<html> <body> Gah, this story has been bedeviling me since February.  This story has given me more trouble than any other lately.  I very much hope that with this one complete I'll be able to do the next few I have in mind much faster. Anyway, here is my next tale in the saga of Metamor Keep! --------- Metamor Keep:  Heading to All Tomorrows by Charles Matthias March 26, CR 708 The gray-cloaked figure strode along the main road overlooking Lake Bozojo and its many ships with an almost palpable ring of emptiness surrounding him. Though the roads were crowded so close to the city, merchants, soldiers, missionaries, pilgrims, and other travelers alike skirted around the enigmatic figure whose cowl enveloped his angular face within shadow. The tip of a jeweled scabbard was visible beneath the hem of his cloak, while a well-worn traveling pack adorned his back. He did not use any staff to aid his steps, even over the rough terrain along the Marchbourne's northern flank, but walked as steadily and as purposefully as a monk at daily prayer. As if in a dream, Andares-es-sebashou passed through the opening made before him as the other travelers all parted around him like a wave around a stone. His return to Bozojo, a city overlooking a vast lake whose far side could not be glimpsed, was one that he'd long looked forward to. Though it had been well over a year since his previous visit, it felt only yesterday that he'd trod upon the Suielman stone road upon the incline toward the city's western gates. A small smile played at the edges of his lips, and his nose delicately sampled the intense odors of fish, wharves, offal, sweat, livestock, perfume, and spices that mingled together to create a fragrant chord that could only answer to the name civilization of man. What did differ, that Andares noted with a mixture of approval and also a tender anxiety, was the new banners flying atop the city gates and also the castle and the wharves. Gone were the once familiar wolf's head that spoke of the city's former allegiance to the duchy of Kelewair to the south. In their place were depictions of a falcon whose feathers, beak, and talons were of such delicacy and familiarity that it buoyed Andares with reminisces of his woodland home – these were the touches of his Elvish kin in Quenardya, passed down amongst the Fennasi in gratitude for the centuries of benevolent rule only slowly given into the hands of men. But it had been centuries more since such arts had been seen flying from the battlements of Bozojo which had been conquered by Suielman armies long before Andares's birth. How had the falcon chased out the wolf? How had the Fennasi of Salinon come to rule in one of the most important trading cities of the Southern Midlands? He had recollected hearing the stories in his travels from Metamor, though only in the last week as he had left Elarial behind had they been more than just whispers, grunts, and fearful questions of war. Now he had come face to face with the reality. Bozojo was no longer a city of the Southern Midlands, but the newest daughter of the Outer Midlands and the westernmost port of Dûn Fennas. The wharves of Bozojo passed by on his right as he continued toward the massive western gates. Shouts, laughter, and song echoed up from the gently creaking wood as sails snapped in a firm easterly breeze. Armed guards and compliments of soldiers moved along the stone piers inspecting wares and accosting foreign merchants from time to time. They also patrolled the roads leading west and north in large numbers. Knights and other horsemen were visible as they ranged in the rolling fields, pastures and farms to the northwest of the city. Along the battlements Andares spied archers and crossbowmen. The blue and green fish livery of the Calladar family was brightly visible against the darker pennants of the Otakar family. The western gatehouse was wide enough to allow two wagons to pass side by side, with three massive portcullises one after another, providing ample opportunity for those archers to skewer an army foolish enough to besiege the city. The gatehouse passage was so long that torches had to be lit every twenty paces to keep it bright enough to see the way. Laughter echoed through the passage, and Andares's slight smile broadened. His light step made no noise even in the still cold puddles where the tight-packed stones had worn down over the centuries. Beyond the gatehouse he found a wide courtyard lined with warehouses and Inns to welcome the weary traveler and the anxious merchant. One of the warehouses had been turned into a set of barracks while a second had been converted into an extensive network of stables. The sound of several blacksmith hammers resonated from beyond the interwoven complex on his left. The blue and green fish banner dotted the buildings, always beneath the black falcon crest of Salinon. Despite the almost universal presence of soldiers, the populace that Andares saw seemed generally content, busily pursuing their