<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School by Charles Matthias Part 7 “I thought your friend Misha warned us all to stay in the Cathedral,” Czestadt remarked as he followed Rickkter along the exterior of the castle toward a large Inn on its eastern flank. He could see a sign outside featuring a mule with something stuffed in its ears. The image was ridiculous but did not seem out of place in a fanciful land of walking, talking animals. “You're with me so he won't care. “ Rickkter stretched his arms over his head without slowing his pace. “Besides, if we're going to talk about old times, I'd rather do it someplace I can get a good ale trencher. The Ecclesia Cathedral is beautiful and all, but the drinks they serve aren't strong enough.” Czestadt narrowed his eyes in the deepening gloom of the later afternoon. Twilight was upon them and soon night would descend with its northern chill. The Yesbearn still managed to make his gaze appear even colder. “You would do well not to speak blasphemy around me, Rickkter. Not if you want our reminisces to be friendly ones.” “I was rather hoping they would be,” Rickkter admitted with a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle. His grin vanished a moment later and he lowered his snout. “All right, you're right. I don't trust the Ecclesia as you do, but I will not speak ill of them, or at least, I will not speak lightly of them. Is that fair enough?” “Thank you, Rickkter,” Czestadt said with a relaxed sigh. “We need to stop threatening each other. It's not as if we really mean each other harm. I haven't seen you in, I dare not recount the number of years.” “True,” was all the knight could find to say as they passed into the interior of the Deaf Mule. The place was only a quarter full as the first of the patrons came by with their day's work completed. The place smelled of ale, mead, wood smoke, bread, and roasting meat. Standing behind the rail cleaning a set of glasses was the proprietor, the bull Donny. Rickkter walked to the rail and waved. “Hail Donny! What fine feasts do you have prepared for a pair of warriors this night?” The bull set the glasses down and glanced behind him to the doors leading to his kitchen. “Roast mutton, stew with potatoes, turnips, and carrots, salads of lettuce and cabbage, or a warm mix of grains and breads.” “How is the roast mutton. It smells delicious.” “Not done yet. Give it another candlemark or two.” Rickkter nodded, a little disappointed, but it was always best to let Donny's meals cook thoroughly. His raccoon tongue did seem to prefer his meat with more red in it than before, but he still savored the delicacy of a slow roasted hunk of sheep flesh. “Just two ales then to get us started.” Rickkter counted some coins from his change purse and left them on the bar where they were quickly swept into the bull's apron and disappeared. A moment later two wooden mazers filled to the brim with frothing ale were set before them. Rickkter handed one to Czestadt and then took a quick drink, the front clinging to his snout as the brew warmed his throat and belly. “An interesting establishment,” Sir Czestadt mused as he wiped his face of froth and leaned against the rail. He noted the various animal heads along the walls, the tangled maze of tables, some round, some rectangular with long benches on either side, the hearths with roaring blaze warming the room, and the strange table with felt top and brightly colored balls readied for a new game. “What sort of table is that?” Rickkter glanced at it and to his delight saw that the massive lizard Copernicus was nowhere to be found. “That would be the billiards table. Have you ever played billiards, Sir Czestadt?” “I have never heard of the game. What is it?” “Come, I'll show you.” Rickkter put his mazer on an empty table nearby and gestured for Czestadt to do the same. He then found the pool cues and gave one an experimental swing about the middle. “Ah yes, nice to play against somebody who doesn't win all the time.” He handed the second to Czestadt who shifted his hands along the length until he found the center mass. He held the wooden pole as if it were a sword and glanced at the colored balls with a dubious expression. “Now the point of this game is to knock all of these balls into the pockets here,” Rickkter pointed at the six holes at the edge of the felt table. “But only sink your own balls; either stripes or solids.” He picked up two of the balls and showed Czestadt the difference. The knight narrowed his eyes, but the difference between them was obvious. He took another swig of the ale and then asked, “I assume that there is some special way we are to strike these balls? These lances are to do that?” “They are called cues, but yes. This white ball is the cue ball, and you have to first strike this ball on your turn. The idea is to hit this cue so that it strikes the other balls. Let me show you how it is done.” Rickkter put the numbered balls into the triangular shape at the one end of the table, and then rolled the cue ball to the far end. His tail lashed back and forth as he walked around the table, bending over to position the cue ball and to line up his pole. “You have to hold it like this, because you are only supposed to hit the ball with the very tip of the cue. Like.... this!” He cracked the cue ball, which raced down the end of the table and cracked the other balls. Czestadt watched with some amusement as sixteen colored balls