<html> <body> I had hoped to begin posting Pars II in March, but life was busier than I wanted and so I had not made as much progress on the story as I expected. I have managed to make up for lost ground since then and so now I wish to begin sharing the next part of this tale. Remember, that this is set sixteen years after the current storylines. --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars II: Denuncio (a) Monday, June 21, 724 CR The days turned to weeks and the responsibilities of their position kept the Sutt house from straying too far from Metamor Keep. As they had promised, Charlie and Bryn took Sigismund for a brief jaunt near Ellingham on a particularly warm day in early June, but apart from that respite the occasion never arose for them to make any other short trips. And, as Charlie noted with a festering irritation, his father never took the time to visit the Narrows and speak with Baron Matthias as he'd promised. Not that Charlie had any time himself to pursue his investigations or to return to the Narrows even had he wanted. Two days after witnessing the brokered deal that cost him his family name Malger and he began to cast through the dreams to find the one who had stolen the ingot of mithril and who knew how much else. With so little to go on, and the content of dreams so difficult to tease out, their efforts were not a matter of hours or days, but weeks and probably months. It had begun with a review of the merchants and miners who were involved in the extraction of mithril in the mine, then smelters and the alchemists who were responsible for purifying and refining the minerals and shaping them into ingots for trade and storage, and finally the Duke's staff who were responsible for safeguarding their stockpile in the secret vaults. This purely mundane knowledge provided them a sense of the network and numbers involved in Metamor's nearly two decade effort to amass wealth through the magical ore. That wealth had already won them a number of victories at the negotiating table that would have otherwise required a battlefield. But someone in that network was a thief. Once they had a broad sense of the scope and methods by which the network operated, Malger and Charlie could begin to feed their dreams. It began with creating a sense of loss, as of something coveted being misplaced. They bound these emotions into the fabric of the shadows beyond wakefulness, an undertaking that took three full nights to accomplish. They focused their efforts at Joy's Legacy but the effects were felt throughout the valley in subtle and often unnoticed ways. Most Keepers would wake from their dreams without any sense that they had been touched, and only a few would feel any sense of disquiet they could not explain. That disquiet affected anyone who felt such loss or who coveted what they could not have. There were many for which this would be true, and as the nights continued, Charlie and Malger searched for all of those along the network of mithril who amplified those dreams, fixed upon them and elaborated them into vast dramas where what was lost was regained, and what was coveted was claimed and defended against all who would seize it. Finding such dreamers was not difficult. The challenges were twofold. First, they had to determine what each dreamer coveted. This was not as simple as observing their dreams as Charlie had observed his sire's for the object that they coveted could appear as anything within the dreams. A man enamored of another man's wife might dream of sampling a wine of fine vintage beyond his means. Another man whose coin purse had been pilfered might be searching for a lost hammer. A young woman her heart aflame with desire over some suitor might dream she was strolling through ornate stables and fawning over a majestic stallion; and in Metamor sometimes the suitor truly was a stallion. Each dreamer had to be watched for a few nights, subtle suggestions being whispered in the dream to isolate what was coveted or lost. For some dreamers the truth opened itself immediately and they were able to move on. For others, and apparently for their quarry, the truth remained obscure and cloaked in levels of metaphor that were not easy to discern. These father and son focused their attention as best they could in the ever shifting shadowy world of dreams. The second challenge was identifying the dreamer. Some dreamers could not help but reveal themselves, their identity within the dream exactly as they were when they were awake. For those like Charlie's sire this made it easy to identify them because Malger and Charles knew who they were on sight. But most of the workers along the mithril network were unknown to the pair and so it was not as easy to tell who was real and who was false. And then there were a handful of Keepers who, even after all the years of the curses, still saw themselves in their dreams as their original selves. To Charlie's dismay, Malger decided that they had to return to the mines as part of a nobleman's jaunt and privilege. The real reason was that they might have a chance to see each of the miners face to face. Along the way they conversed with the riders and soldiers who watched over the shipments from Joy's Legacy to the Keep. Charlie did his best while viewing the mine to hide his discomfort at the eerie spectral glow that filled the walls and the very air like they were walking through a faerie graveyard, but he could not hide it from his father. The instruction he received on the way home on proper poise in front of common folk was gentle but firm. But it was not enough and after five weeks of searching they still had identified neither the dreams nor the dreamer who had stolen the mithril though both knew they were getting very close. All of their efforts and struggles left both Charlie and Malger drained much of the time and so the day before the beginning of the Summer festival both father and son relaxed to the sound of gentle music played by