lives without concern of bullying or braggadocio from the militia. Nor did any of those soldiers come to accost him about his business; they gave him a wide berth, as if sensing his foreign nature came from more that just a different nationality. But with his cowl, and his mostly human stature, he doubted that any would have guessed that he was one of the Åelf of Ava-shavåis. Bozojo was organized like an onion with the innermost ring on a rise to the northeast where the Calladar family castle and Lothanasi temple towered over everything else. Beyond that a ring where the wealthy and notable citizens made their homes as well as the establishments of the most prosperous of merchants. The outermost ring in which Andares walked was filled with laborers, fishermen, sailors, soldiers, and the rest of the merchant class. And it was to a modest Inn that his feet carried him, one overlooking the wharves and wide harbor that provided the city with its lucrative trade. Lake's Head Inn was announced with a wooden sign painted with a picture of the harbor, the lake a deep blue beneath a bright summer sky. The exterior walls were fashioned from a coarse gray stone plastered over and then fixed with wooden supports recently painted a rich mahogany, with wide windows in front, all opened a crack to let in the cool early Spring air. The second floor also featured opened windows, and a tall pointed roof that permitted a few wealthier tenants privacy. Hanging from a long gutter was another of the black falcon banners. Andares noted the familiar as well as the new with some relief. He stepped through the door and was greeted with a quiet commons. The candelabra were lit and with the open windows both on the main level and in the loft to one side, it brought a diffuse orange glow to nearly every corner. This early in the afternoon the only patrons within the commons were a trio of merchants discussing their plans over a bit of wine and cheese. A few youths on the cusp of manhood busied themselves cleaning tables, floors, and any other surface that needed it. The merchants glanced at him briefly before returning to their grumbled argument, but one of the boys, a lanky boy with a mop of blond hair and a veritable mask of freckles, rushed up to him and bowed his head. “Good afternoon, Velelya. Have you traveled far? Are you in need of refreshment?” Andares marveled at the Fennasi word, derived from the Quenardya words for a traveler of distinction and honor, so dutifully pronounced by this youth, his pronunciation forced but passable. He had never heard it spoken in this city before, though it seemed so familiar as if it were an echo of a previous encounter. His lips and angular cheeks betrayed his delight. “Thank you, Nessë. And I will require lodgings. Tell your Heru Benlan Rais that I would appreciate his attendance to some personal matters.” His silken voice made not only the other youths but also the merchants lift their heads and regard him with curiosity. His use of more of the Fennasi dialect bewildered the mop-haired youth who clearly was not comfortable with the ancient language. Seeing the boy's confusion, he repeated in the more familiar terms. “Thank you, young man. I have traveled far, and I welcome your offer of refreshment. I will also need lodgings, and I require the attendance of your Master Benlan Rais to see to some personal affairs.” The boy's face brightened and he bowed his head again, hands wrapped tightly about a broom handle. “Of course, Velelya.” He then half-turned and led Andares toward a secluded table beneath the stairs leading to the loft. “What can I bring for you... Heru?” Andares nodded to assure the youth that he'd spoken properly. “Whatever you have ready at this hour will suffice, Nessë.” The boy frowned, his freckles seeming to multiply in his embarrassment. “We don't have much at this early hour. The evening meals won't be prepared for another two hours.” Andares smiled as he settled against the wall, gloved hands resting on the table before him. “It will suffice for now. Just pass my message along to Heru Rais.” The freckled boy nodded, and carrying the broom with him, ran off into a back room behind the wide counter at the far end of the commons. Andares listened to a bird singing just outside one of the windows and noting the enthusiasm of its melody while he waited. A few minutes later, the merchants having returned to their private discourse and the lonely bird continuing its plaintive cry, a short, balding man that was nevertheless no older than either Charles or Lindsey emerged carrying a small plate with bread, a small bowl of honey, and slices of cheese. These he set before Andares with a light tilt to his head, eyes appraising him with warm regard. “It is a great honor to have you in my home again, Master Sebashou. I apologize that I cannot provide you with more than this, but I will have a hearty meal ready for your tastes this evening.” “Master Rais,” Andares replied, using the terms he had come to