jutted in a narrow finger eastward half-a-mile ahead blocking all passage north. The eastern road headed past Hareford and toward the Giant's Dike. “And the western,” Sir Saulius mused as he gazed down the winding track that disappeared through the forest of white, brown and green, “dost lead into the mountains where thou shalt venture a few days hence. Shouldst we explore a little ere thou goest that way thyself?” Charles flicked his tail from one side of Malicon's rump to the other as he gazed down the western track shadowed by overhanging elms. “It seems as good as any other. I haven't been that way yet myself.” Saulius spread his jowls wide, revealing his long incisors as he grinned. “The let us...” but both their ears twitched and their heads turned to the eastern road as one. “Horsemen,” Charles muttered as he quickly and silently drew his sword. “At least six.” “Aye,” Saulius agreed. They gingerly backed their steeds down the southern road toward the Glen and then into the forest until they were well out of sight. Both Armivest and Malicon were well trained, neither grunted in protest, nor did they stomp their hooves for the strangers to hear. They waited in silence for a little over a minute before they glimpsed the six horses and their riders come down the road from Hareford. They were Metamorians, led by a black and orange-furred stocky dog, followed by a black-haired woman wearing Captain's regalia, a black-faced, white-furred ram with knightly blue tabard, two youths, while a tall raven-haired woman with bow slung over her shoulders took up the rear. They slowed to a stop as they reached the intersection. The dog's flopped ears lifted and his nostrils flared and he spun his head around. His eyes fell to the hard earth, and then slowly raised until they were staring into the woods directly at the two rats. Beside him, the ram crossed his arms and bleated, “You two can come out now.” Saulius chuckled as he led Armivest out of the concealing brush. Charles followed after with a curious moue crossing his snout. “Thy nose is masterful indeed to scent us on a day like this, good sir!” The dog scratched behind his left ear with one paw. “I smelled your ponies,” he admitted with a confidant bark. “But I can smell you both now.” “And if I'm not mistaken,” the ram said, still with arms crossed, “then you, my good sir, are Steppeborn. One of the western horse tribes that range from the Herstel forest to the river too to judge by your accent.” Sir Saulius's dark eyes widened in genuine surprise as they trotted onto the road only a few paces from the six horsemen. “Thy ears art most astute! I hath ere met none in Metamor that hath recognized my lineage.