<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars III: Descensum (n) Thursday, May 10, 708 CR James had patrol duties of his own for the next three days. Given that he was accompanied by the opossum Baerle it came as no surprise when he asked Garigan to take his place at Charles' side as the rat continued to survey the Narrows. The frog merchant Gibson accompanied them one more day to review some of the details about new bridges, roads, and fortifications that the rat intended so that he could refine his estimates and note what he should look for on his journey next month to Metamor for the trading season. The weather was fair though cloudy much of the day. Apart from spooking a pair of does and hearing the skittering claws of squirrels the forest was quiet and peaceful. Charles' mind was not, dwelling on the nightmare that had ensnared his soul from which his eldest boy had woken him. He tried not to ascribe meaning to dreams as more often than not he could not remember them moments after waking, and the few he did were so nonsensical that if he wrote them down even his friends in the Writer's Guild would have thought him mad. Yet he could not shake the feeling that there had been some meaning in what he'd witnessed in that desolate realm. But despite his best attempts he could not puzzle out its contents and so contented himself with discussing plans for his fief. The Narrows may not have the tall trees of the Glen nor the broad lake that sustained Barnhardt, but it had its natural beauty through gently rolling hills framing narrow ravines where fissures of water cascaded their way to the lake and river to the south, with a widening combe that ended in the mountains where a defense could easily be mounted against any attackers. Good land suitable for his family for generations to come. On their return to the Glen they were met by one of the most gregarious of all Glen Scouts. The pine marten surprised them by dropping down from the tree branches above with one leather-gloved paw wrapped tightly about a length of rope which had been looped through a metal buckle attached to his belt, allowing him to hang upside down without dangling like a beast in a trap. He narrowly avoided having his head lopped off because this was something both Charles and Garigan had come to expect from him. Gibson leaped from his saddle in alarm and landed in nearby bushes with a loud croak. “Marcus!” Garigan snapped, though there was no anger in his voice. “You have to stop doing that!” The pine marten grinned, thin lips drawn back to reveal numerous sharp fangs, and an impish glee filled his eyes. “But it's so much fun surprising my friends!” “And if we were being followed, you would have just revealed where our scouts hide! You should know better.” Charles laughed and turned to help the frog back into his saddle. Gibson croaked as he brushed the brambles from his tunic and breeches, wincing as he plucked a thorn from the warty skin along his left arm. But that was the extent of the frog's injuries other than the ruin of his pride and self-composure. Marcus grimaced a little at the rebuke, but gestured with his free hand at the woods. “But there wasn't anyone. We would have seen. Aren't you glad to see me?” The ferret stared at his fellow musteline and finally shook his head with a laugh. “I suppose I am. So what news have you to tell? Or are you hankering for mischief and thought to see how high a frog can jump?” Marcus's eyes flashed toward Gibson and his smile broadened, tail whisking back and forth behind him even though it too dangled upside down. “Oh, I thought for sure he could manage twenty feet. I was disappointed.” “Twenty feet into a tree branch?” Gibson croaked angrily. “Are you out of your gourd?” “I assure you he is,” Garigan noted with a laugh. “But I haven't tried racing the Avery boys in what... six months?” Charles and Garigan both laughed while Gibson climbed back into his saddle warbling to himself. Marcus smiled a bit sheepishly toward the frog, but quickly turned his attention back to the ferret. “I did want to warn you that the noble you don't like very much arrived in the Glen today. He's planning to stay a few days.” Garigan frowned. “Which noble? I'm pretty sure there's more than one.” The rat chortled at that, but then lifted his head in surprise when the marten spoke a very familiar name. “That minstrel Malger. Archduke Malger Sutt I think he is now. The one who was...” Garigan rolled his eyes and waved his friend to silence. “Aye, I know who he is. And aye, I don't much care for him. Although Charles assures me I have misjudged him.” Do not forget what else you learned of Malger. “You have, but at least you are not without cause,” Charles noted affably. “I don't much care for that pleasure guild either. An abomination it is, but he is a better man than that now. Much better.” There is much good that he has done. “There is much good that he has done,” Charles continued with a broad grin that twitched his whiskers. “Tell me, Marcus, where is he staying?” The marten gestured back up the hillside with his free hand. “Oh, at the Inn of course. He claimed the best rooms right away for himself and his retinue.” “It sounds as if he is enjoying his title,” Charles noted with a faint chuckle. “Oh, aye, that he is! He had some of the horses running around the commons pulling wagons earlier today. It was fun to watch.” “The horses? Real horses or the polygamite fellows?” “Both! He was comparing them to see how they did. I think he's thinking of hiring some of them for his house.” Garigan frowned and then rolled his eyes. “I'm not sure if I should congratulate them or feel sorry for them.” “I know what James would say,” Charles mused, and then shook his head. “I should greet him tomorrow morning before we journey.” Perhaps he can be of help to you. “Perhaps he can be of help to me.” “That is a wonderful idea,” Gibson warbled as he caught up to them, now secure in his saddle again. “I have heard rumor of this Archduke Sutt. If he is your friend you would do well to ask him to help finance the cultivation of your fief.” You have something else in mind, but the frog is not wrong either. “Indeed,” Charles patted the merchant on the shoulder. “Good thinking. Well, unless you have any other news to share, Marcus, we must return to the Glen. It has been a long day in the saddle for all of us.” The marten's eyes widened. “Oh well there's, um... there's...” “Nothing else to note,” Garigan finished for him. The ferret lifted his head and patted Marcus on the top of his head. “I've no interest in seeing the noble, so maybe we can do a little wrestling tomorrow morning, my friend. At least before I have to accompany Sir Charles, that is.” “Really? Oh that's wonderful! Thank you, Garigan!” Marcus flashed them all a wide grin and then scrambled back up the rope into the branches above. Garigan smiled and shook his head. “Now there's a lad,” Gibson added quietly, but not so quietly that those in the treetops couldn't hear too, “that I hope never loses his enthusiasm. Just that he tempers it a little when I'm around!” They all laughed as they continued on their way. And as they did, Charles pondered just what he would ask of Malger in the morning. You know. You know. And in truth he did. But how to say it, that was the real question. You know that too. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>