expect from the people of Galendor to show respect. “I am delighted by whatever you could provide. Can you join me for a few moments?” Benlan Rais, proprietor of the Lake's Head Inn nodded his head and drew another chair close by, sitting down with one leg crossed under the other. “I have a few minutes for such a distinguished Velelya as yourself. It has been some time since we have seen you here. I trust all is well?” “All is well,” Andares replied as he sampled the bread and honey. It was sweet with a subtle tang he did not recognize. “At least all is well with myself. But what of you and your city? How came you under the banner of Salinon? And why have you been using the old language left to the Fennasi by the Elves?” That Andares-es-sebashou was one of the Åelf was a secret known only to a few on his travels – Benlan Rais was one such man. On their first meeting, Andares had been forced to disarm a drunken knight who'd tried to strike him. Benlan had seen his strange appearance and guessed that we was of the ancient fair ones, and so Andares had felt no compunction about revealing even more, though he had never stated his mission in any terms that Benlan could reveal. Still, this young man, this hard-working and good man, was one that he trusted and whose confidence he treasured. “Baron Calladar has wisely chosen to ally with the house of Otakar in Salinon. Duke Verdane demanded tribute, taxes, and our soldiers. But he was a man who could not defend his people. Duke Otakar can, and with his protection has flowed many goods and peoples.” Benlan laughed lightly and leaned closer. “And with the new merchants and the many dignitaries come to pay court here in the last six months, our wealthier citizens have flocked to their culture and ways, and so even we humbler men have found them favorably upon our tongue.” He laughed again, more boisterously this time, and shook his head, the few strands of hair he had left above his ears falling forward to brush over his eyebrows. More quietly he added, “Those few words we know at least. So they do indeed come from your people?” “My brothers and sisters did live amongst the Fennasi for many centuries, teaching them and building up leaders and institutions for them. But it has been centuries since these words were ever spoken in this city.” He smiled and added, “This minassë.” Benlan leaned back a moment and then lowered his eyes. “I will have to ask you to teach me more, Velelya. Will you be staying long?” “A few days,” Andares replied. “A private room with a view of the lake would be my preference, but if none are available, I will accept whatever you can provide.” “Have you business then in our... minassë?” Benlan paused and spoke the unfamiliar Elvish word carefully so that he might not leave out the slightest inflection. “To gather supplies for the next portion of my journey. I head east into Dûn Fennas and beyond.” An fluttering echoed in his heart. “I wish I could stay longer of course, but I have my responsibilities.” Benlan Rais nodded, frowning for the first time. “Tomorrow, there is a man I will introduce you to. After seeing all that we have in the last few months, I think you will be very interested in what he has to say.” “I will not be difficult to find,” Andares assured him with a smile. “I would be delighted to meet your nildo... your friend.” Benlan nodded, before standing and putting the chair back in its place beneath the nearby table. “Then I shall go prepare your room, Velelya Sebashou. Welcome back to Bozojo.” And with that Benlan Rais departed through the back room, leaving Andares to eat his bread and cheese with only the chirping of the lonely bird for company. Lake's Head Inn saw a steady stream of patrons begin to come only an hour later. Many were foreign merchants, some Fennasi, others from the Ellcaran coast, and even a few from Giftum and other cities sworn to Metamor. Many others were laborers searching for a good, warm meal to end their day. A minstrel, a lindalnér as he called himself, arrived with dusk and he entertained everyone with several ballads in the ancient tongue. Andares had to resist the temptation to correct both his pronunciations, which were passable most of the time but atrocious in several key places, and his melodies, which lacked the aetherial grace and bittersweet sorrow that should have left all in tears even before the words had begun to glide from his tongue. Unsurprisingly, the evening meal proved to be perch, but seasoned with a delicate blend of cumin, curry, and mint. Thin noodles complemented the fish and a rather tart wine washed it down. Andares savored the taste, all the while pondering what intricacies of flavor, what tales the meal could tell, what intimacies and secrets it could share, if but these ingredients were handled by one of his brother Åelf. There were suggestions of the art his brothers in Quenardya had left behind amongst the Fennasi, but it seemed only that, a suggestion whispered at the edge of wakefulness. He did