<html> <body> And the next part. Please let me know what you think! --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (b) It took an hour and more to make their way from the depths of the forest, traversing game trails and hidden paths. The trees about them changed subtly as they made as much haste as the terrain and paths allowed, transitioning from oak and alder and aspen to the notably thicker, towering pillars of oarwood and sequoia common to the Glen. Bryn’s men-at-arms had overtaken them in the forest and rode in their wake as they emerged from the deeper forest and onto the land cleared for the slowly cultivated tracts and homes that were taking shape across the Narrows. The new road that Charlie’s sire had beaten from the Glen to the Narrows was still little more than a rough cart track that wove around the small lake at the foothills of the Glen and through the rugged terrain to the south. The narrow ravines, countless streams, and abrupt promontories were concealed beneath a cloak of towering oarwood and sequoia beneath which grew fir, birch, and alder. Through the occasional breaks in the canopy they could see a bright blue sky lofting overhead broken only by wisps of cloud drifting lazily from the south. The rough-hewn track skirted the most rugged terrain and, apart from a few places where it was forced to wend back and forth up or down steep declivities, was able to cut an otherwise gentle path through the series of cliffs that marked off the present outskirts of Glen Avery. Once they broke from the forest onto the track their progress was much more swift, emerging soon after upon a natural hollow in the rugged rock; a mostly flat stretch of land wide enough for cultivation, if not by a great margin. It was tough work; the soil was thin but rich and yielded lush crops in the growing season. A portion to the south of the main road was reserved for the shepherd Silvas and his flocks which the bull had tended with gentle care for as long as Charlie could remember. He gave half a though to stopping and asking the stooped bull, one hoof-hand wrapped about his crook the other comforting a startled ewe at their approach, but chances were he would know even less than Fallon. So with only a wave, Charlie, Bryn, and their company rode on. A few minutes ride and the narrow expanse of cleared fields crested a long hill beyond which they saw their goal. At the western end of the road stood a half built stone structure and a small village nestled up against its flanks. Most in the village were craftsmen and stone masons who worked on the keep itself while the remainder were farmers and those who supported both. The bulk of the outwall, once finished, would stretch between the two flanking mountains at the westernmost end of the cleared hollow and would fortify a strategic choke point in the northern valley. The Baron had chosen that vantage for his home. The outer wall was marked off by a proposed twelve towers, five of which were already complete with a sixth partially complete, enshrouded by a latticework of scaffolding and heavy oarwood cranes. Charlie noted that a new section of wall connecting the towers had been completed since his last visit the Yule before. Within the outer wall two other walls had been built, terracing the new Keep as it climbed within the fold of the mountains where steep cliffs protected it from attack while the bulk of the Keep itself warded the eastern approach. Neither of these walls was complete either as many of the designs that the Baron had requested were still being crafted, but the foundations were laid and massive blocks of quarried granite were being carved from the surrounding mountain rock in preparation. Each block only came slightly higher than Charlie’s waist, but they were as long and deep as he was tall. Charlie quailed at the very thought of their weight. None, save perhaps some of the larger dragons, could possibly survive having one of those blocks, or even half of one, fall upon them. Cutting through the center of the village was a boulevard of large, precisely cut and fitted stone that stretched from the completed gate house to some hundred lengths down the center of the Narrows. The hooves of their mounts rang loudly upon the stone as they cantered toward the gate house. Craftsmen, human and animal alike, both male and female, paused in their tasks to watch the two finely dressed men trailed by half a dozen soldiers make their way toward the Keep. One of those fearsome blocks was suspended the height of six men or more near the tower under construction, held aloft by a massive crane fashioned from the very oarwoods that had been felled to clear the valley for construction. The thick ropes that held it creaked as men pushed and prodded it cautiously toward its eventual seat in the wall. Near the gate house all labor stopped