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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats<br>
by Charles Matthias and Ryx<br><br>
Pars I: Disipicio<br><br>
(l)<br><br>
<br>
<font face="Times New Roman, Times">A few more page flips brought him to
June and he scanned each page more closely, noting every detail. Charlie
grimaced when he saw how sad he was that first month living with his new
family, but felt a bit brighter when he read how often and how long both
Misanthe and his father held him in their arms to comfort him. But as he
neared the beginning of the month he finally found what he was looking
for.<br><br>
<br>
<i>Second of June in the year Seven-Hundred-and-Nine Cristos
Reckoning,<br><br>
For the first time in just over a year we have set foot within the walls
of Metamor Keep. Our long journey has finally come to its end and all of
us feel a great relief to be home. Matthias and his family will be
returning to the Glen and the Narrows to learn what has become of their
home in their year-long absence. But the eldest son, Charles II but whom
I will ever refer to as Charlie, is remaining in Metamor with
me.<br><br>
It was such an agonizing decision for them both, even though the idea has
long been germinating for reasons I will not repeat. It was as equally
trying for me as they, but for differing reasons. But only I can teach
Charlie how to control his skills and how to benefit from them instead of
being driven mad by them. And I do love the boy. I wasn't certain at
first, though I have always been fond of him. He has such an infectious
spirit and bright smile.<br><br>
I never thought that I could be a father. My own father was a ruthless
tyrant who I do not know if I could ever forgive; with such a poor
example, how could I hope to raise a child? But Matthias has confidence
in me, and even Kimberly expressed her faith that her boy would be all
right. They are protecting him the best way they know how and I will make
sure that their trust in me does not go unfounded.<br><br>
Charlie is my son now and I have, before Duke Thomas as witness, named
him my heir. I may have returned home but I am still on a journey whose
end I cannot imagine!<br><br>
The little boy did not quite understand what is happening to him. He was
surprised but seemed happy enough to lay down to sleep in my home rather
than Long House where Matthias and his family are spending the night.
Misanthe has warned me that she expects him to cry once he understands he
won't be going back to Glen Avery with his brother and sisters. I have
held him and comforted him when he saw frightening things he didn't
understand. I will do so again and for as long as he needs, and hold him
even more for love's sake.<br><br>
Still, we will be visiting the Glen and the Narrows frequently in the
months ahead. My position affords me great latitude in movement and I
intend to take full advantage of it! Charlie is of a noble house now and
he too will learn to live as such. I will eventually need tutors for him,
but first I will need good clothes for him.<br><br>
But all of that can wait. Tomorrow must come first, and with it saying
goodbye to his old family.<br><br>
Charlie, you may well one day read this. Mayhap with me at your side, or
in a study absent of me as aught but memory, but know that while breath
quickens within me I shall always be here for you. I promise you, I will
do everything I can for your sake. I will give up my life for you if I
must. I am your father and I will live up to what that means. This I
promise!<br><br>
And one day you will understand all of this. I love you my son.<br><br>
<br>
</i>Charlie pushed the journal away from him and leaned on his side, tail
flopping to the floor with a thunk. He closed his eyes and trembled,
unable to even imagine how it must have felt now. Balling his hands into
fists, he pressed them to his chest and rocked onto his back, pressing
one soft ear between his head and the lush bear fur covering the
floor.<br><br>
Despite himself, he could hold back neither the smile nor the warmth that
filled his heart at the thought of his father's love for him. Charlie
took several deep breaths as he lay there, pondering that moment and
trying to remember those first days in his new family. But he had only
been two years old at the time and such memories did not come to
him.<br><br>
He could recall a few incidents in his younger years visiting Glen Avery
and the Matthias family there. The one that came most readily was the
time when he was five and he and Erick had climbed into the upper
branches with the older Avery boys; he even chuckled as he recalled the
thrill of his first jump between the branches. <br><br>
There was another memory of flying through the air which came to the
surface, but with a grimace he pushed it away. Charlie flopped back onto
his stomach, stretched out one arm, and drew the journal back beneath his
snout. He curled his toes beneath his tail and lifted it back into the
air as he narrowed his eyes to study his father's script.<br><br>
Charlie moved through the pages as quickly as he could, noting details of
the journey along the coast of Sathmore, political calculations in
Pyralis, a final visit with Prince Phil of Whales and the joyful news of
the rabbit prince's impending fatherhood, and even the difficulty of
navigating through the coral basin and a tussle they had with pirates.