not have another chance to speak with Benlan Rais, but he was able to listen to men as they gathered, their voices rife with business, trade, and delight in their new eastern friends. He heard whispers of the the latest haul of fish, how rich the forests had become with game, and the good health in all their livestock, all of it sweet and grateful bounty from the pantheon for their faithfulness. There were a few unpleasant words in the mix, but they were complaints not of ill-treatment from the many soldiers or of any strange order coming from Salinon, but of a subtle dissatisfaction that they sensed but could not name. Times were prosperous in Bozojo, but prosperity wasn't enough. Andares could not help but wonder what it was they lacked, but could not name an answer. He dwelt on the question from the time it first came to him until all the lindalnér had finally quit the stage and all of the laborers who had come only for a meal finally departed for their homes. All that remained were those deep into their cups, and even these seemed subdued, brooding despite their otherwise garrulous manner. Shortly before the small clock atop the mantle and beneath the stag's head struck midnight, Andares retired to his chambers. As he'd requested, they overlooked the lake, and were set all the way at the end of the hall past several empty rooms. The accommodations were not palatial, but neither were they modest. A wide canopied and curtained bed occupied the wall furthest from the two windows. One window with a bench seat overlooked the lake, shining bright with a waxing moon whose reflection made the gentle waters appear as silvery as a mirror. The other window opened over the kitchen and so the rich scent of his meal and the many others cooked that day percolated outside, and were carried within when the breeze shifted. A large bureau was positioned between the door and the second window, while a writing desk with lion's paws for feet awaited the writing of correspondence between both windows where the writer could choose between a vista of the lake or the delectable aroma of a well-staffed kitchen. Andares took the time to unpack his belongings and put his clothes and toiletries in the bureau. His sleeping cloaks he briefly considered dangling from one window to let them air out, but decided it was still too cold at night to risk; instead he refolded them and placed them in the bureau with the rest of his things. Satisfied, he sat upon the bedside and rested in his lap the ivory-handled blade Anna-ithil-årda. He ran one finger along the length of its silver tang, noting the notch near the tip that it had suffered in Marzac. It would take a decade to repair, but repair him, this blade of his ancestors, he would. After singing a soft hymn of his people, a lament for Qan-af-årael and then one for the lost lands in which he now trod, he sheathed the blade, and then retired for the night. He cast one last glance through the window at the moon before drawing the curtains about the bed tight. It was time to surrender to dream. ---------- Andares awoke to his first full day in Bozojo just before the rise of the sun. After his rising prayers of thanksgiving, he donned his traveling gear, his ivory-handled blade, and his money pouch. He enjoyed a simple breakfast of eggs and a fatty meat, washed it down with juice from a fruit he did not know, and then left to wander the merchant district to find the familiar shops and stalls he would need. There were several squares in the city where merchants gathered to sell meats, cloths, fruits, perfumes, cheap jewelry, and of course fish. The fish markets were particularly loathsome in odor, and so he kept clear of them, preferring those he could find within the second bailey where the richer families made their home. The streets were quiet at that hour despite the number of merchants already at their businesses and beckoning to all who passed by; apart from the soldiers going about their duties, there weren't that many walking the streets yet. Like the outer sections of the city, he saw numerous falcon banners thrust upon the roofs and windows of homes and storefronts. One thing he didn't see that he expected was the Ecclesia church that had nestled near the gatehouse to the outer district. Where the church should have been was an empty pile of bricks, some tumbled, other fresh. It was as if someone were in the midst of tearing it down and starting to build something else in its place. A handful of soldiers lingered nearby dressed in the blue and green fish crest of Calladar and they gave Andares suspicious glares. He moved past there, noting that some of the homes near the remains of the church were left empty as if the previous tenants had simply never come home from the market. Plants withered in their plots outside the dark windows, while cobwebs were visible within. Andares wondered what could have happened to make those people leave so suddenly. Had they been loyalists to the Verdane house? The changing