<html> <body> And we finally get back to the current timeline! --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars II: Denuncio (m) Thursday, May 10, 708 CR The storms had passed days ago but they had left all of the roads a muddy ruin that only a few days of sunshine could harden them enough that Malger felt he could travel once again. Even so the sodden earth was puddled in the wagon ruts and toads were left a sucking mire of taffy-thick mud that pulled at the horses' hooves and slowed the carriage to an inching crawl. Affairs at Metamor were proceeding slowly but surely; soon he would need to begin hiring staff to support his house and intended responsibilities and frivolities. There would at first likely be far more of the latter than the former, but in time Duke Thomas would recognize his sincerity and trust him as a committed ally in the fight to protect Metamor and the Northern Midlands. Their enemies to the north had been broken for a time, but their enemies to the south now multiplied. The finesse of diplomacy, the armament of foreign allies, and the battalion of wealth were now required to confront these menaces in addition to the might of Metamor's armies. And those were all assets that Malger offered with aplomb. But as the pine marten garbed gaily with bright colors in an overabundance of silks reclined in a cushioned carriage he'd bought the week before, he felt only gratitude that Thomas had not yet asked anything grand of him. This visit to Glen Avery was purely a source of pleasure. The last time he had journeyed to the northwestern forests of the valley he had been introduced to a wild, young skunk with a gift for magical illusion. He never would have guessed what bonds of friendship would be forged in the two years since, through sorrow, strife, triumph, and joy. His friendship with Murikeer – and also Elvmere – meant more to him than all the income he received from Sutthaivasse. And that was a considerable sum indeed! He chuckled, a low churr deep in his throat that made his slender whiskers tremble. He had returned to the land of his disgraced family, restored both its dignity and position in Western Pyralis, forged alliances and trade agreements with Whales, Metamor, Breckaris, and Tournemire, and revitalized its national spirit with a stirring naval victory against implacable odds, all without succumbing to his tyrannical fathers' legacy. And in return for this he was bequeathed a seasonal inheritance due his name and rank whose sole intent was to keep him off the ducal throne and away from his city! Affairs in Sutthaivasse would always be his concern and more spies would be needed to keep the ruling families in line – he already planned a personal visit later in the year – but he felt reasonably confident that in time a worthy successor would finally emerge and he could wash his hands of all such affairs entirely. In the meantime he had his income to invest and profits to reap from those investments. He was not going to trust his continued livelihood or lifestyle to the political whims of squabbling noble houses hundreds of leagues away. Even this visit to Glen Avery to spend time with his friend would be an opportunity to secure his house. His eye would be ever watchful. Nor were his the only eyes. Across from him reclined the fox lady Misanthe. Her garb was suggestive because of her shape but in good quality and taste befitting a servant of a noble house. She watched out the window of the carriage with an animal intensity, ears erect, golden eyes flitting from one thing to another, noting and cataloging each as they passed. Malger saw only the massive redwood trees out his window, as well as the knight Sir Egland who with his squire Intoran had offered to accompany them as escort; if there was anything more that caught the fox's interest, he could not see it. He found his eyes settling upon her in calm regard unnoticed, for the moment. She had saved his life, not once but twice and perhaps more, and brought him back to his Goddess in so doing, only to become his body servant. Such a lowly role, Malger mused, for one who had done so much to affect his life; yet it was a role she had been born, raised, and trained into and seemed to prefer so he deferred to her wont. At the very least, Malger mused, she had decided to be humanesque in shape for this little journey. At Metamor she was more often than not in the guise of a feral fox, darting about his legs and slinking off to who knew where to spy and tend to errands of her own invention. As useful as that could be, Malger preferred her this way. She was far more pleasant to look at in this guise and Malger was quite happy to admire. A change in the the stately pace of Egland's charger made both their heads turn toward the elk knight. Egland bobbed his head and growing antlers still coated in velvet. “We've reached Glen Avery, your grace. The main clearing is just ahead. The Inn waits at the other end.” “Thank you, Sir Egland,” Malger replied smoothly and with a smile, his animalistic teeth gleaming as his whiskers lifted in good cheer. Privately Egland always called him by name, but where others could hear he gave deference to his nobility. Egland professed it a matter of respect and love, one meant to inspire and foster respect for Malger in those who did not know him as well. Malger would cure him of that case of honorifics in time, but for now he allowed his friend and fellow musician to indulge himself in