<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (r) Not five seconds after father and son walked out of the Great Hall together, Charlie, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek, lifting his ears and spreading his whiskers, asked, “Why didn't you come back with Kurgael?” The oryx in scale and plate fell in behind them with a rattle of armor as they walked out of the Great Hall. Malger's smile was equally broad, filled with good humor and the delight of a man receiving a hoped for gift. “A proper nobleman does not leave his staff behind, by a matter of days, just to reach home all the sooner. Hours perhaps, but no more. You'll learn these delicate matters when you become a man, son.” The question had first crossed Charlie's tongue when he was five years old. The gryphon Kurgael had been one his father's first couriers since even before adopting Charlie as his son. When he'd been a boy Kurgael had been more than happy to carry him on his back or dangle him with his front claws while swooping through the air where his mother and father could watch, and so he had immediately grown very fond of him above all of their house's other staff. But because he was a courier, he did not often return when Malger did, and so the eager boy's question had tumbled from his heart each time. And the answer had, in one form or another, been repeated each time with at first serious admonition, but later, as the question become a habit and later a bit of mirthful repartee, a whimsical rejoinder often grandly cast with a flourish of his arm and a wagging of a gentle claw before his snout. The exchange was so familiar to them that to not use it would have been as vile as the darkest epithet and foulest curse. It was an exchange of abundant love from son to father and father to son. They both laughed heartily, heads tipped back and eyes bright. For not ten paces in front of them and waiting amongst the collection of house Sutt servitors who had accompanied Malger and were ready for any summons was none other than the gryphon Kurgael himself who shook his golden beak back and forth in wry pleasure at the long-running joke. Their step brought them to the company of servants where Charlie smiled and, to the gryphon's chagrin, hugged him. “I am glad to see you returned as well, Kurgael. Did you fly anywhere interesting?” The gryphon could not help but spread his wings, nearly pushing the mink Trybeline over even as the feathers along his neck tickled Charlie's whiskers. “Oh, nothing this time. A few messages from Weislyn to Ellcaran and Midtown. Nothing I haven't seen many times before.” “And you should take your rest,” Malger advised with a warm smile to the gryphon. This was no command of master to servant, but the gentle warmth of a man caring for his friend. “We will need you to fly ahead to Sutthaivasse in another month to prepare our way. But first, if you would find Sir Egland and Acolyte Elvmere and let them know we have returned. Doubtless they will both want to welcome us back.” The marten's eyes glanced at the oryx, Sir Intoran, who was the Lord Marshal of the Sutt house. Intoran's lips twitched in a brief smile and his head bobbed imperceptibly in thanks though he did not let his mien slip too far; he was still mostly on duty until Malger released him so that he could attend to whatever the Steward had left for him in the month of his absence. Kurgael nodded and one golden eye also briefly favored the Lord Marshall. “I will return after delivering your message to pay my respects to Lady Misanthe and Lady Suria.” “They will be delighted to see you,” Malger offered and grasped his friend by the shoulder before beckoning him to tend to his charge. Kurgael stepped back, bowed his head to both Malger and Charlie, and then started down the corridor ahead of them. Despite having the ability to shift himself into a more human form as almost any who were given the animal aspect of the curse could, Kurgael evinced very little liking for the form. Besides, he argued, he could speak just fine in his full gryphon form, and his talons were dexterous enough to hold a quill so writing, when he needed to, proved to be no barrier. As well he did not need a quill with which to write, for his claws were more than sharp enough to double as writing instruments. His broad tail fan flicked amiably as the sinuous length of the feline tail extending beyond it twitched and waved in counterpoint to his smooth feline gait. “And do you have any further need of us?” A canine in loose fitting robes and voluminous sleeves asked. The curses of Metamor had transformed Malger's master mage into a slender dog with narrow black snout, dark, innocent eyes, long ears with brindle hair that hung down to his shoulders, and a coat of a brighter wheaten fur that was in constant need of trimming. Only carefully laid spells kept the fine flyaway fur from becoming utterly unmanageable. One arm was wrapped around the middle of a stout black-furred bear, Sermin, who was both his wife and student