of rulers was never easy, and he had long heard stories of humans punishing their enemies mercilessly if they thought they could do it. Still, he tried not to let what he saw upset him. He continued on his way until he came to the markets selling the sort of food he could easily store for a trip. He bought a few fruits that would keep for a week, but mostly dried and salted meats as well as small loaves of bread which would last him at least three weeks, more than long enough to bring him to the last human city before he crossed the plains of Yerebey. The merchants appeared uninterested in talk of anything other than their wares, and so Andares did not press them to learn why the church had been destroyed, or why there were a handful of empty homes in a city that clearly was full of people. They made no note of the presence of the soldiers, as if they were some exotic animal caged in a corner of their home whose novelty had worn off. It took a few hours to find all that he would need, and after he had done so, his purse was somewhat lighter and his pack was much heavier. By mid-morning the streets were filled with people tending their daily business. He could hear Lothanasi hymns chanted in little shrines dotting the district, most to Wvelkim and Artela. He could also hear musicians practicing lute and lyre as he passed beneath the high loft windows of well-to-do homes. He could hear the clop of horse hooves in every direction, and the creak of wagon wheels followed quickly behind. Voices conversing in laughter, whispers, and shouts surrounded him. Several times he was pressed at on either side as he wove through particularly tight roads on his way from shop to shop. Even the soldiers, begrudging in their duty early in the morning, now saw to their tasks with verve and sometimes lighthearted smiles. Andares felt somewhat comforted by this, and so listened to what he could hear of the Lothanasi chant on his way back to the outer district. By the time he passed through the gatehouse he couldn't hear the melody anymore, and so hummed one of the chants of his own people under his breath. He reached the fourth stanza by the time he returned to Lake's Head Inn and lingered outside in the cool Spring air until he had finished all nine stanzas. Within he found the boys sweeping the floors and readying the commons for another evening. This time he saw Benlan Rais directing a pair of lads, and he caught the balding man's gaze. Rais smiled to him and nodded toward the table beneath the loft stairs. What few times Andares had been in Bozojo, Benlan always seemed content to seat him at that table. The Innkeeper stood in front of the table with his hands on his hips and smiled, “What may I do for you today, Master Sebashou? Did you find all that you need for your journey?” “I believe that I have. The markets here are diverse and seem to be well stocked even so soon after the end of Winter.” “Don't say that,” Benlan warned him with a slight laugh. “We've been known to get a few storms even this late. If the wind sweeps off the Barrier, then we can get a foot of snow, even in April!” “Then we must trust that Dvalin will keep the winds blowing east instead.” “Aye, for that we always hope! So are you leaving tomorrow?” “I do not wish to leave so soon. There is much to see in Bozojo. I hope to see the great Temple ere I depart at the very least. I have never had the time when I came through before.” Benlan nodded and sucked on his lower lip for a moment. “It is magnificent, though I'm sure you have seen far greater temples than our own.” “Each has its own beauty. One of the lessons my people teach is to see the beauty in even the simple wild flowers that blossom without any to tend them. Some are allotted to be roses, exquisite, fragile, with a scent equally as delicate. But many are wildflowers, and their beauty is always a surprise and a delight.” Benlan laughed lightly at that. “I like how you put that, Master Sebashou.” “I do have a few questions for you if you have the time, Master Benlan. There are some things I saw in your city that caught my eye today.” Benlan grimaced and leaned in more closely. “What sort of things?” Sensing a need for discretion, Andares whispered of what he'd seen, the church that had been torn down, the homes nearby that were empty, and the withering gazes of the soldiers when he'd come too close. Benlan listened with a careful expression, before nodding his head and whispering back. “The church was torn down the week after Otakar's banners were raised. There were never many Patildor here, but the wolf Duke insisted a church be built. The homes you saw...” “Yes?” “They fled as soon as they could. Some say they were spies for the wolf Duke. Others say they were Patildor afraid of the soldiers. No one is exactly sure, but flee they did.” “So why leave the homes empty?” “They haven't been,” Benlan replied with a shrug, and a smile that only touched one side of his face. “Many have been sold and filled by merchants and