as the commoners espied who approached and moved aside. When the two and their entourage brought their horses to a stop in the shadows of the stone arch the workers sank to their knees and bowed their heads. Such was his concern that Charlie spared them not a second glance. Charlie shifted his weight to one stirrup and dropped to the flagstones before his mount had stopped fidgeting. Bryn slipped smoothly from his mount with a clop of hooves. His charger turned its head slightly, catching the untended reins of Charlie’ charger with its lips, and turned to lead the mare away without any guidance. “Milords, welcome.” One of the craftsmen hazarded greetings, wringing his hat in his hands. “One of th’ boys ran inside to let them know you had come.” Indeed, even as the men-at-arms dismounted and secured Charlie’ mare, ignoring Bryn’s mount, a familiar pair emerged from the shadows of a postern gate. The first figure was well dressed in green and brown like the forest that rose above them on all sides. He stood tall and strode with confidence, his head held high. Like Charlie, he was a rat, though somewhat shorter and more broad of shoulder. “Milord Hassan! Brother!” the rat cried out warmly, extending his arms in greeting. “Welcome to the Narrows.” Charlie was swept into a powerful, brotherly embrace and returned it perfunctorily. “Hello, Erick,” Charlie churred, his voice hitching as his brother’s strong hands slapped his back in the hug. Breaking the embrace Erick leaned back to hold Charlie at arms’ length, his brown gaze roving him up and down. Behind them the second figure, a mirror to Erick with brown tunic and short-cut breeches over the pebbly green skin of a frog, kept a polite distance but smiled with his dark yellow eyes. “You look very well, brother.” The knight proclaimed with a warm smile. His expression then became more grave as he met Charlie’ concerned gaze. “I suppose, by that agitated look in your eye, that you're here because you heard about father?” “Aye,” Charlie replied with a nod to his brother and litter-mate. They did not see each other as much as they once had in their youth, but until this moment every visit had been a joy. “Did...” He paused, trying to collect the fearful thoughts that spun through his head, “Did he survive?” Erick tilted his head slightly, rounded ears pricking forward as his ears twitched. “What did you hear?” “That your father the Baron, Charlie’s sire, was crushed by a boulder!” Bryn declared with a snort, “Were we mislead?” The shorter rat shook his head and turned to glance aside at the construction taking place some distance away. “One of the blocks they were attempting to lift did fall on him this morning, aye, but it only struck one of his legs.” He brought his attention back to his brother, “He’ll recover in a month.” Slipping an arm around Charlie’s shoulder he turned to guide him the rest of the way through the arch of the gate house. “He’d be delighted to see you both if you can stay. We would all be delighted, of course.” Erick grinned sidelong at his taller, more slender litter-mate, his dark eyes gleaming; Erick had never learned to hide his feelings. “Mother would love to see you, too.” “Of course we'll stay, brother.” Charlie heaved a relieved sigh at the news that his sire lived; whole if not entirely hale. “I have been away far too long and you have a lot more stories to share, I would wager.” “And you new songs to screech.” Erick chortled. He turned back to the frog and waved. “Continue on without me, Bertram. I'll see you after I've brought Charlie to Father.” The frog waved a webbed hand to them both as long legs carried him back the way they'd come. “I'll be here.” Erick smiled after his friend before turning his bright face back to his brother. “Bertram may croak, but I do not screech,” Charlie chuffed querulously but with good humor, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “Lead on, good Sir Erick!” The shorter rat smiled and gestured for the two of them and their retinue to follow. Bryn fell into step behind the pair, satisfied to follow despite his station earning preference in admission to any holding within his sire’s demesne. Charlie glanced back over his shoulder briefly with an inquiring twitch of one brow at Bryn and the long-eared horse smiled and nodded. They carefully wound their way through the rock and dust strewn path between the walls and up the steep slope behind them. A large semi-circular area was already clustered with small homes of wood and stone, most of which had the appearance of a hasty construction. The Narrows was still very young and if not for the commerce guild funneling money, supplies, and people there would be almost nothing here at all apart from the Baron's family and their handful of loyal servants. The next wall was almost finished but for the squat gatehouse