<html> <body> I know I promised I would begin posting Pars V at the beginning of May. Sadly I did not make as much progress as I would like during the last two months. That however has been fixed and now I'm back on track. So let us continue! Note, this will not be as long as the last part was. Recall that scenes set in 724 are 16 years after the current timeline. --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars V: Ascensum (a) Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR Though his adoptive father had bade him not to seek out Nocturna in his dreams, Charlie did not simply give over to the witless sleep enjoyed by almost everyone else. There were many who could walk the path of Dreams, some with more facility than others, and many of those Nocturna employed to safeguard the dreams of those who knew nothing of the dangers that lurked within their own sleep. Most were safe from them in any regard, unless the Dream was a powerful one. Such would call to those who Walked, either for Nocturna or with other intentions that drew Hew servants to them like crows to carrion. But even untouched by the shadowy realm of Dreams all were open to any who sought them out directly. And, thus, Charlie sought and Walked unremarked through many dreams. To him they had the passage of time, though to the outside world they were fleeting. Looking into a dream from outset to dénouement would take but second even if, within the dream, perception spanned hours or even days. True to his Duke and his charge, Charlie stepped into the dreams of the visiting princess once she had finally sought her slumber. He followed her through some dream of the banalities of her day upon the Steppes in the shadow of the Vysehrad mountains, though all who populated that dream were animorphed in some way or another. Into this Charlie saw her thoughts turn toward Bryn, standing atop the towers of the mountain fortress keep her family would winter in. He could not but chuckle at the strange juxtaposition of Bryn standing there with noble bearing next to one of her old brother's finest warhorses. The comparisons were frank, but humorous. Charlie slipped from the dream, finding no ulterior motivations therein. Only the confusion, fears, and curiosity of a young girl. Into the dreams of her brother and guards Charlie wandered, finding most dreaming images the same; tame or ribald and every concept between. He discovered that there were three spies among the King's guard but their duty was to observe and report, nothing more. Charlie did discover that one of the King's stewards' apprentices was among his retinue for altogether darker reasons and lingered there longer. A simple whisper of loss had the young man scrambling in haste through a trunk of fancy garments for the tiny leather pouch of poisons. Charlie captured those thoughts, and had the pouch abruptly release its contents into the man's face. That so frightened the poor man that he lurched awake, banishing the dream. He would have some difficulty finding sleep for the rest of his night. Briefly he sent his thoughts toward the mithril mines of the flanks of the nearby mountains, to all who slept there, instilling a sense of something missing, but nothing kindled at his nebulous caress of so many dreams. The thief was either drunk from the festivities or not yet asleep. He kept his dreaming mind active, but at every turn from Dream to Dream he had to force himself to turn away from the addictive draw of his sire's dreams. Often he found himself standing atop a shadowy hillock surrounded by standing stones and turned purposely away. ---------- A touch upon his shoulder roused him to lamp light brightness and he squinted his eyes against it. “Your father asked that you be awakened with the mistress, Charlie,” Hogue said quietly, almost apologetically, before turning away and taking with him the unpleasant brightness of the witchlit lamp. “I have laid out a robe and hose for the dawn. Which of your raiment do you wish for the day?” Charlie grunted and sucked his tongue, roughing it against the roof of his muzzle a few times before licking his whiskers. Slowly he levered himself up. “What is the hour?” He muttered, ending with a huge yawn. Beyond the open window all was dark save for a single torch on a distant wall. “The sky is blueing, sire. Perhaps an hour before full dawn above.” The sunlight would take another hour beyond the lightening of the sky above to full day before it touched any of the buildings of Euper. “Andelwyne will be laying out the first meal in a quarter hour.” “Thank you, Hogue. I can dress myself.” Charlie turned to drop his paws off of his overlarge feather bed and cast aside the covers. “Please lay out the dark blue for me. I am not in tourney today so can more dress to my station.” “As you wish.” Hogue stopped at the door to set the lantern upon the entryway table near the frame. He cast Charlie an anxious glance. “Are you well, sire? Yesterday...” Charlie chuffed and waved a hand toward him lazily. “I acted nine times a fool. Worry not, Hogue, I have taken no injury nor overmuch wine.” “Very well. I was merely concerned. Wagging tongues and all.” He dreaded to