of magecraft. “I foresee not, Hersharch, no.” Malger considered with a slight sigh, leaning a little to stretch his back. “Feel free to retire for the day and enjoy your rest. After keeping that storm from wholly wrecking the wagons I daresay you and yours could use some relaxation.” Malger's back gave a quiet pop and he chuffed, unbending, his eyes shifting to the child standing beside the two mages. The child was older than he appeared, ever a confusing issue in Metamor. “I will want your notes on the negotiations prepared in two days' time, Dryek, and I would be pleased if you would also remit a copy to the Prime Minister.” The youth, carrying himself with a mature, almost officious air, nodded his head in a slight bow. “But, for now, retire with your family and make your ease. Let Fennister and Tik know that I will need their services tomorrow to transcribe all of the notes we've assembled. We want to make sure that Duke Thomas has a complete report.” The hound, the bear, and the child all bowed to each of them before departing to tend to their family and their duty. Only Sir Intoran, a septet of house Sutt soldiers, and Malger's body servants, Trybeline the mink and Lassiter the wolf remained each awaiting their lord's pleasure. To the latter two Malger turned first, his tone friendly but still with that aristocratic touch that affirmed his position without flaunting it. “Go on ahead and let my wife and daughter know of my arrival. And prepare fresh clothes. I would rather not spend the evening smelling of horse.” Charlie didn't think his father smelled that strongly of horse, but then again, the rat had just spent most of his morning in the company of the Hassan family. “Intoran,” Malger said with his usual warmth. “Disposition our men as usual; I do expect to see you at least by the time Sir Egland and Elvmere arrive.” Intoran bleated a laugh and nodded. “Shall I invite any other Blue Note regulars on my way?” His voice was soft, almost quiet, but belied the gentle strength in his towering form. He stood a head taller than Thomas, who was not short by the standards of Metamor, and positively dwarfed Charlie. Of those Charlie knew well only his companion, the papal knight Sir Egland, could equal his stature. Malger scowled, but only to reprove; there was more merriment than malediction in that glance. “No, though perhaps later this week, after I've had a chance to tell Thomas all the wondrous details, intrigues, and offers of the negotiations, we shall have to perform there again.” “I will check on Master Hesgebaern and the horses on my way,” Intoran offered as he bowed his head. “Do let Versyd know that I am terribly sorry about that stone and hope that he will heal soon.” Intoran assured Malger he would, and then gathered the septet of soldiers, swiftly making their way down the corridor. They disappeared around a bend and then father and son were finally alone together in the hall. Malger stretched, eyes roving from wall to ceiling and back again, briefly admiring the tapestries, suits of mail on display, and the hexagonal lamps casting a luminous yellow glow over everything. “It is good to be home!” Charlie chittered a small laugh under his breath as he fell into step beside his father as they casually made their way down the corridor. Their direction was unimportant for the walking was only to exercise body and mind, not to actually reach anywhere. The Keep was happy to provide them with a wide corridor filled with armor, tapestries, statues in the shapes of men from Metamor's history and in the guise of beasts from her more recent past, a variety of lamps hanging from the arched ceiling or fixed to the walls, and not a single door or turn to distract them. “What happened to Versyd?” The mighty percheron had volunteered to serve as a mount for Malger, much as Argamont had long ago volunteered for Bryn. Charlie could only remember a few occasions when the stallion had stood on two hooves instead of four, so comfortable in a feral form had he become. A zebra filly named Maysin had volunteered to serve Charlie when he was ten, but he always felt a little awkward riding a fellow Keeper and so accepted her service for tournaments and ceremonies. Charlie wondered for a moment if he hurt Maysin's feelings by refusing to ride her more than he did “Oh, nothing that he won't recover from in a week. We had a bad rain two days ago and a mud slide had ruined a bend in the road to Midtown. His hoof slipped on a stone and he sprained his left foreleg. The stubborn horse favored the leg the whole way home. But, and to his credit, he did not slow us. I hurt his feelings when I would not ride him through Keeptowne though.” Malger shook his head. “He's a good man.” He turned to regard his adoptive son, “And good men should be valued where they can be found, even in your foes. Court them as you would any lady to your bed, son.” He smiled as he offered a snipped of sage, age won advice, ending with a chortle when Charlie's expression soured in a moue at