bounced back and forth around the table, one of which fell into a pocket before everything else came to rest. “I sank one ball so that will tell me the color I'm trying to sink. Let's see... ah, I hit the stripes. That means you will need to sink the solids.” Czestadt chuckled. “With a tail like that you should be sinking the stripes.” “You're lucky you aren't using terrible jokes like that on my friend Murikeer. He's a skunk!” Czestadt laughed, took another swig of ale, and then started toward the table. “So where do I put the cue ball?” “Not yet,” Rickkter cautioned him with a shake of one finger and claw. “I sank a ball so it is still my turn. And as long as the cue ball doesn't fall into one of the pockets, you have to hit it right where it is. Like so...” He bent down near the corner where the cue ball lay, but didn't see any good angles. “Hmmm, I don't have a clear shot on any of the other stripes. So I'll just have to try to bank it off that side there.” He gave the cue ball a crack, it slipped between a pair of solids, hit the far wall and bounced back toward the ten ball which it hit with a solid whack. The ten rolled toward the middle pocket, but bounced back out again. Rickkter scowled and then shrugged. “I missed, it's your turn now. You want to sink all of the solid color balls. Except that black ball with an eight on it. That you have to leave for last.” Czestadt nodded as he bent over the table, his eyes scanning it back and forth for several moments before he lifted the cue and tried to line it up against the cue ball. Rickkter could see him holding it wrong, but said nothing, preferring to cover his amusement with another muzzle dive into his ale. Czestadt thrust the cue forward, bumped the cue ball along the side, and it lazily drifted off to the left managing to gently rap one of the other balls still on the table before coming to a graceful rest. His frown was bemused but not irritated. “This does seem a bit harder than I expected. Can you show me how to hold this lance... this cue?” “It's not hard, it just takes getting used to. Be grateful Copernicus isn't here. That lizard is a monster at billiards.” The Yesbearn knight peered at the raccoon as if he wanted to ask him more about the lizard. But he said nothing, preferring to allow the raccoon to position himself across the table with the pool cue in his paws. “With your left hand make a little ring with your fingers. This should be loose against the end of the cue so you can slide in and out. Like so.” Czestadt lowered the cue and did as instructed. “That's right. Too loose and your aim will be off and you'll hit the cue ball wrong; you saw what happens when you do that. Too tight and you won't be able to strike the cue ball at all. And the best to place to strike is in the very middle, and just below the center of the ball. Watch me again and you'll see.” Czestadt kept his mazer in his left hand as he watched Rickkter strike the cue ball. This time the raccoon was able to sink another stripe, and then with his second shot sink yet another stripe. He debated whether he should take it easy on his fellow Kankoran, but ultimately decided that his old teacher would prefer him to play his best. But his best did not help him sink another stripe, so he was left with four more on the table, with seven solids still to go. “Now it is my turn again?” Czestadt asked, although he had already set down his mazer and reclaimed his cue. Rickkter stepped out of the way, tail flicking from side to side in amusement as he watched the large man circle the table, his eyes so intent that he could see nothing but the balls and the pockets. Around him more and more patrons were filling in the tables eager for an evening meal, drink, and good cheer. Meat sizzled in the kitchen. Wood crackled in the fire. Laughter abounded from every wall. Rickkter felt his tensions begin to ease. With much better aim, Czestadt struck the cue ball. It narrowly missed one of the solids, but after bouncing off the far wall it rebounded and struck a cluster of three balls. One of the solids actually rolled straight for the near corner pocket and fell in. Rickkter chuckled under his breath. “Lucky shot. Well, go ahead and take another.” This time Czestadt hit the ball he was aiming for, but it bounced out of the pocket and rolled to a stop in the middle of the table. Czestadt thumbed his chin a few times as he pondered the table. Rickkter slid in on the other side and promptly sank two more stripes before he didn't have any more clear shots left. His last two stripes had solids between them and the pockets. He attempted another bank shot but like the first it narrowly missed its mark. Czestadt managed to sink one more of the solids, but he also accidentally sank one of Rickkter's stripes in the process. After missing a second shot, he downed the rest of his ale and shook his head with an amused chortle. “It's not as easy as it looks,” was his conclusion. “No, it isn't. Like everything it takes practice.” Rickkter sunk his last stripe with his next shot, and then after explaining what to do to win the game, successfully banked the eight ball off the far wall. It rolled unimpeded all the way across the table to drop with a resounding thunk into the corner pocket. Rickkter had even draped his tail around the pocket to show where he wanted it to go. He hadn't seen a ball move so smoothly and so perfectly since the last time he'd seen Copernicus play. Which