think of the rumors that his body-servant must have heard. In a more timorous voice, Hogue asked, “Did you indeed truly cause injury to the Baron?” “I did, yes. I have that and more to atone for today.” Hogue had almost drawn the doors closed before Charlies looked up from a long contemplation of his own long-toed rodentine feet. “Ahh, Hogue?” The youth – forever so only two years past when the Curse stopped him from aging any further – paused and leaned back through the opening. “Sire?” “Could you send word to Maysin, if she is in the household, that I wish to walk this morn? And that she attend me so garbed? I believe that she has an entourage wardrobe befitting my blue?” “She is and does, sire, and I shall convey your message with her wardrobe.” His servant's eyes narrowed. “You are not riding in your family's processional today, sire?” Charlie grimaced and shook his head. “Not this morn, no. See to my message.” With a bob of his head Hogue withdrew and the door quietly thumped closed behind him. ---------- Charlie ambled into the dining hall while the house staff was laying out the place settings and stood to one side to wait rather than get in their way by taking his seat. Misanthe, unlike most of the upper class folks that Charlie knew, would be wroth with anyone who put themselves in front of the house staff for their own convenience when things were being prepared. Suria, still rubbing her eyes, yawned with a gape of her dangerous wolf muzzle. Her white teeth gleamed in the bright light of the hall. The outer doors had been opened to the morning breeze, filling the hall with the scent of Metamor – often not the most pleasant of things, considering the multitudes of people and species inhabiting it – but far less offensive to the nose than the harbor breeze of Sutthaivasse. The stench of tanneries and fisheries there would often leave those on the high ridge above the city closing their seaside shutters. “Morning,” She growled upon completion of her yawn, tightening the sash of her robe needlessly. “How do you prefer to be boiled, brother mine? Slow, or a quick scalding?” Whiskers twitching in a brief moue Charlie could only shake his head, “As swiftly as might be possible.” He admitted with a sigh. “Mother was still so wroth?” He almost reached up a hand to rub his cheek where she had slapped it the prior afternoon. The young she-wolf laughed in a half-yip and bobbed her head. “Oh, dear, yes! She simmered the day through, waiting for you to return home from wherever it was you fled after laying your sire’s breast open.” “I sought him out.” Charlie admitted, stepping out of the way as a trio of kitchen staff emerged from a side hall to begin laying out the morning meal. Owing to the possibility of considerable hangovers the meal was a light one; breads and pastries with small meats and fingerling vegetables steamed to Charlie’s preference. “We talked.” Suria waited for the cooks to lay out the table before crossing to her chair. Charlie followed and helped her scoot it back to the table before going to his own. “Was he terribly injured?” “Not such that could not be mended – albeit with stitches, unfortunately. He shall scar, I fear.” He could still see the rivulet of granite running the length of his sire's chest. He would not compound his mistakes of yesterday with breaking such a terrible confidence. “And did you apologize for your appalling lack of chivalry?” A new voice cut in, smooth yet sharp, which brought their attention back to the door from the residences. Misanthe did not so much enter a place as sweep into it with an unbound urgency to be and do. Charlie rose with a bob of his head and moved to help her with her own chair as he had with his sister’s. The staff efficiently began laying out their fares as each preferred. “For that, yes, mother.” Charlie affirmed modestly as he returned to his chair. “And the Baron forgave me, ascribing the injury to a weakness of his own shield.” Misanthe scoffed with a sharp look, “Would that it were not being battered with all the violence of a petulant child at tantrum he may not have to make such a claim.” She shook her head and took up her chalice, holding it steady as one of the staff poured at her side. The scent was nothing more than that of milk. “And then storming off in pique, leaving all gaping behind you while your mount stood at the end of the list forgotten.” She sipped, then leaned forward, lightly placing the chalice back down. Charlie poured his own milk, as was his habit. He would much rather hear her sharp words than feel the sharp strike of her paw. “Were she but a horse such would not be remarked upon, but she is a member of this household and deserves far better treatment, Charlie.” Again the young rat could only nod his head in assent, “I have quite humiliated her before the entire tourney crowd, yes, and mean to make some manner of apology this morning. I shall, in all due grace one who is being – punished, walk to the tourney field today, denied use of my mount by my wrathful parents.” Misanthe’s russet brows rose and her ears pinned forward, “You would abandon her again for a second day?” She growled warningly. Charlie held up a