the ribald metaphor. He did not share his father's strange youthful affection for seduction, though he had come to understand the reasons for it as well as the pains he now took to avoid using it. The fact that Misanthe bade him use his fey talent to help others from time to time only confounded the young rat all the more. He would hate to see what Elvmere might do should the raccoon ever learn of the infrequent indiscretions; few men had no qualms in telling his father when he was wrong, nor could many do so with love for him all the while; Elvmere was one of the very few. He ground his molars together and turned his thoughts from that conflicting subject. “So how did you convince them to give up their claims to Ellcaran?” Charlie asked, turning his head slightly to better focus on his father. “Now, now,” Malger chided with another smile. “There will be time for my stories later. Misanthe and Suria will want to hear those. I suppose you really want to know what unspoken things everyone at the table truly sought. I'm afraid for that I'll have to review Dryek's notes, for he was the one doing the listening-under-the-conversation during our talks. What did you do while I was away? Or you and Bryn, I should say!” Charlie laughed and then sighed, shaking his head. “Aye, Bryn and I went out for a hunt last week. Patrols spotted a white hart north of the Glen and we couldn't resist. Bryn felled the beast with a single arrow to the neck. It was marvelous, a shot for the ages.” “I suppose you are composing a ballad in your head to commemorate yon horse lordling's triumph?” “Not yet. Do you remember what happened to Misha last month while repairing one of the trebuchets?” Malger's eyes filled with an impish delight. “How could I forget a fox being vaulted thirty feet into the air?” “Well, the first few days of our hunt brought us no quarry but for coneys and a foolish Glenner treading as an animal without some sash to mark him; a lone bangle upon his antlers saved his life. In those hours marching through the woods hoping against hope to flush out our game, I began to conjure a little tune and some verse certain to make the fox's fur an even brighter red.” Malger's jowls stretched across his fangs. “Sing some for me.” Charlie did, regaling his father with his clear and cultured tenor, through rhyme and meter of Misha the artificer's misadventures with a troublesome trebuchet. Malger listened, bobbing his snout up and down with the rhythm, even hop-stepping in time, as if a dance were trying to escape his paws. As the song progressed his grin spread, jowls drawing tight across his fangs, a silent laugh etched there for his son to savor. When the last words he'd cobbled together left his throat, Charlie sketched a dramatic bow and then almost pirouetted as he leaped back into place beside his father. “What do you think?” Malger nodded, the taut grin parting but never leaving his snout. “You skewer the fox very well, and yet leave him that little bit of dignity that he really does have and deserves. Well done. The tune you have is infectious and I'm sure I'll be humming it myself soon. But, and I think you know what I will say.” Charlie spread his hands wide and grimaced. “It is a little rough still. Some of the rhymes feel awkward and the meter is forced in some places. I am still refining it when I have the time.” “You will have plenty of time for that on our trip this Summer. Although I believe those who know our friend the fox will enjoy it far more than those who do not.” He could not help but frown, whiskers drooping. “Do you think it won't be funny to those who don't know Misha?” Malger laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Oh it is hilarious, son. It just has special significance for we who know him, that is all. Now, I take it you have not performed it yet? Except for dear Bryn who you drove crazy with your couplets I suppose.” “Well, that is something else I wished to mention. I have performed it. Once at the Narrows.” Malger's eyes widened for a moment before resuming their usual amicable demeanor. “You visited the Narrows? How are the Baron, his wife, and your siblings?” “Fine, although they almost weren't. Bryn and I heard word that Baron Matthias was crushed in an accident four days ago.” He raised one hand to keep his father from interrupting with a startled question. “It was a bad rumor. There was an accident, but the baron tumbled out of the way with only a broken leg. Still, when we heard the rumor we headed to the Narrows to learn the truth.” His father listened quietly as he described his visit to the Narrows. From his private conversation with his sire, seeing all of his siblings there, the feast where he sang his song, and even to his complaining on the tower with Bryn, Malger did not say anything, but listened attentively, his eyes never leaving his son's face. After speaking of the tower, Charlie could not help but feel ashamed and lowered his snout. The hallway continued to stretch ahead of them with no end in sight and