and it was here that they were met by an older donkey and a quartet of green liveried ostlers. The donkey's snout was decorated with gray whiskers and his strong neck had a few patches of unruly hide that had never fully grown back right. Despite his age he appeared hearty and hale with broad shoulders and arms used to swinging the long sword slung across his back. He bowed his head lightly to each of them in turn, a warm smile creasing his snout. “Good afternoon, milord Thomas. Good afternoon, milord Charles. It is so good to have you grace us here at the Narrows.” “James!” Charlie smiled affectionately at his sire's most loyal friend and steward. “Could you prepare rooms for us? We mean to stay the night.” If Bryn was surprised by the sudden change in plans he gave no sign of it. But the remark brightened both the donkey and his brother's expressions. “And then I would like to see my sire if he is well enough to take visitors.” “He will be overjoyed to see you. Shall I tell her Lady and your siblings of your arrival?” “They will learn soon enough,” Charlie replied with a slight smile. Visiting the Narrows was never a simple affair, not with three litter-mates and over a dozen younger siblings whom he knew through his frequent visits during his youth. It was a wonder that they had enough room in their little fort for all of them let alone for noble guests. James nodded. “I will see to it at once. Milord Thomas? Do you have any needs?” “Nothing other than what my friend has said,” Bryn replied with a whicker. “While he visits his sire, I and my soldiers will inspect the grounds and the construction of your keep. I will pay my respects later and join you for dinner if not sooner.” Charlie turned to the long-eared horse and gave him a questioning glance followed by a grateful one. Bryn understood that visits to his sire were always awkward affairs, especially in the last few years, and best handled alone. “We shall see to your horses,” James noted, his dark eyes surveying them curiously, “if we knew where they were.” Bryn laughed a bray, “Argamont tends them by yon outwall but he would appreciate the help.” “We'll see to it that they have fresh feed and a place to rest for the night.” Even as James spoke the ostlers slipped behind him and headed down the hillside toward the outer wall. The donkey gestured for the rats to follow him through the inner wall toward the fort. Bryn smiled and patted Charlie on the shoulder once before turning and guiding his soldiers toward the cluster of homes. Charlie watched them leave for a moment and then turned his attention on the fort which was the most complete structure yet built in all of the Narrows. The Matthias home was a squat building with crenelated walls and towers at the nearest two corners. A reinforced gate protected the main entrance in the middle of the facade. The courtyard between the wall and the fort was lined with a row of bushes, herb flowers, and vegetables. There were no signs of recent construction, but he knew from seeing his sire's plans in the past that he intended to expand and better fortify their home once the outer walls were finished. “How are things at Metamor?” Erick asked as they walked alongside James, with servants in tow. “Fair and full of intrigue,” Charlie offered with neutral geniality; politics were always a sensitive topic to discuss. One wrong word in the wrong ear could undo months of careful negotiations. Not that he feared Erick would relay anything untoward, it was always best to exercise some caution. “Envoys from Kelewair seeking alliance, envoys from Salinon trying to enforce our alliance, and then there's the never ending turmoil in Sathmore that washes up on our shores.” Charlie would never admit it, but he loved the intrigue and saw the visit from any foreign ambassador as a chance to root out their secrets for the benefit of Metamor. “The Prime Minister is trying to secure a marriage alliance for Bryn; he's not very happy about that.” Erick laughed, green eyes bright with the humor. “I imagine so! I wasn't terribly pleased when father told me that he and Julian had agreed for me to marry his daughter. At least she's still too young for a couple more years.” “Lenora has a good heart and a shrewd mind. She's also a rat. You could not have chosen better.” “But I didn't get to choose her!” Charlie looked down at his brother and smiled, this one stretching most of the way across his snout. He did not reveal his feelings so openly with any save Bryn and his litter-mates. “We rarely can choose anything in our lives, why should we expect our wives to be any different?” “I have not heard that you have any prospects,” Erick replied, though there was no venom, mere curiosity. He looked at the ground and sighed in an uncharacteristically boyish moment of petulance. “Bernadette was not foisted off on