Misanthe and Suria, the taste of fresh juice in the morning and wine in the evening, and long soaks in hot baths that night. Their dreams were brief and amounted to no more than checking on the dozen people who they had settled on as their most likely culprits. But that night none of their targets offered them anything new. So when Charlie awoke he felt for the first time in weeks well-rested and refreshed. He stirred at the sound of his door opening and one of Jackson's slender hooves clopping on the stone jamb. His fingers curled over the quilt and pulled the cover off the top of his snout, one ear unbending and perking up. “Master Charlie?” His timorous voice was only slightly muffled by the bed curtains. “Dawn is almost here. You wanted us to wake you.” His jowls twisted into a smile. Both Jackson and Hogue were two years his junior and ever courteous and attentive; his mother drilled that into them within a week of coming into service to the Sutt house. But, like most commoners, they had a fear of associating too closely with the nobility they served. He'd been afraid poor Jackson would shake his hide off the one time he tried to join the two of them in a dice game. In time they would lose the last of that anxiety and the slightest tremble in their manner would be gone. So it was with his father's body servants who had been with him for over a decade now. And in a few years so it would be with his own. “Thank you, Jackson,” he said as he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, one hand grabbing his tail to help disentangle it. “Is my attire prepared?” “Everything is ready, master.” Charlie stood and brushed aside the curtains as the gazelle slipped into his bedchambers, followed closely by his human servant Hogue. Through the windows he could see a deep blue sky brightening along the edge of the mountains. Jackson and Hogue slipped a tunic with soft sleeves sewn with a ruby cross pattern over his arms and shoulders as he admired the morning sky. Jackson bumped one of his arms with his horns as the gazelle attempted to duck beneath them to tie up the front of the tunic. Charlie smiled to him to reassure him, but at least in this Jackson had long stopped trying to apologize. The little bumps and prods from antlers and horns or the pricks from claws that he would receive while being attended were no longer even a nuisance. The only offense they could ever commit would be to step on his tail; and that he knew would never happen again. Atop the tunic they draped him in a leather vest inlaid with his heraldry, the trident and oar crossing over both sides of his chest, while the green and blue sections provided a sharp contrast with the ruby tunic. It was a festive day and so he would indulge in as garish a splash of colors as he was ever wont to do. His father would find a way to display three times as many in his own attire! Charlie pulled his own breeches on, but Hogue's careful fingers tied the drawstrings over the two foot sleeve covering the beginning of his tail. And once he was dressed both of them stepped back while the rat reached over to his nightstand to claim the crescent medallion that rested there. His fingers twitched in irritated reluctance, but he had long schooled himself to duty. That first morning after he had last pierced the veil of his sire's dreams he had fumed and debated for five minutes before finally donning the medallion. Now he only hesitated for a moment before slipping the familiar weight over his neck. With a little smile he asked, “And what do you two plan to do today?” “The magic shows!” Hogue pipped, eyes glimmering with delight. “I hear Grandmaster Rickkter will be attending and actually performing! And the others, too, from the rumors I've heard among Thomas' retainers. The grandmaster's wife and the other two skunks will be working on some grand display for the Duke!” “Kayla,” Charlie murmured quietly as he gazed into the mirror on his bureau to adjust the lace at his throat. “That's Rickkter's wife. Murikeer and Kozaithy, the other two skunks. Likely Mistress Jessica as well.” He tugged at his sleeves and offered a sardonic sidelong glance at his servitor, “So wear a cap, then, and try not to get so close this time. We would not want what little hair you have to be burned off – again.” The previous year Hogue had gotten too close to a sconce that one of Jessica's apprentices was trying to light by spell and ended up spending a few frightening seconds as a human torch. Luckily the only injury he suffered was the loss of every bit of hair he had, and a badly singed wardrobe. Both of them laughed at the jest, although Hogue did run his hand through his hair and Jackson surveyed his slender pelt with some concern. That spell gone loose last year had left several Keepers, not just Hogue, with a bit less fur than they had begun the day. The Mage Guild did their best to shield the audience from such rogue enchantments but when they were hurled by the greatest mages of the land it was often difficult to keep everyone safe. But, as his father would be quick to remind him, if the only wound a Keeper walked away with was burnt fur than it was a good festival. But there was always news of a few poor souls killed during festival time through accident or, more often than not, through their own foolishness. Charlie was no fool, and neither were his servants. He had no fear that he would hear bad news of them at the festival's close. “I want to see the joust,” Jackson added after he stopped laughing. “Both Sir Saulius and Sir Dupré are going to parade the lists. It's been five years since either of them performed!” “Four years,” Charlie corrected. “I would love to sit at table with them and listen to them trade old stories!” And like any old warrior who had survived his battles, both the rat and ram had wonderful tales to tell and were never shy about sharing them. Of course, he did have to wince every time he saw the wound that convinced Saulius his