<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (n) By the time they decided to call it a night Charlie's introspective mood was only a little lessened, and his frustration piqued more at being soundly trounced at the pool table by both Bryn and Sigismund. He and Bryn had become quite pleasantly besotted, though not so far as they had become inchoate. Charlie wove a little as he walked, and his thoughts were muddy and inconclusive, while Sigismund seemed little affected by the copious, if watered down, wine he had imbibed. His gaze was cast to the ground in front of his paws in contemplation of learning more from his father's journals before he returned despite his promise, following the horse and alligator more by their cheerful conversation ahead of him than actually watching where they were. He was so deeply distracted by his cotton-batted thoughts that he did not immediately catch the sudden silence from the pair until he stepped on the thick tail of his young friend. He staggered, for it was not an inconsiderable barrier over which to stumble, and looked up. Sigismund spared him not a glance, his attention cast down a dark, narrow alley to one side of the boulevard. Bryn's gaze was likewise directed, one hand on the alligator's shoulder and the other hand on the hilt of the sword he wore upon his hip. While being more for show than use it was still quite serviceable, as was the one Charlie wore. Sigismund wore no weaponry, his station was not such that he would often need to wear one. Raising his eyes from the alligator's tail Charlie followed their gaze. He could only see shadows and deeper shadows within the alley, but the darker forms were moving, and there was a goodly number of them. His ears twitched and pinned forward at the snatches of conversation drifting from the depths of the alley. “ – nothing!” A plaintive voice complained, “Wot would ye, take th' very clothes from me back?” “Oh, aye!” Another voice growled, deep and menacing and inhuman. “Ye've taken th' master's coin, an' time's come t' be a'payin up, Sertef.” Sertef, tailor, journeyman to the court tailor Murlie, a man who had begun life as a woman. Charlie's mind put the associations together with the facility born of years remembering names and occupations for pretty much the entire Keep staff. “That's Murlie's apprentice, Bryn,” he offered quietly and the young stallion nodded. “I dunna 'ave th' coin!” The unseen journeyman tailor wailed, only to be silenced with a heavy grunt when one of the other dark forms moved. “Get it, I can... but nae until th' mornin'!” “The the boy be!” Bryn bellowed with a sudden explosive neigh, unlimbering his sword with a hissing whisper of steel drawn from leather. The shadows within the alley shifted, eyes glimmering in the darkness as the moonlight struck them. “In the name of the Duke, stand forth!” Charlie quickly drew his own steel and faded back a pace while Sigismund fell further back with a low, rolling reptilian hiss. “An' who be this tha' be a speakin' in the old nag's name?” Challenged the low growling voice from the depths of the alley. The shadows shifted and crisscrossed themselves as the residents of the shadows turned their attention toward Bryn's challenge. Light abruptly appeared about the alley; a witchlight blooming from thin air with an intensity that made Charlie half close his eyes and halted the advance of those within the alley. Revealed by the sudden illumination was a pack of roughly clad commoners, an easy two dozen street toughs led by a towering, broad-shouldered bear. The ursine carried a stout iron-banded cudgel in one massive paw that was easily equal to the mace Bryn preferred to use. Around him were mostly other animorphs, since the population of the Keep tended toward those who had lost their human forms and, as such, could not blend so easily into the outer world. A few canines, felines, a couple of herbivores and a handful of humans ranging in apparent age from child to middle-age. “Bryn hin'Thomas, your future liege!” The bear's beady black gaze shifted from the blinding illumination hovering several spans above their heads down to the trio standing at the mouth of the alley. “Welladay, boys.” His teeth gleamed white from the black fur of his thick muzzle as the cudgel bobbed eagerly in his hand. “Let's be seein' if yonder lads 'ave more coin th'n th' clothes 'orse, aye?” A lanky wolf placed his fingers briefly on the bruin's arm, his lupine gaze hesitant. “Them's th' lord's lads, Sudge!” the wolf cautioned, though he carried a gleaming sword of his own. Almost to a man they sported weapons of all sorts, from proper implements to more make-shift fare like sickles and truncheons. “Liftin' them's purses'll get us put out fer sure!” The bear shook off the wolf's cautionary touch with a glare. “Doubtin' them'll be sayi' much abou' it, after.” He took a couple of strides forward. “Oh, I've got this.” Charlie was surprised when Sigismund shouldered past him to stride forward a pace in front of Bryn, who looked just as surprised, but could only flash a huge grin on his solid equine muzzle. The bear, Sudge, paused at the horse lord's grin and the short alligator, who would've stood only to his breast had the two been closer than the two dozen paces. “Wot, geldin' boy? Ye think aught be funny?” He waved his cudgel threateningly, pointing it toward Bryn. The young stallion merely shook his head. “Oh, no sir,” he chortled humorously, then let the humor disappear abruptly. “But I think I'm about to have some fun.” Sudge merely