some stranger.” Charlie let the complaint slide, it was one he had heard before. He had even used it himself, on occasion, when visiting noble daughters were brought before his father in hopes of a title by marriage. Not one mention was made concerning his sister's potential pairing, though she was still young yet. “Hopefuls I have in number,” he admitted with a flick of his tail. “Greedy women or greedy fathers all interested in my father's wealth and title. I can do without both. Ah, here we are.” James opened the gates for them and ushered them inside. A soft carpet greeted them in a dimly lit room beyond. The donkey's hooves clopped against the stone step and were then muffled by the carpet as he gestured to a hall on the left. “Milord Matthias is recovering in his chambers. I will see that you and milord Hassan's rooms are prepared. Would you care to wash your paws?” Charlie shook his head, “Thank you but my paws are fine. But if it is possible to find something in my size, I would appreciate a fresh doublet and hose to be waiting for me in my room.” The donkey spread his supple lips in a warm smile. “I will see what we have. But I fear we may not have anything fresh or to your taste.” “If not, my hunting attire will serve well enough. Thank you again.” James bowed his head to the two rats and the excused himself, walking with wide gait down the corridor to the right. He disappeared through a set of doors and the two rats were left alone in the entry. Charlie glanced at Erick who, though broader than him in shoulder, stood almost two hands shorter. “Could you let mother know I am here? I think I will go see him alone.” “She'll be overjoyed to see you. We all are.” Erick swallowed in embarrassment and then bobbed his head respectfully. A moment later he followed after the donkey, long tail darting through the double doors as they closed behind him. The left passage took Charlie up a flight of steps to a hall with several doors lit by a single brazier at his end. The hall stretched no more than twenty paces before coming to a double door beneath of which a little light could be seen. He knocked politely and then stepped through. The chamber beyond was modest with a large canopied bed, a pair of chairs with holes in the back framed around a crackling hearth, a few animal heads and skins, a narrow window framed by bench seats to let in natural light, and chests of drawers covered with thick brushes, combs, and a good mirror broad and tall enough that they could see their whole head at once and even when turned in profile. A sword hung by his sire's bedside, but it did not appear to have been clasped in a few weeks. Reclining in the bed with a scroll grasped between his paws was a brown-furred rat with green eyes and the beginning of gray fur lining his snout and around his ears. A patch of naked flesh around his right eye in the shape of a monstrous hand was creased and drawn with old scars, still appearing as black as the day he had suffered the searing touch. He bore a patterned red vest and cream colored tunic in addition to the decorative medallions given him by his wife many years ago. The rest of him was tucked beneath the covers. At his bedside Charlie saw prayer beads curled in a pile as if his sire had just finished using them. The rat looked up from his scroll and his face brightened. “Charlie! I knew you would hear word and come rushing to see what fool mess your sire had gotten himself into. I just hadn't thought you would be here so soon. Come, sit at the end of my bed and keep an old rat company as he stews in his foolishness.” Charlie closed the door behind him and stepped to the bedside, sitting on the other end from his sire and rested his paws in his lap. “And how foolish was the Baron of the Narrows today?” “Foolish enough to nearly kill myself but fortunate enough to limp away with a broken leg. And it isn't even a bad break, praise Eli.” “What happened?” “I was supervising the work by the outer wall beneath the crane. One of the oarwoods snapped under the stress and everything collapsed. The stone was right above me when it began to fall. I dove out of the way, but didn't quite make it. I should have turned to stone; I probably wouldn't have been injured that way, but instincts are instincts. All I have to show for it is this broken leg,” he gestured to the covers and shook his head. “I told Kimberly I could just take my taur form and continue to work, but... I have to let her win some battles and so here I am.” Charlie nodded with a rueful chuckle. “Stone shatters, father. Flesh and bone yields and breaks. Had you become stone you may have come away without a leg at all,” He pointed out with a gentle smile, nodding at the leg that was splinted straight. “Erick says you will be a month recovering.” “So does the Healer,” the Baron set the scroll on the desk and leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “I'll be up and about in two weeks. Sondeckis heal fast.” He stared at Charlie's hunting attire and then back into his whiskered face; a broad yet reserved smile creased his snout. “Shall I have some tea brought?” Charlie almost winced at the thought of the bitter chai his sire blended with foreign spices and shook his head. “No thank you, I'm not thirsty.” “Would you care for a stick to chew then? I have a few here and would be glad to share.” His incisors always ached except when he chewed; it was a sensation and a need he was long used to, but he preferred not to chew where others might watch him, or where he might be caught with splinters in his doublet. When amongst fellows rats things were different as they all needed to chew. “I would be grateful for a stick. You do not mind splinters on your quilts?” His sire laughed as he bent over the edge of the bed, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of short sticks no longer than his forearm. His snout contorted for a moment before he pulled himself back up and offered one of the sticks to Charlie. “Maple seasoned for two years now in dark honey. Not as colorful as the bountifruit wood they have in Whales, but very rich and sweet. Better than anything you'll find on your hunt.” Charlie lifted the thin stick to his incisors and bit down at the dark and smooth outer layer, finding it firm between his teeth, chipping slowly as his jaw muscles worked. For a moment neither spoke as they chewed, the flecks of wood bouncing from their tongues to land in their laps only to be brushed aside. Each morsel that dallied in their muzzles left them with a rich taste both nutty and sweet. For those few moments his teeth were doing exactly what they were meant to do; satisfaction was too poor a word to catalog all that it accomplished. “That is quite good,” Charlie opined between bites. After working loose a nugget of hardened syrup between two knots in the wood, he lowered the stick and nodded. “Thank you. Did you season this yourself? I haven't seen this variety in the markets before.” “I did. Gregor did give me a few ideas on my visit to Metamor last year.” The Baron regarded him with deep green eyes that did not waver even in the inconsistent light of the lamp at his bedside. Charlie looked from the lamp to the parchment curled beside it. “I hope I was not disturbing something important.” “Not at all. Merely the affairs of a fief. The stonecutters ask for more coin despite a rate that would quickly bankrupt me if Julian did not send help. And then there are the larders which still must be cleaned of last winter's leftovers and the new crops and grains we hope to store for this winter. Ah, and the matter of repairing the second crane.” He shook his head and sighed. “It does make me wonder at times why I ever agreed to become a Baron. But then I see my family every day and I know why I did.” Charlie said nothing while the Baron narrowed his eyes and bit hard into his chew stick. He chewed for several long seconds, eyes slowly lifting to meet the tall rat on the end of the bed and in a quiet voice said, “It is good to see you, Charlie. You don't come to the Narrows often enough. We saw you more when we were still living in the Glen.” He shrugged his shoulders and returned the stick to his lips, his gaze sliding away from his sire to briefly ponder the discarded scroll that had rolled itself up. “This has never been home. The Glen at least felt that way.” Charlie's incisors dug into the hard wood for a few seconds before adding, “I hear you finally sold the old house in the tree.” “A few months ago. We weren't using it anymore and it is a short enough jaunt from here to Glen even when visiting Brian we didn't have need of it. And I didn't sell it, I gave it as a gift to Bernadette's betrothed. Have you had a chance to meet him? Godfrey is a fine young man.” “He is,” Charlie agreed between nibbles and spitting out honey-flavored splinters. “Not very ambitious and he doesn't come from a prosperous family, but a good man.” The Baron tilted an arch stare toward the eldest of his line with a green eye in its field of black scar. “I have sons and daughters in plenitude. I can afford to allow many to wed without the necessity of political maneuvering.” He shrugged and leaned back against the pile of pillows behind him. “He won my eldest daughter's heart and that is good enough for me.” Baron Matthias twisted one of his whiskers for a moment and then pointed the gnawed chew stick at him. “You weren't born into a wealthy family either, my son. Don't forget that.” The reminder irritated him but he didn't show it. “Point taken. But that is not how things are now.” “Indeed. How's your father?” “He is well and keeping busy helping the Duke with this or that negotiation, playing the