placating hand quickly. “No, mother. No, I shall not leave her here awaiting my wish. I have asked that she be garbed to be my retinue today, not mount. She will be given leave to enjoy the day as her own, as well, once I reach the festival grounds.” “That is a start.” Misanthe conceded. She wagged a finger at him admonishingly, “Now, be sure not to tender her any coin beyond her norm. That would be – unseemly. It would give the impression of purchasing forgiveness rather than earning it.” Charlie nodded and nibbled a stalk of steamed asparagus freshly gathered from the Keep gardens. “No, I full well intend to earn recompense for my poor behavior, on all accounts. I have yet to fully understand my sire’s motivations, which is the root of the anger I directed to him yesterday, and as yet have not fully come to grips with his choices. But we are speaking, and he has much to tell of – that night.” Misanthe slowly chewed a bit of fowl that had been roasted the previous day and then left in a cold box to chill that it be better morning fare. “Ahh. Indeed. That night changed many things, but also set in motion events that would affect your life, young man. Full well to find some understanding of it and set aside this childish petulance you hold toward him. Your dam is nearly as furious as I, you should know. I believe, when last I saw her, she was seeking out a willow branch.” Charlie winced and his tail tucked down against the back of his chair at the thought of that. He had only experienced a switch once, after unwisely making too rough with a horse, by the stable master under direction of his father. He had never again mistreated a steed, or any other animal, and avoided the mere thought of any transgression that might mete out a re-application of that stinging punishment. “I will… present myself at the Matthias pavilion before going to the Hassan seat, then.” He sighed, not looking forward to the Lady Kimberly’s anger. “See that you do.” Misanthe had no more to say after that and Charlie felt a measure of relief. Suria glared at him for a moment as if irritated that her brother hadn't been more thoroughly chastised, but her irritation with her brother could never last. Charlie glanced at the empty seat at the head of the table for a moment and cautiously changed the subject. “Where is Father?” Misanthe dabbed the end of her snout with a kerchief to clean it and then replied, “Your father is seeing to some private arrangements with the Duke and will rejoin us in time for the procession.” A procession Charlie had already announced he would not participate in. “Now, do eat something this morning, Charlie. Something more than that asparagus you've nibbled to nothing.” Breakfast, while prepared well as always, was tasteless to Charlie but he put himself to the task of finishing it lest he receive another rebuke. Suria and Misanthe exchanged idle talk about the wares that they had seen, gossip overheard from their visitors and local nobility, and the unexpected victory of the rat Goldmark over the Long Scout lutin Keleficks as the last fight of the previous day. Even as he forced himself to finish a slice of toast with raspberry jam, his ears lifted to listen with sudden interest. Apparently, when Keleficks made his first sortie against the Rat – who entered battle in the form of a rat’taur as large as a stout pony – Goldmark’s block was so powerful that it sent the Lutin’s cudgel rebounding with enough force to knock him out entirely when it struck him in the brow. Charlie found himself laughing to the point of breathlessness as Suria described it. No few of the house staff had also been among the audience and offered remarks of their own, as was the wont for free speaking in the Sutt house, that only compounded the hilarity of the all-too-brief engagement. In due course Misanthe finished her meal, her pace matched almost perfectly by her children. One of the notes of diplomacy that Malger had instilled in them; never finish before the Host of a given meal, but do not tarry such that they are waiting for you to finish so that they might progress to the next course. Charlie bowed out as gracefully as he could under the cool regard of his mother and humorous teasing of his sister so that he could dress for the day. ---------- Returning to his chamber he found Hogue and the young rat Peter – Charlie’s sibling by blood but not surname – chatting in the residence hall just outside the door to his chambers. Peter was holding the rich blue raiment that Charlie had chosen for the day draped over both arms while he and Hogue regaled each other with the entertainments they hoped to enjoy once they were released from their morning duties. Not far away a pale Lutin, standing slightly taller than Peter but shorter than Hogue, smiled as he quietly listened. He carried two weighty tomes, freshly fashioned of buttercream hued leather and likely as yet to be scribed with the doings of the Sutt household though in which Charlie’s recent escapades would find themselves penned, in his wiry arms. “Hogue, At’fek, Peter.” Charlie spoke warmly as he approached, managing to pronounce the Lutin’s name in a passable approximation of his native