<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars II: Denuncio (g) Tuesday, June 22, 724 CR Charlie sat with his family and engaged in idle conversation while the slow aches of his defeat stole through his arms and back assuaged slightly by a tankard of ale. He had time to rest before the quarter finals of foot would take place; first the quarter finals of magery would be held and in that he had an opportunity to cheer on Sig who, being the eldest son of the Duke's Steward and closest friend, had the sympathies of all but the foreigners in the High Box. Once the mages had charred the lists with their enchantments the archers would loose a trio of volleys through wooden poles standing in for trees to determine which four would shoot again on the morrow. Then at last the knights would return for another four bouts to leave another four warriors collapsed in ignominious heaps of steel and dirt and out of the tourney. Once they had completed, the last of the competitions, the quarter finals of foot would take place nearer the evening hours before sunset. There would be no lists put up for the quarter finals; contestants would be drawn shortly before each match. And whereas in the previous battles an attempt was made to pair combatants based on their size and skills, now it would only be a matter of tokens from a tankard to decide whose mettle would be matched. And although both Charlie and Bryn had advanced in the melee tournaments, the list of opponents they would face that evening was quite daunting; Sirs Dupré and Intoran were both knights of differing orders and both considerably skilled. Charlie's sire, Baron Matthias, had also progressed upon defeating patrol master Wolfram that morning. One of the visiting Steppelanders, whose name Charlie had neglected to commit to memory, had also advanced to the quarter finals after his shocking defeat of Sir Egland when he'd grabbed the elk's antlers and tumbled him to the ground. Misha's foster son, Kelflicks the Lutin had also advanced and, incongruously, the rat Goldmark had also advanced despite having middling martial skill or experience but apparently considerable luck. Charlie found that he preferred not thinking of the draw at all and did his best to enjoy this respite with his family. Shortly before the matches of magecraft were set to begin, he noticed the burned stranger in the brightly-colored, patchwork attire accompany the Steppelander Horvig through the array of wheeled tables and festal abundance. He pondered leaving the High Box to introduce himself and compliment him on his astonishing display of pyrotechnics when another more familiar figure joined them in animated conversation, as if they were all old friends. Baron Matthias greeted the mage with some awe, and the mage returned the marveling gesture. They both touched the scars on each others faces, so alike and yet, in Charlie's eye, it seemed they were very different, as different as night from day, and the sun from shadow. His curiosity piqued, he could not tear his eyes away until the mischief of rats that were his kin began to swarm around the Baron eager to learn who their father's friends were. Charlie rose from his seat and stepped swiftly around his chair as if he were rushing to casks to refill his tankard. In his haste he bumped snout first into the snarling wolf jaws transfixed between two mighty cliffs. The man whose heraldry he had assaulted with his nose turned and laughed. “Art thee well, your lord?” Aghast at his faux pas, Charlie lowered his gaze and stammered, “Forgive me, your majesty. I did not know you were standing so close.” “Fear not; I hath already committed graver offenses in thy noble land by treading upon the ducal tail when I didst rise to gather sweet libation for my sister.” Charlie chortled at the image that sprung to mind of Duke Thomas neighing in alarm when a metal boot descended roughly upon the wiry strands of his long and well-groomed tail. “What didst catch thy eye to cause thee such haste?” “Oh, well...” He glanced over his shoulder and gestured to the disfigured man in the colorful garb. “That mage. If I'm not mistaken he's a Magyar. Who is he?” King Pelaeth smiled warmly and with an almost vicious glee. “Thy eye hast not deceived thee, for he art a Magyar, proud of his people, and awkward and discomforted away from his wagons. They dost name him Grastalko; he art a legend e'en in Vysehrad.” “Grastalko...” The name seemed familiar but Charlie couldn't remember it. “Did he come with you, your majesty?” “He didst honor me by accompanying us through the Midlands. 'Twas Metamor he wished to see that he meet thy sire and the others who had braced the Man of Cards.” Charlie felt a little stab in his belly. Did everyone want to meet his damnable sire? “Well,” he said politely, eyes lowering to note the pommel of the silver and black blade at the king's side, “if I do not have the chance, tell him that I am awed by his skill.” “As I am awed of thy bravery, Lord Sutt. The elk knight wast thrice thy size and yet thou didst nearly defeat him abreast. Thou hast a portion of grai o bavolengro in thee.” He had no idea what that meant but the admiration in the king's voice assured him that it was of deep significance and a true compliment. Charlie could only lift his ears and bow his head in gratitude. “You honor me, your majesty. Thank you.” The King leaned in closer, the scent of horse and steel strongly clinging to him. “And thou wouldst honor me if thou didst assure thy friend that my sister dost not mean him harm.” Charlie glanced at Bryn who sat between his mother and princess Brygitta with an expression of a mouse pinned between two ravenous cats. His laugh was the firmest and most authentic he'd had all day. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>