musician, being a dandy and being a father. I can bring him a message if you'd like.” “Tell him that it has been too long since he paid a visit and we would love to see him again.” The gray-muzzled rat shifted under the covers and winced as he moved his injured leg. “And how are you, Charlie? You turned seventeen last week; you're quite a man now.” “I am well enough. My days are long with study, practice, and the dance of court life. Father is giving me responsibilities over our house but mostly just accounts and ledgers for now, as well as reviewing his diplomatic machinations, though he still directs those himself. He does ask my counsel, however, and does seem appreciative of my observations. He says once I have proven myself with such trifles I can manage more important affairs.” The Baron nodded and idly stretched his fingers to loosen the muscles before lifting his stick to gnaw again. “We all must begin somewhere. I'm glad to hear it.” “I think Father just doesn't want to do them himself.” “Possibly, but it is good to learn.” Charlie tapped the shredded end of his stick against his upper incisors for a moment before chuckling. “Speaking of having boulders fall on you... you haven't heard about Misha and the trebuchet this spring.” “Oh?” The Baron's ears twitched upright and a smile drew his whiskers up. “What has my old friend done now?” He chortled. His voice, though the words were spoken, took on a lilt as if he were miming a lyre strumming in the distance. He put one paw to his chest and sat up straighter. “O Misha the fox, curious as a cat, Clever as a rat, stubborn as an ox! Vet'ran of the siege, master of the bolt, Friend of all metal, counsel to his liege, Didst tangle within one gallant day, The rope and hook of a trebuchet! The boulders prepared, the ropes all drawn taut, But wood filled with rot, and none were awared. Misha climbed within, tool in belt and paw, To beam he set saw, fang to cheek he grin, Yet the tension was too great for it, So into the air Misha did flit!” The Baron shook his head and laughed warmly, and when he saw that Charlie had stopped he smiled around his incisors and said, “That sounds like my old friend. Surely there is more to it?” “There are a few more verses, but I am still working on it,” Charlie admitted with a shrug. He grimaced and turned the chewstick over in his paw. “I am not altogether happy with some of the rhymes; they could flow better.” “How long have you been working on it?” “A day or two; it helps pass the time when the hart proves elusive.” His sire nodded at that, and then both their heads turned at the sound of the door opening. Into the room swept a short rat dressed in a matronly lavender gown that was both modest and elegant. A familiar oddly cracked amethyst pendant hung above her bodice. When her eyes settled on Charles her husband one paw lifted to touch that stone in an unconscious gesture as old as the younger Charlie's earliest memories. To Charlie's perception it glimmered even in the fitful lantern light and he could not recall ever seeing her without it. Her blue-gray eyes seemed to water a moment before her gaze shifted to her husband's namesake and a smile banished them from her countenance. With an undignified squeak, she strode to the bedside and wrapped his head and shoulders in her arms. “Charlie! Oh, I'm so happy to see you,” She chittered, her usual dulcet voice rendered husky with emotion. “You've discovered your father's incautious folly so soon?” She drew her head back to let him up for a break. “You will be staying long?” “Hello, mother,” he replied with a laugh as he tried to keep the sharp end of the chew stick from jabbing either of them. “Word did reach us in Glen Avery. And aye, I will be staying the night.” Kimberly let go of his head but she kept her paws on his shoulders. “Oh, you look so handsome dressed like that. Out for a hunt in the Glen with your friends?” “With Bryn, aye. He's here too.” “Erick told me. He's such a good man, your friend.” She slipped a paw beneath his shoulder and pulled, drawing him off the side of the bed. “Now come. Your father needs his rest,” she shot the Baron narrowed eyes and the older rat chuckled, “Since he had best not be trying to read to that old lamp instead of a proper witchlight!” She turned back to Charlie and smiled. “Everyone is eager to see you again. They'll all want to hear about Metamor and your adventures down south.” Charlie tucked the chew stick beneath his arm and stifled the sigh that yearned to escape his lungs. They may be siblings, but he barely knew the youngest at all. No visit to the Narrows would be complete without it. He turned and offered his sire a nod and a brief laugh as he was swept from the room. His sire could only wave and laugh in return before brightening his lamp. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>