well-to-do families from Linduin. Some came to stay a few weeks, then returned home to their city.” Benlan grimaced and then let out a long sigh. “We are still learning what it means to be Outlanders here in Bozojo.” Andares wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but tilted his head in surprise. “You mean Fennasi?” His host chuckled. “That too.” “What else can you tell me of the many changes taking place? I see many soldiers on the streets and in the fields surrounding your home.” “Lord Calladar is doing all he can to protect Bozojo and the many merchants and travelers come to our city.” Benlan's half smile creased his face again as he leaned forward and whispered, “And to make sure we people stay loyal. Not everyone is happy with being Outlandish... Fennasi... what have you. Salinon has sent advisers to Lord Calladar and rumor has it that they have taken to managing the daily affairs of the city.” “Why would they do that?” Benlan leaned closer, though not so close out of respect for his Åelvish friend. “To bring us into Out... Fennasi society more completely. We here are their newest and westernmost province. Their goods have flowed through our markets and across our lake for centuries now; this is but one more import. But the rumors – Ah the rumors! – they say that the advisers are here to insure Salinon's control in case something foul should befall our noble liege!” “From the Wolf Duke?” Benlan stood back up and shrugged his shoulders with a wide exaggerated posture. “Ah, who can say such things! I am but a humble Innkeeper and would not know of them.” “Then neither will I speak of such things,” Andares replied, a sense of disappointment filling him. Why did men have to play at such intrigue all the time? Were not their short lives miserable enough without heaping more misery on themselves through constant squabbling for position, prestige, and honors which were no more lasting than grass and straw? He lifted a pearl-gray finger and beckoned the retreating Innkeeper closer. “There is one thing I must know, if you know. How did this changing of the banners come to pass? Surely the wolf Duke would have come here with his armies if there were not some terrible cost.” Benlan's frown turned into a nervous scowl, and he rubbed one hand over his bald head. “They have the wolf's whelp... hostage.” “Who?” Benlan swallowed heavily, and he shut his eyes tight, not daring to look over his shoulder, half afraid he would find somebody listening to his words. Andares asked again, more gently. “Please, it is important that I know.” In the faintest of whispers, but one that his pointed ears could hear, Benlan breathed, “Salinon.” Andares nodded slowly, eyes sweeping quickly across the commons behind the Innkeeper. The young boys continued to run about their errands, cleaning tables, chairs, and the floor, as well as managing the handful of merchants who had come for something to eat and to rest their legs. One of the merchants kept looking at the Innkeeper, but his expression was more of impatience than of curiosity. He was grateful that the door did not open just then. A loud noise or even a blast of cold air would have startled the good Innkeeper out of his wits. The Åelf stood from his table and bowed his head low, replying in a measured voice, one loud enough that any who might have been trying to listen would certainly hear. “Thank you, Master Rais, for you have set my concerns at ease. To know that the road ahead is safe and well protected by Bozojo's knights and soldiers, as well as those of Linduin, comforts me greatly.” Benlan nodded exuberantly, smiling wide and slapping his thigh once. “And I as well, Master Sebashou. I dearly hope to see you grace my humble establishment with your presence again.” “It is my fondest hope. I think I shall retire to my quarters now. But I will be supping here again this evening.” “I will have personally see to the cooking tonight knowing that you will sup from my table. May the gods bless you and yours, Master Sebashou.” Andares bowed ever so slightly, then left the commons without another word. He kept his cowl up as he glided up the stairs to the long hall that led off in either direction. His rooms were at the far end, perched over the kitchens with a view of the lake. They were modest and private, exactly as he wished. He closed the curtains over both sets of windows, then doffed his cloak across the bed. He unsheathed the ivory-handled blade, and standing in the middle of the room, he began to practice the ancient techniques of his people, moving slowly, so slowly that it took all of his concentration to fix in place each of his muscles and each strand of black hair trailing down his neck like a stallion's vibrant mane. And all the while, he pondered what could be done, if anything, about the ruling house of the Fennasi, one that had wandered far from the good earth his brothers and sisters had planted only a few centuries ago. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>