language. Aside from being the House scribe the Lutin was also their translator when diplomatic needs took them north of the Dikes to High Chief Keletikt’s kingdom. Though aging, the elder Shaman-cum-High Chief still held the Lutin nations firmly in check. He had successfully implemented a regimen of teaching among many of the older tribes so that the youth were learning their letters and numbers along with their land-lore and hunting. Raiding continued, but only from outlying unaffiliated tribes and at such a reduced rate that a single raid was enough to earn comment even to the Duke’s ears rather than an accumulated report given by Patrol-master Sir Wolfram. “Master Charlie.” the Lutin bowed with a smile. Holding the two weighty tomes up slightly by way of excuse he made his way past them down the hall toward the main rooms and, ostensibly, the library. With a wave of his hand Charlie bid the youth and young rat precede him into his chambers. “Charlie!” Peter gasped ebulliently, full of the infectious energy of the truly young, even as he carefully laid out Charlie’s garments, “Someone told me that the mages are going to put on a special show after the final tilt, today.” Charlie nodded and drew off his robe. Hogue quietly took it from his paw with an eager glance of bright eyes as he smiled at his lord’s younger brother, his own enthusiasm for the performance of magecraft tempered only by his duty to his noble charge. “Yes, Peter, I would expect that something of that sort would occur, as it does each year. This year moreso as we are entertaining outlander Royals as well.” Hogue helped him out of his shirt and breeches, leaving him unabashedly naked before the two. Such was not in the least unusual; Charlie had been attended by his two body servants since he was younger than Peter’s age. They had seen him in every state of undress imaginable, healthy and ill, bruised from training or rather dizzy from too many cups after a long night entertaining guests. Peter, being his brother, paid no heed either way. There was scarce little privacy in the Matthias house with so many other brothers sharing a single room so seeing his brother unclothed was nothing unusual. And, in the privacy of his own chambers, Charlie felt no overwhelming stir of modesty. After so many years he had lost that shyness. Peter deftly plucked the buttons loose along the front of Charlie’s doublet, inspecting the threads to ensure that all were sewn securely. “Yes, but I was not able to attend last year.” He pouted, glancing up briefly, “Nor the year before that.” Standing with his arms slightly raised and his tail curved safely to one side Charlie stood still to let Hogue quickly run a brush across his short, smooth pelt to dislodge any loose fur or snarls left by sleep. “You were ill last year, Peter. And too young by far the year before, and living in the Glen besides.” Seeing his younger sibling’s discomfiture at having missed out on the previous festivities Charlie slipped the topic onto another tangential track smoothly. “What mages will be performing, did they say?” At a light tap on his shoulder Charlie turned and settled into the chair that Hogue drew back from his desk. “The grandmaster’s wife and two other skunks, I was told. They will be working some grand display for the Duke and his guests!” “Kayla?” Charlie arched a brow and twitched a scalloped ear back toward his brother though he faced the mirror, and thus saw Peter by his reflection. “That is Grandmaster Rickkter’s wife, a skunk. Murikeer and Kozaithy would be the other two skunks.” Charlie held still while Hogue sorted what passed for the rat’s hair to get it properly coifed, though there was scarcely enough to bother with such diligence. Like pretty much every other rat of the Matthias lineage his head was swathed in the same short fur as the rest of him, if ever so slightly longer from his brow following a line between his ears and downward along his spine to fade into the general lie of his pelt slightly north of his tail. “Likely adept Jessica will attend, then, if the skunks are. It seems that their efforts transcend the political maneuvering of the damn guilds.” A decade past the mage guilds had come to a falling out and established three separate guilds focusing on different aspects of magecraft, yet each claimed to be the master of all schools. The internecine politicking drove the Duke’s advisor on magical affairs, Murikeer, to distraction on a monthly basis. Luckily the more powerful mages; Grandmaster Rickkter, his wife Kayla, the Adept Jessica and the Khunnas skunks had eschewed any allegiance to the guilds and, thereby, kept them in check with non-insubstantial threats of dire consequences if their bickering got out of hand. Hogue, for once, said nothing throughout the conversation, allowing brother to speak to brother while he carefully selected a few bits of jewelry from the box in which Charlie kept such things. The metals of most jewelry tended to stain the rat's fur so he seldom wore any at all, though he kept plenty on hand for ceremonial occasions. For his ears he chose small studs of silver and azure, three for the lower rim of each ear, facet cut to