so he knew the Keep wanted them to have this conversation. “I'm sorry I said those things, Father. It's confusing and I feel hurt in a way I don't know how to say.” Malger nodded and then reached out to grab his shoulder. He stopped walking and pulled his son into an embrace, arms wrapped firmly around his back, snouts draped across shoulders. “I know you love me, and I know you love them. And we all love you, Charlie. I knew from the moment I learned that you shared my gift that your life would not be an easy one. Mine has not. But you have something I did not; a family who loves you for you. And not just one, but two. If there is anything at all you want to know, want to understand, about how you came to be a Sutt and not a Matthias, ask and I will tell you.” A wistful smile crossed his father's snout. “You know, I have wanted to tell you in detail about the journey to Sondeshara and back again that your sire and I, with you, your siblings, and many others all undertook sixteen years ago. I have wanted to tell you all the details for years, and not just the exciting moments you always loved hearing about when you were a child. Pirates, ha! Fools more like it! There is so much more you can understand and appreciate now.” “I would like that, but, when will we have the time?” “A good question.” Malger frowned thoughtfully and then laughed, his eyes brightening. “Of course! In a couple months we will be heading back to Sutthaivasse and perhaps journeying inland to Breckaris. We will have plenty of time on that voyage to recount another! In the meantime, I can probably think of a few moments to share I know you will cherish.” “I suppose I can wait until then to hear all of the story. But, there was one thing I wanted to tell you.” He felt a horrible gnawing in his stomach, as if he were betraying not only his sire but also his father as well. “I saw something in the baron's dreams that night.” Malger leaned back and his smile fell. “Oh? What did you see?” “It was an exchange. I think the setting was more symbolic than memory. But the baron offered up one child for another. Everything felt laden with guilt and sorrow. I think he blames himself for giving me up.” His jowls turned down into a moue. “Have you talked about this with him?” “No, of course not. I don't think I could. Besides, he was still resting when we returned to the Glen the next morning.” “Have you gone into his dreams again, son?” Charlie nodded and dug his toe claws into the azure carpeting lining the floor. “I saw what I think was a memory; about when you and he were readying our supplies for the voyage to Sondeshara. My siblings and I were all small enough to curl up in your arms.” Malger's face broadened into a smile, his eyes briefly turning inward, as if he were summoning that same memory and savoring it. “You were that small back then. What can you tell me about the first dream?” He wasn't quite sure how much he wanted to admit to his father, but his tongue had spilled so much of what had weighed on his heart already, he could not keep it all back. “He was seeking a lost soul, and in exchange he had to offer a soul in return. And the words, 'The bargain is struck'. That I remember very clearly. It felt like a slamming door, or a hammer blow. Or worse, the headsman's axe. Do you... do you know what it means?” For one moment a look of profound sadness seemed to fill his father's eyes. But the moment passed and he offered a faint smile to cheer his son. “It is a nightmare. Can you blame him? Matthias nearly dies that morning, and then you, the son he had to give away, arrives to check on him. Giving you up was very painful for him, and I suppose is still painful for him.” “But why blame himself?” “He shouldn't. There is no better place for you than here, for what you are, what you can do. You know that, and your sire knows it too.” Charlie wanted to say more, feeling a strange tightness clutching within his breast. His father had to know something and wasn't telling him. What horror lay in that missing day in his father's journal? What guilt was kept hidden that plagued his sire's dreams? And why would they not tell him? Malger cupped his hand behind Charlie's head and pulled into another embrace. “I know it is confusing, my son. Let me speak with Baron Matthias about this. He is an old friend and ally and if he is suffering I want to help him. And whatever it is has made you suffer too. Try to put it out of your mind for now. Just let me speak with the baron first, and then we can sort out everything together. That is my promise to you, son.” His father spoke the words with such warmth that Charlie, despite his anger, could not help but smile. He let out a long sigh and then wrapped his arms around his father's back. “Thank you.” Charlie felt his father's chest swell with a deep breath, and then shrink with a long and happy sigh. “Now let's get back home. Your mother and sister are probably wondering what's taking us so long!” ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>