All throughout he read about his own training and the little challenges
that he overcame, as well as some sense of the difficulty that Kimberly
and his sire were experiencing. But nothing to suggest there was anything
more to his adoption than had already been said.<br><br>
A sharp rap against the bottom of his right foot dashed his frustrated
curiosity with a curse for his inattentiveness. His body twisted
abruptly, tail lashing to one side and then across in a swift arc while
he drew his legs upward and pushed with his arms, momentarily compacting
himself upon the floor. The lashing of his tail struck nothing, meaning
that the assault upon his foot had come at some reach; the source was
armed since Charlie's tail had not struck their feet as it may have were
they standing close enough to rap his foot with their own or even their
hand. Getting his footpaws beneath him, stout claws digging into the rare
and expensive Sondesharan rug, Charlie sprang upright and snatched for
his poniard. <br><br>
In the Keep he never carried a sword, but often had a simple poniard at
his hip just in case. Unfortunately, in his own House he had allowed his
sense of safety to lapse, and his fingers closed on nothing. He grasped
only air but by the time he realized he had no weapon he had also
identified half a dozen others readily available within reach. One he
held; the journal was both shield and weapon in the right hands. Another
was the stiletto laid next to his father's inkwell upon his desk. Before
the reflexive spin resulting from the unexpected jab brought him around
and balanced to face its source he had journal and stiletto poised to
defend or strike.<br><br>
Standing before him at only four feet in height was a youth dressed in
black vest, a white open-sleeved shirt, and black breeches with soft-toed
shoes. His olive-skinned complexion and short curly hair framed an
irritated scowl. “I would've gutted you thrice before you even stood,
lad,” the boy remarked blandly, crossing his arms over his chest. Unlike
Charlie, he was armed and frighteningly well for a youth who appeared to
be no more than ten or eleven years old. The truth of the matter was that
the 'boy' was pushing well into his late fifties, a good thirty and more
years of that spent at war or training others for that task.<br><br>
“Perhaps an alleyway bandit may have something to fear, one day.” His
acerbic words were rendered almost comical by his prepubescent voice, but
Charlie did not dare so much as twitch a whisker in mirth when the boy
was irritated. “Your brother said I could find you here.” Half turning he
unfolded one arm to flick his fingers toward the door. “You've missed
your lunch.”<br><br>
“Master.” Chastened, Charlie bowed his head and quickly slipped around
the desk to replace the journal with its mates and to return the stiletto
to its place beside the inkwell. “Master Vidika, I thought you wanted to
see me in the afternoon?” He asked when he caught up to the departing
boy.<br><br>
The child, Vidika, spared him a sidelong glance. “It <i>is</i> afternoon,
boy,” he snapped irritably in that piping, contralto voice. At his hips
were two swords finely forged and balanced for his particular height,
weight, and fighting style. A longer sword was strapped across his back
with the hilt jutting over one shoulder. What an adult human would find
to be a slightly longer and narrower sword than the typical battlefield
longsword it was still a mere hand-and-a-half blade that would work well
with a shield. For a strapping boy who topped out, one his toes, at four
feet it was an easy two-hander.<br><br>
Charlie had seen more than a few cocky tourney warriors with their sword
and shield bested by the thing, or the paired shortblades Vidika carried
upon his hips. Other men had met their ends by other means that were much
more stealthily hidden when diplomatic journeys came upon unpleasant
discourse. In one hand Vidika carried a slender cane of age polished
hardwood. It had been that cane which struck Charlie in the foot while
his tutor stood safely beyond the reach of any readied response. Charlie
was more shamed by the fact that he had not heard him enter the study
than he was for his uncoordinated fumbling about in response to the
surprise.<br><br>
“The Chapel tolled the hour passing some time ago,” Vidika was brusque as
he strode purposely through the corridors of the castle, confident beyond
the measure of any true child, even one armed to the teeth. “I found your
mother and sister at table and they were unknowing of your whereabouts.