whatever titles he delighted to offer. Misanthe leaned forward toward the window and angled her snout upward for a moment before leaning back and shaking that head. “I have never seen trees so tall or so large.” “I am told the massive forests of Sonngefilde have such trees, and of course the mysterious Åelfwood is rife with them, but I have seen neither. This little sampling is more than impressive enough. Besides, it is much harder to find the comforts of life when lost in the woods!” To that she said nothing. Her eyes continued to wander and study as they passed into a wide clearing. The sound of curious voices and the susurrus of village life surrounded them on all sides. Malger stretched his legs and sinuous back as the carriage rattled over bumps in the clearing. The Mountain Hearth Inn was at the western edge of the clearing up a rise of rock so that it overlooked the Glen. The accommodations were comfortable if plain and the staff friendly and competent. Murikeer had repaired a heated stone cistern for them two years ago and now had a permanent room to call his own. While Sir Egland and the staff tended his things, he could easily check to see if that skunk were about. The carriage came to a stop at the base of the short incline up to the front of the Inn. Its stone and wood edifice burnished with flickering lamps in the windows even in the midday light giving it a welcoming and warm facade. Malger climbed out of the carriage and stretched again, Misanthe quick on his heels. A quartet of horse Keepers rushed down the incline to help unload the carriage. Malger turned to the burly bison with a long-stemmed pipe clenched between his dark thick lips sitting atop the buckboard at the front of his carriage. He was securing the reins about a post and steadying his cloven hooves on the wooden step down when he caught the marten's eye. “Thank you for the smooth ride, Master Hesgebaern. Your reputation as a caravan master did not deceive.” “I am at your service, your grace,” the bison replied in a slow, almost bellowing, basso rumble. His shaggy appearance and almost hunched posture made him appear more advanced in years though in truth he was only older than Malger by a single turning of the seasons. Should he provide as smooth and as competent care for the horses and Malger's goods on the return to Metamor, Malger would see to it that the bison had a permanent place in his household. “See to the horses and make sure all of my things are brought to my chambers in the Inn. I will cover your meal and drink, but do not be too adventurous with the cups as I may ask you to ready the carriage to leave at any time.” The bison grinned a flat-toothed smile around the stem of his pipe and scratched with one hand at the little horns curled atop his scraggly mane. “That's mighty generous, your grace. Thank you. I will see it done.” Sir Egland and Intoran busied themselves with keeping curious Glenners from approaching too closely. Malger was surprised that he had not yet been welcomed by the Baron or even by his two adolescent sons, but doubtless they were tending to their own duties and would come when they learned of the marten's arrival. Malger turned toward the Mountain Hearth and started up the hard-packed earth when a powerful equine voice arrested him with a snort. “Your grace, a moment?” He turned and saw that one of the Glen horses, a percheron, was gesturing at the pair of regular horses drawing their carriage. “What is it, young man?” Malger asked as he could see in this horse the touches of adolescence still. He was perhaps Intoran's age, maybe a year older at most. Judging by his loose-fitting attire he was probably one of the polygamites, a group of equine Keepers who worked and lived together at the Glen as much in the guise of regular horses as they did in more human shape. “Your horses are old and of lesser quality. A noble of station such as yourself should have horses to suit.” Hesgebaern appeared rather affronted by the comment, fumbling to keep his pipe in his mouth as he tended to his duties. But Malger found the fellow's bold, forward manner rather endearing. “And do you happen to know of any horses of such quality?” The percheron nodded his regal head slowly, thick lips drawing back in a smile. “Aye, milord.” His smile only widened further, his gaze briefly shifting aside to one of his fellows who carried a heavy trunk from the carriage upon his shoulder as easily as one might a single faggot of kindling. “We are, milord.” The youth tapped his broad chest with one hand. Malger suspected he wanted to say 'I' rather than 'we' but let it pass. “What do they call you?” “Versyd, milord.” “Well, Versyd, I am rather busy at present but perhaps tomorrow we shall see if your boasts have merit! Take my things to the quarters Master Jurmas shall prepare for me as soon as he knows I am here! Misanthe?” Malger chuckled wryly to himself all the way up the path to the Inn. Misanthe followed a step behind as they climbed. Wildflowers dotted grassy embankments amidst the rock leading up to a cache of herb gardens flanking the front of the Mountain Hearth, providing a dash of yellow and pink to the otherwise masculine edifice of dark timber and weather-hewn granite. Intoran dashed up the hillside with a heavy clomp of hooves and reached the doors first. Malger smiled in thanks to his friend and stepped into the warm interior of the aptly named Inn. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>