had been last night. He drowned such unimportant details in yet another chug of Donny's potent ale. “Well, I've won that game. If you like, you can practice sinking the rest of the balls. I think I will check to see if the roast mutton is ready yet.” He left Czestadt pondering the table and carried his now empty mazer back to the rail. There were half-a-dozen other patrons clustered nearby looking for their fill of drinks and so he was forced to wait a few minutes before the auruchs could attend to him. By the time the bull finally did turn his glassy stare on the raccoon, the Deaf Mule was more than half full; at one of the rear tables he saw several of the stonecutters swinging their mugs back and forth and singing a horribly wretched song. It was going to be one of those nights again. Perhaps they'd be lucky and a little friendly fight would break out later. “How's the roast mutton coming along?” Rickkter had to shout over the growing racket. “Nearly done,” Donny replied in his lowing bass. “I'll have a pair of plates brought out to you and the knight.” “Thank you,” Rickkter replied with a nod. “And fresh ale too!” Donny filled his mazer again, and after a quick exchange of coin, Rickkter headed back to the pool table with his frothing mug. He almost spilled the froth when he saw a huge, mottled-green lizard leaning over the pool table carrying on a conversation with Czestadt. The Yesbearn knight nodded as he listened to the advice and then lined up for his next shot. The lizard made him wait as he ever so gently adjusted his pose, his grip on the pool cue with either hand, and his aim. Rickkter sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked back. Czestadt's next shot, under the careful instruction of that insufferable reptile, struck true. The cue ball hit a pair of solids, both of which shot toward either corner and sank without any bit of rebound from the sides of the pocket. Czestadt grunted in delight as he moved closer to where the white ball had stopped, while the lizard pointed with his long, almost boneless fingers at the remaining three solids left. “I should have known you'd show up, Copernicus,” Rickkter groused as he set his mazer down on their table. “Since when do you give lessons?” Coeprnicus lifted his boxy head and cracked his thin lips in a reptilian grin. “Since long before you ever came to Metamor, Rick. With a little coaching, I think I can make your second game much more interesting.” Rickkter felt the satisfaction from his earlier victory flee him as rapidly as the runs. “Our meal is almost done. We probably don't have time for another game.” Czestadt cast a glance between the raccoon and lizard, an amused grin creasing his lips. Copernicus waved a long-fingered hand and thumped his heavy tail against one of the wooden pillars supporting the Deaf Mule's ceiling. “I'm sure you'll have plenty of time. Here, let me get it set up for you.” And even as he deftly repositioned all of the balls, he cast the raccoon a glance out of one eye and hissed, “I'm surprised to see you playing today, Rick. Misha says you were injured by a mighty warrior.” “Remind me to set his tail on fire,” Rickkter growled with another roll of his eyes. “No, remind me to set his tail and all four of his legs on fire. If I hear about that mighty warrior one more time, I'm going to find out what roast fox tastes like!” Copernicus laughed, and then stepped back from the table. “And there we go Sir Czestadt, I believe it is your break.” The knight nodded, stepped into position, and made a clean break. Rickkter scowled as he saw two balls sink. Copernicus patted his long-fingered hands together and nodded as he shifted his three-hundred pound frame back and forth from pocket to pocket. “A stripe and a solid. Well, Sir Czestadt, you pick. Which would you prefer to sink?” “I'll try the solids again,” the knight replied as he followed the lizard along the exterior of the table. Rickkter took a long drought of ale. This was going to be a miserable game. Despite Copernicus's advice, Rickkter still managed to win the game. He was spared having to play a third when the same feline girl brought out bowls steaming with cuts of freshly cooked mutton, the centers a juicy pink, while the outsides were adorned with a light drizzling of salt and other spices. The mutton was surrounded with a moat of vegetable stew. Small loafs of bread were positioned from the top of the mutton to the side of the bowl like a baker's drawbridge. Rickkter thanked the girl and then fled to open table farthest from the billiards table. “You didn't want to play a third game?” Czestadt asked as they settled down next to the boisterous stonecutters who had ceased trying to sing and were now just trying to see who could belch the loudest and the longest. “Copernicus seemed like a good man and warrior.” “He is,” Rickkter admitted as he cut the mutton into thin chunks his snout could handle. “But he's also impossible to beat at billiards. No matter how good a game I have, either he plays much better, or something seems to happen at the last moment that lets him win. It's like the gods themselves decreed that he will never lose.” “What's to stop us from playing? I was rather enjoying it once I understood how to aim and use the cue.” “As soon as he shows up, if you don't get away fast, he'll drag you into a game. I don't quite know how he does that either.” He shoved the first strip of mutton between his fangs and felt his irritation wane with the succulent cut and savory flavor drenching his tongue. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly, the meaty morsel tough where it should be, but nearly melting with each bite as if it were a bit of ice to be sucked on. He swallowed almost reluctantly, and then smiled at last, his good humor returned. “Now that is good roast mutton! Donny has outdone himself!” Czestadt nodded as he chewed. “Quite excellent. Does he ever serve beef?” Rickkter nearly gagged on his next piece. It wasn't that he hadn't heard that joke and many others before about his fellow Metamorians. There were quite a few about raccoons that he'd had to endure, and even one or two he'd thought were genuinely amusing. But the way that Czestadt had said it, the calculated naivete in his voice, made his ribs hurt from the laughter he tried to fight. “Oh... oh my!” Rickkter gasped before swallowing more ale and shaking his head. “Oh my! Now that is the Czestadt I remember. The Ecclesia hasn't completely dulled your tongue I see.” “Many things have changed in my life since I left the Kankoran. Some things have not.” He soaked up the broth with his bread and too a bite. He swallowed and added, “Much as it is with you, Rick. You are still arrogant and sarcastic, but I have seen a bit of a tender side in you as well. I never saw you be quite so gentlemanly as you were with the skunk lady.” “Gentlemanly?” Rickkter scoffed and savored another bite of the mutton. “Gentlemanly? Now that is a word I don't often hear associated with me.” “Oh you are still every bit a scoundrel as you once were, but I don't remember ever seeing you look at a woman as anything other than a comfortable night in the sack. Tell me I'm wrong.” “You are not, neither about my past nor about my Kayla. I don't quite know what it is, but aye, I love her. I have done many gentlemanly things for her in the last two years.” He briefly pondered what he might do to surprise her when she next had a day free from Andwyn's employ, but pushed such musings aside to regard his old friend more closely. “And why is it that we find a woman on my arm, my arms that have held many women over the years, but we do not find one on your arms, even though you have always treated women with far more respect than I?” “Knights of the Driheli, and Yesbearn knights, do not marry. It is an oath we take. Driheli knights are brothers and we have no other family. For the Yesbearn it is the same.” Czestadt picked up a hunk of mutton but stopped with it halfway to his mouth. “And nay, I have never brought a concubine to my bed. I would not deny that some of my brothers have done so. But while I was Knight Templar of the Driheli, if I learned of any who had done so, they would quickly learn to regret it. None would dare do it thrice.” “Why not?” Rickkter almost put another bit of meat in his muzzle, but decided it best to wait to hear the answer first. “You know the punishments meted out to contumacious Kankoran,” Czestadt replied with glint in his dark eyes that made the raccoon remember many things he would rather not have. “I think you can understand why.” “Um, aye, I do,” Rickkter quickly ate the next morsel of meat and let its wondrous flavor chase away those many unpleasant images. Czestadt swallowed his bite first and as he swallowed asked, “How do you feel about becoming a raccoon man? It's not quite what I expected of you.” “It has its moments. Much better than becoming a woman or a child would have been. I rather like the claws and the fangs, and the fur has many advantages, especially in cold weather.” “Do you like it any better? The cold weather?” “It is more tolerable, but nay, I do not like it any better. And I have an odd hankering for the strangest of foods at times, including things I would never have considered food before. There's nothing more irritating than being on watch for enemies and to see a cricket and think, 'Yum!' The first time I even grabbed one and bit it in half before I knew what I was doing.” “I've eaten insects many times. It is a staple of the desert during lean months.” “During lean months, aye,” Rickkter agreed with a nod. “No man should ever see a swarm of locusts and think they've found a banquet!” He shook his head and shoulders as if that would chase the memory away. “Becoming a raccoon has been a mixed blessing. The ears and the nose are invaluable, but my eyesight isn't nearly as crisp as it once was. At least at distances. Magic makes up for that when I can safely use it. Grooming takes far too long, and that's not even counting how long it takes all this fur to dry. And if you think the musk of hundreds of different animals packed into a city smells bad to your nose... well I think you can understand why we all go out on patrol so often.” Rickkter continued in this vein between bites of broth soaked bread, potato, turnip, carrot, and the juicy mutton. Czestadt chuckled though most of the raccoon's tirade, nodded and smiling, prodding him with some new question whenever his ire at the Curse's handiwork seemed to wane. But even the mighty warmage Rickkter could not complain forever. “But, even with all of that,” he exclaimed, raising his paws into the air, “it's still better than being dead. And that's what I would be right now if not for Metamor's Curses. Oh, and it's better than having to suffer a woman's cramps. I don't want those either.” Czestadt chuckled and nodded, eyes roving over the other