<html xmlns:v="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:vml" xmlns:o="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" xmlns:w="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:word" xmlns:m="http://schemas.microsoft.com/office/2004/12/omml" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"><head><meta http-equiv=Content-Type content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta name=Generator content="Microsoft Word 12 (filtered medium)"><style></style></head><body lang=EN-US link=blue vlink=purple><div class=WordSection1><o:p> </o:p>Here is part 2. This part makes sense if you read the story "Lord Fool" which you can find here http://metamorkeep.com/story/Lord_Fool.php It explores the deep past of Whisper - Misha's axe.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p>Chris<o:p></o:p>The Lurking Fox!<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><h2>Page 212<o:p></o:p></h2><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p>The lutin shook his head sadly. “Human just curse Turlo, call him filth and vermin. He jump onto battlement. ‘I die rather than surrender to you’. Then human lord jump off into open air.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> There was much cheering at that point and the party broke up into loud raucous singing long into the night. Finally near dawn the group slowly made its way off, singing as they went.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> A long time after the last lutin had departed a figure stirred from the cover of a ruined wall. Misha stepped into the clearing and motioned for the rest. Soon Kershaw, Finbar Danielle, and Meredith joined him.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “Why didn’t you give the order to attack?” Meredith signed with his hands.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The fox shrugged. “Didn’t feel right. Besides I didn’t have the heart to interrupt the story.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The bear laughed out loud. “They’ll be other chances to kill lutins. Besides it was a great story.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> End<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Authors notes: Of all the tales recounted in this book of mine this one provokes the most comments. Many people refuse to belief the events really happened as described by the Chief. I have to admit that I had my own doubt as to the events. But after long research and correspondence I found to my astonishment that everything was true!!<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> My attempts to contact the Borrelli family met with a stone cold silence. All I can guess is that they are too embarrassed to talk about him. I don’t blame them, all surviving accounts of Marcel Borrelli’s stay at the keep do not describe him in the warmest of terms. "Arrogant twit, was the most polite term I found describing him."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> With that avenue of information closed I was left to my own devices. I did have one good clue for setting the time – Chief Turlo. A particularly smart and imaginative lutin Turlo held sway over a large empire for almost two decades. A record considering the cut throat nature of Lutin politics. He died in 602CR when he was poisoned. That gave me a timeframe to work with. Careful study of Metamor’s vast library soon turned up records of the Lords arrival and departure. I then found a roster some diligent clerk had made up of everyone in the Dukes entourage. He arrived in the early spring of 593 CR with fifty knights and squires, and two hundred infantry (described as being of dubious abilities). Also with him were five hundred and twenty one people described as peasants, farmers and hangers-on. Each one had been dutifully listed along with their sex, age and occupation. Scanning the list I found a name I wasn’t looking for – my own!<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> It seems that my great grandfather (for who I am named) was in the Lord Marcel Borrelli’s service. Alas I know very little of that part of my illustrious ancestor’s life. What is know is that he spent several years at Metamor Keep. When he returned to his homeland he was wealthy and a well respected noble with a large entourage. It makes me wonder what happened when he was at Metamor. The only clue we have is an offhand remark he made to a friend during a drinking bout. When asked how he gained his good fortune he answered, “By blind arrogance and stupidity.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> A strange answer indeed, even for him. He never explained the remark or if he did it’s long since lost to time. All I can guess is the arrogance and stupidity was on Borrelli’s part and that he distinguished himself in Lord Borrelli’s service somehow. I do know that he was knighted by the Duke of Metamor for great service and valor.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Alas all of that is sheer speculation and will remain such as no other accounts of Lord Fool’s death have survived aside from the tale I have just told. All that is left is the crumbling remains of a once fine castle. A fitting monument to one man's arrogance and foolishness.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Misha Brightleaf<o:p></o:p> Knight of the order of Axe and Bow<o:p></o:p> <o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> William Borrelli closed the book with a snap so loud that the dog in his sisters lap yelped in surprise and ran from the room. The man flung the hated tome across the room and into a wall. “LORD FOOL INDEED!” he shouted to the book. “How dare he dishonor the memory of such a fine and noble man.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> He was of middling height but with a build that spoke of a lifestyle of moderate exercise. He light brown hair framed a face with sea green eyes. A scar along his right arm told of combat service sometime in the recent past.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Amelia Borrelli looked up from her sewing, she was used to such outbursts from her brother. She was taller than her brother and had black hair and gray eyes that she had inherited from her father. "Brother it’s just a story. No one will believe it.