catch the light whenever his ears moved, a fourth stud set below the others was graced by a slightly larger polished oval emerald. About his neck he draped a mantle of braided silver and pale blue sapphires that would complement his wardrobe and a torc of sculpted silver that fit snugly, each end adorned with deep green emeralds resting at the points of his clavicles. His fingers were adorned with similar combinations of silver and blue, with the middle finger of each hand sporting a ring of silver and emerald. After adorning his charge with a thief’s dream of silver and stones Hogue and Peter both helped him into the form fitting, impeccably tailored blue hose and equally snug doublet that was buttoned up the front and tightened via laces up the back to show off his physique. He found it unpleasantly uncomfortable for any length of time but did have to admit that, in combination with the hose of fine cotton, made him cut quite a striking figure. Lace adorned wrist and collar, creating a nest of white in which the silver and gems of the jewelry nested against his fur as if displayed within a jewelry box lined with brown felt. Charlie slipped on matched cuffs of silver and sapphires at each wrist and, glancing into the overburdened jewelry box, deftly lifted a last item. This he secreted up the sleeve of his doublet. Due to the snugness of the doublet Charlie’s arms had their movement constrained considerably, lest he tear out the stitching at the shoulders and underarms, so Hogue had to help him into the deep blue velvet surcoat with its plush sleeves and high, lace collar. He would remove it before the day was too far along, for it would be unbearably warm by mid-day, but for the introductions of the morning it would show fine comportment and refinement. Charlie had to snort at himself in the mirror; he looked every inch as much the fop as his father, and rather intensely disliked it. The tailors left him little room to move as his father did and he would have to remedy that the next time they came. Malger could dance easily in his full attire, and fight easily with one sword or both without tearing the seams. For a few hours, at least, he would suffer the sacrifice of extravagant wealth in good grace. Doffing a rogue’s pointed hat that rested neatly between his ears he flicked his fingers down the upturned sides to the point above his muzzle with a deft flick. Hogue chuckled and plucked a small cluster of pheasant feathers from a small cubby to one side of the wardrobe to slip into the feather notch along the right side of the cap. “A perfect ensemble, Milord.” The youth said with a bright smile, carefully adjusting the long feathers of the cap and lace about Charlie’s throat to best affect. “You cut quite a dashing figure.” “Of a rat in motley.” Charlie quipped, shifting his arms to test the limits of his motions. Peter pranced over from the far side of the room with a belt of gleaming white leather tooled in the form of running stags. From it dangled a sheathed poniard similarly tooled. Charlie held his arms up slightly as his brother looped the belt around from behind and cinched it snugly about his waist. “Charlie, we are all beasts in motley at Metamor.” Peter admonished in a moment of clarity mature beyond his years. “Not all.” Hogue admonished with a brief chuckle, tapping Peter between his pale pink rodent ears with a single fingertip, “Though he is right. You are no mere jester, Charlie, dressed in extravagant motley. You’d turn the eyes of even a human who still thinks us demons out there as you are now.” “For my silver if naught else.” Charlie tugged at the lace of his sleeves and regarded himself in the mirror one last time. “But, that as it may, it is the last day of the summer festival, a bad day for maudlin thoughts.” Snugging his belt comfortably about his hips Charlie raised his arms to clap both of his helpers upon their shoulders, “Hogue, the day is yours as you wish. If you see Jackson remind him that he is to prepare my chamber for my return this evening. Peter, see if the Lady has any tasks for you to complete. I will see myself to the gates.” “I delivered wardrobe and message as you asked.” Hogue reminded him as the three of them made for the door, shooing Peter out first. While Peter scampered off to see if Misanthe had any more requirements of him Charlie waited for Hogue to close the door of his rooms. Other servants would be along, likely within moments of their departure, to return the chambers to their pristine state awaiting his arrival before they, too, retired to the festival. “Thank you, Hogue.” Reaching out, Charlie clasped his hand and shook it as they turned toward the main hall. “Good man. I’ll see you on the morrow, then?” Charlie had been trained by some of the best cutpurses Malger could convince to tutor him, as well as Malger and Misanthe who had both, for differing reasons, learned the sleight of hand tricks of thievery in the years of their youth. While he was pumping Hogue’s hand his other was deftly pilfering into the small coinpurse dangling from Hogue’s belt to add a few more coins to the youth’s collection. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>