patrons of the Deaf Mule. The stonecutters had finished their impromptu concert for the evening and had settled into feasting and drinking. Copernicus had taken up residence at the billairds table and was defeating all comers with a ready laugh and good cheer. Merchants both of Metamor and from lands south of the Valley were arguing and laughing throughout, while the soldiers gathered demanded more and more ale; there were even a few Long Scouts keeping a discrete eye on the Yesbearn knight from across the room. Sometimes the Deaf Mule smelled more like a barn than a tavern, and with as many Keepers there that night it was quickly approaching the former. “What would you want to be?” Rickkter asked through the din. “If you were touched by the Curses, what would you want to be.” “Neither woman nor child,” Czestadt chortled and chased his words with a drought of ale. “In that we agree.” He narrowed his eyes and scanned the room, pausing to note the larger Keepers he saw. Rickkter followed his eyes and felt twinges of jealousy that he hadn't become certain types of animal and gratitude that he hadn't become others. But unless the raccoon was mistaken, the Yesbearn only studied the Keepers who were as large or larger than he already was. And how could Rickkter blame him? Kankoran blademasters and knights relied on their brawn. Speed was something they could always teach themselves; sheer muscle mass and height was oftentimes, and especially at Metamor, a matter more of breeding than training. After his perusal of what the Deaf Mule had to offer, Czestadt took another drink and leaned back in his chair, “I would say a bear if I were to stay a mammal. If I were to be a reptile, I would be whatever that Zachary fellow has become.” “Well if you are looking for the strongest and biggest animals, why not become a dragon?”Czestadt shrugged. “I never liked heights.” All the raccoon could do was shake his head and laugh. “So why a bear, and not say, a rhinoceros? They have at least one horn.” Rickkter gestured to the gray-skinned stonecutter sitting not ten feet away. “And I hear he can break stones in his hands.” “If I am going to be a mammal I would like to have fur, claws, fangs.” “No tail? Bears don't have much of a tail you know.” Czestadt eyed the raccoon with a bemused grin. “I think I could manage not having a tail. I've done very well so far.” The raccoon laughed and flicked his tail from side to side. “You get used to it. And if you became like that Zachary fellow you'd have a lot of tail to get used to.” “That is very true. But I do not believe it is something I will have to worry about. We should be leaving tomorrow.” “That's too bad. I was looking forward to seeing Kashin turn into a weasel. Bend like a reed in the wind!” He almost sneered his way through the last, but then shook his head and laughed. “So you are truly leaving tomorrow?” “I am afraid so.” “Then,” Rickkter said, a strange sense of loss hitting him, “I think we should finish our roast, drink our broth and our brew, and tell tales of our many adventures until Donny kicks us out.” Czestadt lifted his mazer and nodded. “And a toast to many more adventures for both of us.” They knocked their wooden mazer together, fierce grins writ upon lips and jowls. The two Kankoran drank and then leaned in closer as the memory of adventures past danced from their tongues. ---------- There wasn't a great deal for Hugo to do after returning to the small cell that he had been allotted at the Cathedral, and so he reviewed the various charms and incantations he knew while Boots scampered about the room sniffing into every corner and telepathically commenting on the interesting things he found. For once his little rat was able to roam freely about without fear of some gigantic animal nearby. Metamor Keep was a fascinating place, Hugo concluded, but it was a veritable carnival of horrors for little Boots. Mice, cats, dogs, hawks, and the like should not be that big, and the fact that they were could only spell disaster for a rat! Most of his fellow mages wondered how he could concentrate with a rat interjecting thought after thought about the most banal things such as how terrible the floor tasted, or how old that bit of rice was, or how much their teeth ached, or whether chewing on stone was a good idea, and so forth. The truth was that after twenty years, his little friend's thoughts were like a blanket of joy that soothed his nerves and warmed his heart. The empty silence was a terror to him. As long as Boots was speaking he could focus without err. And when Boots started squeaking in terror he had no trouble focusing so long as it was on what had frightened his familiar. “What is it?” he asked as his black furred, white booted rat dove back into his robes. The question answered itself. Sitting before him in a small doorway not more than nine hands high and half as many wide, was a metal statue of a fox with bright blue eyes that was wagging its tail and staring straight at him. Though he had only heard of the automaton by reputation, as one of Demarest's dogs, he'd been privy to such secrets whenever they passed though Marigund. And so even though he had only seen the creature briefly at their arrival to Metamor, he knew far more than just its name. Despite this, when confronted with the metal creature itself, its name was the only thing that came to mind. “Madog!” “You're the mage that did bad things in my Poppa's home,” Madog said, eyes