<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (l) 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. Second of June in the year Seven-Hundred-and-Nine Cristos Reckoning, 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. 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. 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. 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! 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. 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. But all of that can wait. Tomorrow must come first, and with it saying goodbye to his old family. 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! And one day you will understand all of this. I love you my son. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. “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.” “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. The child, Vidika, spared him a sidelong glance. “It is 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. 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. “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?” 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.” 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.” 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. ---------- 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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?” “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?” 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. 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. “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.” 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. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>