They bade me seek out your brother, Peter I think, who was apparently the
last to have seen you.” He case a sidelong glance up at his pupil. “He
told me where I might find you. Why would it be that you lie on your
father's rug in books and not attending your mother at her midday as your
mother, your mentors, and you yourself know you should?” He paused at an
intersection of hallways to look around as if deciding which path would
get them to their destination more swiftly, and to gauge threats as he
always did. He seldom found any. “You are seldom so taken with your
studies that you are unaware of your surroundings. What was so
fascinating?”<br><br>
Charlie clicked his tongue against the back of his incisors. “I was
reading a few things. Personal matters. But if it is time to eat I will
set this aside for later.”<br><br>
Vidika chortled; a light tenor rolling sound that was equal parts mirth
and sinister glee. Despite being in truth a man well into his fifth
decade he did have a healthy sense of humor, though it was often somewhat
dark. “Oh, no. You've eschewed that luxury, my boy.” He raised his gaze
to the taller youth pacing along at his side and grinned hugely. “Now
you're late for my tutelage, and since I had to seek you out rather than
find you at table to let you know what was going to be needed, you're
simply going to have to adapt.”<br><br>
Charlie frowned not because he was going to spend the rest of the
afternoon, at least while in Vidika's training, going hungry but that the
household master of arms was going to punish him for it.<br><br>
</font>----------<br><br>
<font face="Times New Roman, Times">It proved to be a rather profound
course in 'adapting', to be quite sure. They found Bryn awaiting them in
the Long House where Vidika shared training space with the Long Scouts,
of which both Charlie and Bryn were honorary members though they seldom
attended the Scouts on patrol, as was their instructor. The young
stallion nobleman was caparisoned in the boiled leather armor they used
for training and carried a blunted steel greatsword that matched the heft
of his battle blade. While Bryn preferred blunt, bludgeoning weapons he
was no slouch with the blade, either. Vidika lead them to a series of
rooms at the back of the training arena; a vast open room that could have
doubled as a Hall with its fluted columns and towering clerestory
windows. The rooms beyond served a dual purpose; sometimes meeting rooms
or barracks but more often lent to training as well.<br><br>
To their surprise, Vidika brought them into a large bed chamber complete
with all of the expected accoutrements, to include a merrily blazing fire
in the hearth that left the room sweltering as there were no windows to
open and let the heat out. Vidika ushered them in, hung a plaque on the
door's bolt latch outside that indicated it was being used for training,
and leaned against the wall. “To the bed, Charlie.” He waved one hand
toward the massive canopy bed and the young rat crossed the room as
instructed. He was still wearing the doublet and hose he had donned that
morning and felt more than a little vulnerable without his training armor
or weapons. Bryn merely stood to one side of the door scuffing a hoof
against the carpeting looking confused and no little concerned. “Now,
boy, since you were late and failed to prepare, you'll have to deal with
it.” Crossing to the writing desk to one side of the door he took out an
hourglass and set it on top.<br><br>
Inwardly Charlie groaned. He knew what that hourglass entailed; survival
training over a set duration. He was going to have to hold out against
Bryn, alone, unarmed, and unarmored, while the sand ran its course.
Turning the glass over Vidika cracked an evil boyish smile. “Ambush!” He
bellowed, or at least tried to. In his youthful tenor it came out more as
a shriek. Bryn launched himself across the room, bearing up the huge
sword that was a two-hander for his mighty frame and beyond even that for
Charlie, with an equine roar.<br><br>
Charlie hissed an epithet and scrambled further up onto the bed to
prevent the first mighty swing from getting past its stout, though
battered by repetitive training, posts. Bryn checked his swing with a
downward sweep, bringing the sword up to thrust through the bed curtains.