never wavering from his face. Hugo tried to look back at those eyes but his gaze kept drifting away to look anywhere else. “Aye, I did. And now I'm an exile.” “You're sorry about it. You like that light priest.” “Father Akaleth? Aye, he is a good man. I never would have believed it... he is a good man.” “He is light.” “Well, yes, he can create light, though he says he was forbidden to use that power unless a demonstration was requested or to save his life.” Madog yipped, waged, and then repeated himself. “He is light.” And then in a softer voice he added, “I'm sorry I scared your friend. I won't hurt him.” Hugo reached into his tunic and gently stroked Boots between the ears. The rat continued to cower, but his frantic words slowed to a measured worry instead of freakish terror. Hugo even thought sweet comforts to him, of a nice bit of bread and nuts, a warm little bundle of blankets to curl up in, and his hand to explore and smell. Those images helped sooth him even more. “This place is very frightening to him,” Hugo replied, a vague sense of unease filling him as well. “He'll be happier when we leave tomorrow.” “That is good.” Madog stopped speaking, he even stopped wagging his tail. But those oddly unblinking blue eyes continued to stare at Hugo as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world. Hugo licked his lips and glanced at the automaton's paws, and tail, hoping for some glimmer of movement, but there was nothing. He even tried to make out the mysterious passage behind him which hadn't been there a moment before, but all he could see within was blackness. “Why...” he said, his voice catching in his throat as if it were a great importunity for him to speak. “Madog, why are... you here?” “You're interesting.” Hugo wasn't sure if talking to Madog was more like talking to a five-year old child or a seer who delighted in being mysterious more than he did being revealing. “Why am I interesting?” “You love a rat more than you do your life,” Madog replied, lowering his head slightly to peer for a brief moment at his chest. Hugo stroked Boots on the head one more time to keep him calm. “You and light prove love.” “Prove love?” Hugo blinked and narrowed his eyes, finally meeting the automaton's stare. “What do you mean by that?” “You love the darkened offspring of the sun brothers and sisters. Something like that.” Madog's eyes widened and in an almost whisper he confided, “And that's big. Really big!” Hugo still couldn't decide but the scales were tipping in favor of five-year old. “Have you greeted Father Akaleth this way?” Madog yipped in bemused pleasure as if Hugo had suggested he collect skipping stones because the butterflies were about to give birth to a fleet of ships. “Oh no! Priest of light doesn't need anyone to tell him.” Hugo blinked. “And I needed you to tell me this?” “Maybe. My eyes don't hurt looking at you either.” He shook his head. “Wait... looking at Father Akaleth hurts your eyes?” “He's light!” Hugo had many occasions to study the Questioner priest via mage sight both when he was awake and when he was asleep; he'd even examined him while the priest was offering Liturgy. Every time he saw nothing but what he might expect when looking at any other human. Even Diomedra had said that they couldn't see anything on the priest when they'd been examining his magical talent. It was as if the light he created had come from nowhere. But that raccoon man had recoiled in pain when he had looked at Akaleth. Was there another way of seeing magic? And then, before Hugo could think of a way to ask that question, Madog stood on all fours and wagged his tail. “Time for me to go. I am glad I got to meet you, friend of light!” “And I you. I'm sure our paths will cross again. This place seems too interesting for us not to return.” Madog shook his head. “Oh no. You never coming back here.” And with that he yipped, turned around, and disappeared into the little hole in the wall. Hugo stared after him in shock. He felt as if he had been slapped. And even as he stared at the strange passage, stricken dumb in his shock, the darkness wavered as if it were falling behind a forge, until it vanished into the smooth gray blocks he had seen there before. He stretched out his hand and met only unyielding stone. Is the monster fox gone? The little rat's voice was hopeful and concerned only with his master and himself. Hugo took a deep breath, leaned back, and opened his tunic up so that the rat could see that they were along again. It's just us. I'm so glad! He scared me! He is frightening. Did you understand what he said? He said we're never coming back to this place. That's good. All the other animals are too big here. Let's go home, Master! One day, Boots. One day. But when? Soon. Very soon, my sweet little Boots. And this reassured the little rat who climbed up his shirt and curled around his neck, little tail dragging across Hugo's skin. The little claws pricked him, and the whiskers tickled as they brushed against his skin, but all he could think was that he was grateful for his friend. And he hoped Madog really was more a five year-old than anything else. ---------- By the time the summons finally arrived, Misha had almost managed to forget how worried he'd been that morning about that very thing. And now with the evening gloom settling over the valley he found himself stepping inside Duke Thomas's sitting room, glumly ready to endure the reprimand he surely deserved. The