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “Yes they will! Lord Baintree told me of it. The prince himself gave him the book.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> She replied without hesitating. “Find this Misha Brightleaf, and make him apologize. Honor has to be satisfied.”<o:p></o:p> <o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p>******************<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> "NO!"<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Misha, you can't ignore them forever," Caroline countered as the stood in front of the false tomb.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Why not? They've been ignoring me for over seven years," he responded in a pained tone.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> She wrapped her arms around him. "Honey. Just because they made a stupid mistake doesn't mean you can too? Someone has to break the deadlock or the pain will keep festering and destroy all of us."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "But what will they say? How will they act?" He asked in a whisper.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "They are probably asking the same thing about you," Caroline answered. "They are afraid of how you will act."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "But how will THEY act?" Asked with an edge of anger and fear in his voice.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Caroline kissed him tenderly. "They'll greet you like the son you are. Remember the sweet letter they sent us?"<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Yeah," he said in a happy tone as his tail wagged. "They did."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "We all make mistakes." Caroline pointed to the false tomb. "That is an old mistake. Made when they weren't thinking so clearly."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "All right but only after the big demonstration. I need my head clear for that."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p>***********************<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> It was very late, close to dawn and they should both have been in bed but Caroline found Misha standing at the window staring out at the city. She quietly wrapped both arms around her fiancé and laid her head on his shoulders. He stroked her head tenderly with one hand.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "You're worried about tomorrow," she said. "And meeting your family."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Yes, it's been so long since I've had any contact with my family aside from my sister," Misha responded. "But my mind keeps going over to Salona. What will the soul be like? Will she be happy? Will she be sad? She could very well be stark raving insane."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "That can only be discovered by returning it to the body," Caroline said.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> He gave a yip of laughter. That's so simple and yet so deadly. Will we be recovering a lost soul or a releasing a murderous madman?"<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Have you asked Madog what he thinks?" the otter woman asked.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Yes," the fox replied. "His answer was 'I take care of metal lady. You take care of family."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Now that is advice to take to heart," she commented.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> He kissed her on the muzzle. "Indeed. Now let's get to bed. It will be a long day tomorrow."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p>*****************<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> It was quiet in the building at this late hour. All the people had gone home, even the last of the late working apprentices had left. The woman had walked this floor countless times. In good time and in bad. She had felt excitement, happiness and exhaustion but never had she known fear, until now. The letter had arrived that morning, delivered by a messenger hired by a man he had just met. Now she was standing in the workshop where she worked, waiting. She looked up at the ceiling. "Great One give me strength."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "You finally decided to show up." The words were from a man dressed in common street clothes standing in a corner.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> It was a figure she recognized. A shiver of fear ran down her spine and she had to repress her panic and the urge to run.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Your sister sends her regards."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "What do you want now?"<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p>*****************<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> The two walked very slowly down the street. Misha, who could walk at a faster pace was moving slowly. Still they made steady progress as his body remembered a route he had taken countless times as a child. They would pause occasionally and he would point out some place where he had played as a child.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Brightleaf manor was a tall three story affair of dark brown stone. Standing on a ledge over the main door a stone griffon looked down on the courtyard.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Standing at the entrance to the estate was a young man attending to a pair of horses. He took one look at the approaching pair and his eyes widened in shock. He dropped the horses reins and raced towards the house.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The large front door swung open revealing a young woman no more than twenty years old. She spoke with the boy and then looked in the direction he pointed. She looked straight at Misha and Caroline and he face broke into as wide smile. "PAPA!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "They're here!"