Charlie grabbed them and hastily wound the heavy material around the
blade even as he dodged to one side. “Don't play with him, lordling!
Skewer him!” Vidika hollered. Bryn snorted as he yanked back his
monstrous blade only to find that the curtains were tangled around it
surprisingly tight. He wasted precious seconds trying to shove the fabric
from his weapon while Charlie scrambled off of the bed, his tail narrowly
avoiding the stomp of a heavy hoof, and armed himself with a fireplace
poker.<br><br>
Through the afternoon the two dueled in the confines of the bed chamber,
the sweltering of the fire sending both of them to a panting lather
abated only slightly after each bout to listen to their tutor's critiques
and instruction. Charlie had little time to think upon what he had
learned from his father's journal as he tried to escape being bruised by
his more powerful friend's repeated attacks. He did not entirely succeed,
but by the time two hours had passed he found that he had managed to
avoid more than a few glancing blows that would leave him sore for a day
or two rather than weeks. Vidika's training was rough, often brutal, but
it had left his charges more than ready for the rigors of any manner of
combat they might find themselves in.<br><br>
Afterward both of the students were allowed to retire to their respective
residences after spending some time stretching to cool down from their
exertions. In the past they would have bantered as they stretched over
who landed the most blows, but Vidika had driven them so hard that day
neither had the energy to do more than pant, beastly tongues jaws hung
open in hope for cool air. He managed a promise to see Bryn that evening
before returning home where he had Peter and Timothy draw him a cool
bath. The young rat allowed himself to soak as he tried to recall the
arms instructor's tutelage; but now that he had some peace, his mind ever
wandered back to his father's journals. There they remained as he soaked
until he slipped into a pleasant nap, head resting on his arms on the
side of the bath until he was awakened by the tolling of the Chapel bells
ringing the evening hour.<br><br>
Charlie dragged himself from the lukewarm bath and, while his fur was
still dripping, stretched as far as he could to keep his muscles from
tightening into knots. After a few stretches he managed to stand and ring
the bell for his brothers. He stretched a few more times, arms reaching
up high into the air then bending over and placing his palms on the top
of his feet, the tip of his tail slicing through the bath water as it
lifted, before his brothers returned with thick towels and fresh clothes.
They helped dry his fur and then dress in a fresh doublet and hose that
did not stink of battle. Neither said anything until he was shimmying
into his linen shirt when Peter finally asked, “Was Master Vidika mad at
you?”<br><br>
“He was,” Charlie replied when his snout poked through the top of the
shirt. He shook out his whiskers and ears while his brothers drew taut
the laces on either side. “But I suppose I deserved it. Why didn't you
tell Mother where I was?”<br><br>
Peter's whiskers trembled and his dark eyes widened. “But I did! I did
tell Lady Misanthe! I just... I got sent on other errands before I could
get back.” He cast his eyes down contritely and shuffled his
paws.<br><br>
While his younger brothers might have once or twice been distracted by
common games and mischief and been reprimanded for it, they had never
incurred one of Misanthe's remedies for lies. Merely the tale of them was
enough to ensure every word they uttered in service to Charlie's house
was true, no matter how embarrassing they might be. Peter had not said
what other errands had intervened, nor did he need to. That he'd received
them was enough for Charlie.<br><br>
“Very well,” Charlie said with a nod of his head and a flick of one ear
as he held out his arms for the doublet. “Be sure to tell my mother that
I will be spending the evening in Keeptowne with Bryn. And tell her as
soon as you finish helping me dress! And then I ask only that you ready
my bed for when I return; if my mother has no other tasks for you then
you may enjoy your evening.”<br><br>
The promise of an evening for their own diversions was sufficient to
stretch a grin across their snouts and add verve to their step. Charlie
had never donned a doublet quite so fast.<br><br>
</font>----------<br><br>
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,<br><br>
Charles Matthias </body>
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