fighting days were at an end; after losing the last half of his tail the old rat just didn't have the fight in his heart anymore. Before he knew it, his hands had reached down and clasped the end of his scaly tail. He chuckled under his breath, stroked the tip with his fingers, and let it go. “What are you going to do, Master Charlie?” Jackson asked while presenting his buckler with twin blades already sheathed. Charlie lifted his arms and allowed the gazelle to secure it to his waist. The weight of the swords at his side felt very comfortable. “Well, ride to the tourney fields with my family come the dawn, and after that, oh, Bryn and I will think of something!” He stretched once, glanced at the brightening sky in his window and then nodded. “It is time to go. Take care of my bedding and then enjoy your day. Be back this evening to ready my things for tomorrow.” He left the delighted young men to tend to their chores and made his way to the main sitting room. Suria and his mother were already there waiting as well as the house guard, though judging by the fact that his sister was actually sitting down and not bounding back and forth from window to door, she must have arrived only shortly before he and had not become restive in waiting for him. That didn't stop her from needling him. “Are you finally up, sleepy head?” He favored his sister with a reproving moue though a slight smile hid at the edges of his snout. Suria had donned a blue gown with a wide enough skirt that she could move quickly and elegantly. The underskirt appeared to be a bright lace visible only at the hem though the wandering eye was quickly averted by the silver anklet she wore that dangled almost to her paw yet never fell off. A wimple of gossamer silk was draped about her head through which her tall ears pocked. Its tails draped down her back in an imitation of the long locks of hair she had lost upon becoming a wolf. Gold trim lined her hem, waist, and bodice. Sitting beside her was mother who was similarly attired. Only where the blue on Suria clashed with her russet fur, the darker blue shade of his mother's gown worked to make her red fur all the brighter. This she complemented with a necklace of gold and pearl, and a vermillion veil beneath her dark and soft cap that rested almost like a curled cat between her short-trimmed ears. Her paws worked a bit of embroidery, though absently as if the thread and picture emerging in the tapestry were of no interest to her. “Dawn is still a candlemark or two away,” Charlie pointed out with a theatrical gesture at the open windows and the cool twilight air beyond. Between the towers they could see shafts of sky and already the black of night had given way to the soft indigo of a new day. “This is the longest day of the year when the sun rises at its earliest hour! Would that I were still in bed!” Suria laughed and spread her jaws in a canine grin. “Are you going to duel swords today?” He rested his hands on either hilt and nodded. “I think so. Bryn and I made a bet to see who could win the tourney of blades this year.” “Neither of you has won yet,” Misanthe reminded him. “Do not forget what happened last year.” He grimaced at the memory of the bright-feathered Tened who'd given him a merciless drubbing in the second row of the tourney and who even Vidika had been impressed by. Metamor was full of people whose appearance and smell made a certain part of him want to run and hide, but never before had he faced a foe whose gleaming jaws and predatory stare had been quite so intense. If the fellow hadn't laughed and offered to buy him a drink for his valiant effort after reducing all four of the rat's limbs to bruised jelly, then Charlie would have been firmly convinced that the Tened planned to eat him! “That fellow returned to the Marzac swamps,” Charlie replied with a wave of one hand and a laugh, before adding in a low voice, “where he belongs.” He shook his head and then abruptly started to nod. “We probably won't win, but whoever loses first has to buy drinks later.” Suria's eyes filled with impish delight. “Will you buy me a drink as well as Bryn?” He furrowed his brow, drooped his whiskers, and lowered his ears. “I was thinking more ale than wine,” he opined with a twitch of his whiskers. “Ere I fail at the lists before you are vanquished among the archers.” She stuck her long tongue out and while the expression had been quite impudent when she was still human, now it just made her look like she was trying to lick a dollop of jelly stuck to her nose. But her eyes and ears lifted from her brother even as Charlie and Misanthe both turned their heads toward the doorway to the rest of their home. The sound of a confidant stride of firm footfalls and clicking claws rushed to meet them, followed only moments later by the sight of their father stepping through the doorway, a large smile writ upon his snout. Malger was adorned with bright summer colors so that his vest spoke of the sky, his long-legged trousers the earth and the fauna growing from it, while his open-sleeved tunic speckled with every hue of the rainbow – without the pastiche of using an actual rainbow design. His dark jowls spread to reveal freshly whitened fangs beneath which glistened like pearls amidst his finery. At his right side stood the mighty oryx Intoran dressed in full knightly regalia and on his left stood the house Steward Aspittier in his usual officious garb. The marten stepped to Misanthe, bent down, and placed the end of his snout on her forehead. “You look ravishing, my love. You will be the envy of the court!” “I already am,” she reminded him with a laugh, before lifting her snout and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. The vixen stood and slid her arm behind his back with effortless ease. “Charlie, Suria! You will both be sure to win hearts today! Sir Intoran assures me all is ready and waiting for us below. Shall we be off?” ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>