snorted and waved an arm for his cronies to advance. Only a handful came any closer, most of them fading back apprehensively. “Sertef, come forward. These ruffians are beneath your concern.” From the depths of the alley the slender form of an ocelot furtively wove between the thugs who merely watched, utterly unsure if they should run, or charge. The ocelot, wringing his hands in consternation, gave the bear a wide berth as he scuttled out of the alley. Sigismund held up one thick fingered reptilian arm, turning the palm of his hand slightly upward. A small, wavering flame sputtered to life from the tips of his claws when he twitched his fingers. The bear blinked at the flame, hardly larger than that of a lamp, and then directed a brief look up at the witchlight still hovering overhead, before letting out a bellowing guffaw. “Be tha' it? A couple dandylights?” He laughed merrily and took a couple of strides closer shadowed by the half dozen less cautious thugs in his retinue. Steel gleamed from the swords and daggers but Charlie saw no archers under the uncompromising glare of the witchlight. “Get 'em, lads!” The six charged forward half a dozen strides and drew up short when the flickering little flame in Sigismund's scaled hand suddenly blossomed, fire racing up his arm. His reptilian eyes burst into hissing coals that lent an orange cast to the stark white lent by his witchlight. Further compounding their fright was the bonfire that kindled between his teeth and licked the air above his broad, toothy snout. Half of them retreated hastily while the remaining three held back and vacillated between flight and the wrath of their leader, or a foolhardy advance toward a fiery fate. “Is a boy!” Sudge bellowed as he strode up to stand with them, “Dun turn yeller on me now!” “I ain't crossin' th' court wiz, ol' bear.” One of those remaining quailed, holding his hands and sword up in surrender as he backed up a few paces. “Fool, court spellflinger's a skunk!” Sudge snarled, but did not advance any closer. “That his is. And there's a hawk, and a raccoon,” Charlie chimed in, sheathing his sword with a shrug. Stepping forward he rested his hand lightly on Sigismund's non-burning shoulder. “But, you know, dragons can shape shift at will.” He lifted his muzzle and looked down its length, locking gazes with the bear who towered over all of them, even Bryn. Sudge glanced back over his shoulder at the rustling sound of his greater numbers hastily withdrawing toward the opposite end of the alley, leaving him with only the two most brave of his loyals. One of them, an older woman, looked sidelong at him, “Sudge, lad, dragon's er' wiz'rds be bad either way. Let's git.” With a snarl Sudge thrust his cudgel toward them, “Won't be 'avin a spellflinger in yer pocket fer'ever, boy.” He snarled, backing up. Only after they had disappeared into the shadows still claiming the far end of the alley did Sigismund allow the flames flickering along his arm and muzzle to peter out. The witchlight bobbed in the air before dropping down to hover a couple of spans over their heads. Shaken, but chuckling, the trio shook their momentary fear out with very animalistic shudders and tugged their clothes into order though none of them had so much as rumpled a single fringe of lace. “Nice, Sig,” Bryn offered with a beaming grin as he sheathed his sword. “When did you learn fire like that?” Impishly Sigismund bobbed his head and tittered a most un-alligator laugh. “I didn't. Illusions are easy.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Best I could've done was singe off a bit of fur before they were on us.” Bryn blinked, and then laughed anew with such vehemence that it left him breathless and spurred his companions into laughter of their own. Even the bruises they had couldn't convince them to stop. The ocelot, Sertef, tentatively joined them after they had passed a few buildings back toward the Keep proper. “Thankee, milrds,” he meowed fearfully, bobbing his head in effusive gratitude. Only Bryn's gentle grasp on his shoulder prevented the youth from prostrating himself on the dirty street. “Ye saved my life!” “All is well, lad, all is well,” Bryn nickered reassuringly. “Walk with us a while, and tell us about this coin you borrowed? Why would you bargain with back alley thugs for a bit of coin when you could simple ask us?” “It...” the ocelot cast his gaze down, walking sideways to keep them from having to turn to list to him trail in their wake but without walking in front of them. “It wa fe th's mum, milords. Nae of yer concerning.” “The well-being of all in my charge is my concern, lad. Say on?” While they walked Sertef haltingly explained that his mother had fallen ill during the winter and the had been unable to afford a healer for her treatment, much less the coin for a more immediate divine cure. She had recovered, but the amount that he had borrowed was doubled, and the doubled again, in the time it was taking him to scrape together a repayment. Bryn listened quietly as they walked along and Charlie let the conversation fade from his immediate awareness as, once again, his thoughts turned inward. Beside him Sigismund entertained himself creating and dismissing small puffs of varicolored flame that brought brilliance to his otherwise dull scales while his witchlight dutifully drifted along over their heads. And somewhere behind them, Charlie was sure, the Watch who always shadowed them was giving Sudge and his thugs a very bad night. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>