<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> A crowd quickly gathered in the courtyard. Mostly servants many of whom Misha recognized. There was Wilfred the stable master looking a little older but still as tough as ever. Next to him was the Mistress of the Hall - the woman who was in charge of all the servants and staff. Her short stocky frame betrayed her having been born of the tough mountain folk.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The crowd suddenly parted revealing two figures making their way slowly down the steps. Reuben Brightleaf was of middling height and with a rough and weather worn face whose eyes missed little of what was going on around him. He hair was more gray then it’s original black and was thinning on top. His clothes were well made and finely cut speaking of money well spent on it but was just warn enough to speak of being his normal wear and not merely worn to impress.<o:p></o:p> On his right arm was a woman of about the same age as Reuben. Her hair was a dark brown and heavily salted with gray. Her long, flowing dress was of purple wool. For someone so rich Muriel was wearing remarkably little jewelry. A gold wedding ring was on one hand and a necklace of silver chain dangled from her neck ending in a broach of the same silver.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Welcome home," Reuben said and hugged his son tightly.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> His mother walked up to him and hugged him tightly. Then she kissed him gently on the muzzle. She touched the tattered stump that had been left ear. Her hands lightly traced the scar that ran along the one side of his muzzle. "Dear Lord what's happened to you?"<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Misha kissed her and hugged her gently. "I'm fine Mom. I survived and that's all that matters." He pointed to Caroline. "This is the most wonderful person in the world my fiancé Caroline Hardy."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "Carol," Misha said solemnly and pointed to the older couple. "These are my parents Reuben and Muriel Brightleaf."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Caroline curtsied to the older couple. "It's an honor to finally meet you."<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Without hesitating both parents moved to Caroline and hugged her. "Welcome home daughter." <o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p>**************<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> William had to admit to himself that it was a very fine tomb. It was tucked into the back corner of the city cathedral, near a side altar. It had a full length effigy of its occupant laying on top of the slap. The dark, gray, stone figure was of a knight in full armor, complete with helmet, sword and spurs. “Herein lies Misha Brightleaf, brave soldier who died defending us all. 673 - 699” carved on the edge of the slab. A grand place to be interred for eternity.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “Hopeless,” William thought to himself. “How do I defend my name and my ancestors honor against the words of a dead man? What do I do?”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “Impressive isn’t it?” A voice asked behind him.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Turning around, he found a tall, thin, woman looking at him. The black haired woman was dressed in chain mail armor, with a helmet tucked under her arm. A sword dangled in a scabbard at her hip. She looked to be about nineteen, maybe twenty years old.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The knight scowled at the woman. He didn’t like a woman acting like a man and fighting. Fighting was a man's job.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “You like the tomb?” she asked. “It’s impressive, even if it is empty.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> He opened his mouth the reprimand this peasant woman when a word rang in his mind. “Empty?” he stuttered.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The woman laughed loudly. “Your expression is precious.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “If he isn’t buried here where is his body?”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> She shrugged. “Right now it’s probably in bed, asleep.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “He’s alive?”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> The girl nodded in agreement. “Alive and well. He even wrote a book.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Reaching into a pouch he produced a small, brown, leather bound book. “Tales of the Northland” was on the cover. “This book?”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Again she nodded. “Look at the dedication if you don’t believe me.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> He opened the book and turned to the first page. “To the love of my life, Caroline. Without her encouragement this would never have been written. October 707.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> William felt foolish. He’d had read the book from cover to cover and never noticed the dedication. “Why that,” he asked pointing to the tomb, “if he’s alive?”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “Better a dead hero then a live freak,” the woman explained.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> Puzzled, he just looked at her. “What?”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “He’s at Metamor Keep,” she said.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> “Yes,” he responded, still confused.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> She shook her head. “You’ve never heard of Metamor?” she asked. “That’s the place with the curse.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> When he didn’t answer her she continued. “You stay long enough and you get changed into an animal. He’s a fox.”<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "How do you know this?" He asked, suspiciously.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p> "You haven't heard? The news is all over the city," the woman responded. "He's just returned to Marigund." With those words the woman turned and walked away leaving the astonished man to his thoughts.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p>***************<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p></div></body></html>