sitting room had cabinetry and bookshelves along the two walls flanking the main door, while another led to a balcony overlooking the town. Between them and the balcony was a single table wide enough for maps to be unrolled and dinner to be served. There was a map of the Midlands resting atop that table, with little wooden figures placed in key locations, though their significance was lost on the fox. Thomas had a glass of some dry-smelling wine in his hand, and he stood with his side to the door, face staring at an old tapestry adorning the wall on the right. Other than the guards outside, it was just the two of them. “It is I, Misha Brightleaf, answering your summons, your grace.” He said with a little bow at the waist. Thomas sipped at his wine. “I understand you gave some visitors to Metamor a rather unusual welcome.” “They were very unusual visitors. “ “So I've heard. Have they hurt anyone?” He almost mentioned the mighty warrior and Rickkter but thought better of it. That bit of levity was best saved for his fellow Long Scouts. “No one, your grace.” “Has the Questioner done anything other than what he said he would do?” “No, your grace.” “Has either of the warriors or that exile mage done anything unbecoming a guest of Metamor?” Misha gritted his teeth. “No, your grace.” Thomas nodded and took another sip of wine. His thick lips opened and he tilted back the glass against his wide teeth, lowering his upper lips to keep the wine from flowing back into the glass or out the side of his mouth. Once done he half-turned, one hoof clopping on the stone, his long head fixing the fox in place with a firm stare. “You have good instincts, Misha. They should be watched. They are dangerous. And that Questioner especially. But until they have committed a crime they are not to be treated as criminals.” “I understand, your grace.” “And we especially do not want to put this city into an uproar. You mobilized all of the Long Scouts here, their support, and at least one of George's patrol teams so you could threaten them and put them in the dungeon? Why? Because they were dangerous? Dangerous people come here more often than I would like, but most of them do not threaten us. These four did not threaten us. “I know you understand delicacy, Misha. I've met Madog many times. I've seen how intricate his gears are. You treated visitors that should have been handled delicately with your axe. I expect my trusted men to to act at their best. You did not. Do not make that mistake again.” Misha stilled his tail and balled one hand into a fist before taking a deep breath and then sighing. His muscles relaxed and he began to nod. “I will not make that mistake again, your grace.” Thomas lowered the wine glass and set it on the table. His voice turned from a clipped reprimand into the welcoming warm baritone Misha was used to hearing. “We all make mistakes from time to time. I expect that. Do you know that my wife made me a very interesting drink this morning? She says it is a delicacy of the Steppe.” “No,” he said, lowering one ear, very confused. “I didn't know that.” “It was quite delicious. Since I've been married I have found that I have the most wondrous gift in my wife. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes. And on those days when matters of state weigh far too heavily on my shoulders, she shows me how light the load really is. And no, I'm not talking about onions either.” It took Misha a moment to remember what Thomas was talking about, but when he did, he felt almost embarrassed to hear his Duke speak so lightly of being turned into a cart horse. “What are you talking about, your grace?” “Caroline,” Thomas said with a faint smile stretching his thick lips. “Take the rest of the week to be with her. I'm sure she can think of many things you need to do that are far more important.” “But it's already Thursday evening,” Misha pointed out. “That's only two days with Caroline, three for Sunday.” Thomas laughed and neighed, his eyes bright even in the gloom of the sitting room. “Oh Misha! Of course! Do you think I want to run this land without you helping me protect it? Now go. I promised I would do do something nice for Alberta and I wouldn't want to disappoint her.” The fox bobbed his head and laughed with his liege. Once again he was very grateful to live and serve at Metamor. ---------- April 20, 708 CR Father Hough allowed Father Felsah to celebrate the Liturgy that morning in honor of the departure of his friend and fellow Questioner and his companions. Felsah invited Akaleth to concelebrate and so the Followers of Metamor enjoyed or pondered the sight of two Questioners leading the faithful in the morning worship. Being a Friday there was always a larger share of Followers come to attend, but never as much as on a Sunday or Holy day. Still, Hough reflected as he played the deaconate role for the celebration, the attendance was much larger than normal. He hoped they had enough already consecrated Hosts in the tabernacle to supply so many faithful. After the Liturgy, most of the faithful stayed to see Kashin and even a few just wanted to touch his tunic. The Yeshuel bore patiently with everyone, while Hugo and Czestadt readied their things for the long journey to Yesulam. Several merchants who had come offered them wares to help them on their way and they accepted as much as they knew they could use before spoiling. The rest they would buy on their way out of Keeptowne. Father Akaleth spent his final hour in the Cathedral with his fellow Questioner. They prayed together for much of that hour, sometimes locking hand and paw together, other times kneeling next to each other; it depended on the prayer. But their time came to an end more quickly than either would have liked; Kashin dismissed the last of the Followers come to admire the man who defended the Patriarch and signaled that it was time to go. “I hope,” Father Akaleth said as he put his hand on Felsah's slender shoulder, “that I will see you again someday. And soon.” “I hope so too,” Felsah replied, placing his paw on his friend's shoulder as two soldiers might when greeting on the field of battle. “If not, we shall see each other in Paradise.” “But what shall I look for? The man or the mouse?” Felsah laughed, a high-pitched squeaking sound that made all of his whiskers tremble. “I don't know! I guess we'll just have to wait and see.” Akaleth chuckled as well, and then nodded his head. “Until then, Dominus tecum, my dear friend.” “Et cum spiritu tuo,” Felsah replied with a nod of his head. They both made the sign of the Yew for each other and then walked out of the Cathedral, each blessing themselves with consecrated water as they left. They fell into step beside Kashin and walked in relative silence through the halls of the Keep until they came to the entrance. Beyond the familiar carriage waited. Hugo and Czestadt were there securing the horses. Wolfram and his soldiers watched nearby, already mounted on their steeds except for Zachary who crouched on the terrazzo securing a set of leather shoes over his massive feet. “Is everything ready?” Akaleth asked his Yesbearn. The knight nodded, his expression one of duty. No doubt he too already missed this strange and fantastic land. “We only wait for you, Father.” Akaleth cast a glance at Wolfram and let a small smile play across his lips. “Do you intend to escort us?” Wolfram nodded his head and smiled, caprine eyes narrowing as if in mischief. “Aye, we do. At least to the checkpoint. We have to go back to our usual rounds after that.” The Questioner looked at each of the soldiers one by one, letting his eyes linger on the kharrakhaz Zachary as he said, “Your diligence in protecting us... is a true blessing. Thank you. May Eli bless each and every one of you.” And with that, he made the sign of the Yew toward them. Kindle and Burkhart looked oddly bemused, but the rest looked pleased. Both Wolfram and Zachary made the sign of the Yew in return. “May your journeys be safe.” Felsah said before offering his blessing on the travelers. Hugo shuffled his feet oddly and smiled, but the others all bowed their heads in deep gratitude. “It has been a joy to see this place once again,” Kashin said, glancing over their heads at the towering walls of the Keep. “But we must go.” He opened the door to the carriage and gestured for the mage and priest to climb inside. Hugo glanced around one more time before stepping inside. Akaleth smiled to his fellow Questioner one last time before stepping into the carriage and disappearing within. Kashin shut the door and then hopped up to the buckboard. Czestadt joined him, while Wolfram and his soldiers formed an escort on either side. Felsah remained behind, his tail tuft in his paws, fingers and claws untying the knotted tangles in his fur. He stayed there watching the carriage and the escort until they passed through the nearest gate and vanished into Keeptowne. For one soul crushing moment he wished with all his might that he were on that carriage and that he was returning to his home in Yesulam. He wished that he didn't have a tail, fur, claws, incisors that always grew, ears the size and shape of saucers, and nocturnal habits. He felt a agony so pure in his heart that lamented the deserts and gardens he would never see again that he almost fell to the ground and wept. But the moment passed and he remembered all of the vows he had taken and of the wonders of this strange land that was his new home. He thought of Madog who he was sure any moment would bound around in the garden and yip at him, asking him to play. He thought of the earnest and nearly starving community of Followers and the heroic efforts of Father Hough to feed them. He thought of Vinsah now Elvmere lost on the path of his life and needing help finding his way back. He marveled at the sudden appearance of the Tened after more than five thousand years in death. All this and more came to him like a draught of water to a dry, cracked throat. He took a deep breath, and stretched his muscles; though he had been a rodent for only a month, already it felt as natural to him as his human form had been. He petted down the tuft of his tail, smiled at it, and let it swing back to the ground behind him. Gathering his robes in his paws, he decided to take a short little hop around the gardens. The day was too beautiful not to rejoice in for a little while. And all the while, hopping on his powerful legs through the maze of bright flowers, tall hedges, delicate ponds, twittering birds and the occasional bee, he pondered that remarkable idea of his friend. He pondered a little school for all the Follower children of Metamor. Felsah chittered as he hopped, not even noticing his paws snatching one of the leafy fronds for a snack. His little school. With joy unbounded the jerboa priest praised Eli with all his tiny might. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>