<html> <body> Here is my next Metamor Keep story. Sadly, I could not keep it under 10,000 words this time, but I did keep it under 12,000! ;-) Part 1 of 4. Metamor Keep: Bearing the Wolf-Touched by Charles Matthias May 16, 708 CR “Sir Charles, wake up and look! Dragons!” The rat grunted as he rolled onto his back and blinked. Birch and elm clustered above him, but to the north he could see two shapes, one larger than the other, flying out of the mountains to the west. He blinked and pushed himself to his haunches, tail dragging beneath him across the loam, needles, and stone. They were too far for him to see clearly, but they certainly looked like dragons. “So it appears,” he said, then stretched and stood. Muscles and bones found their place after his brief nap high upon the ridge where he hoped to build his keep in the Narrows. The ferret Garigan watched from an outcropping of stone while at the base of the ridge James waited with their mounts. The morning had only begun but after an hour of riding and climbing Charles had to lay down and rest. His dreams the last few nights had been unpleasant and he did not want his son seeing them; he'd only managed short naps when he managed any at all. Garigan turned his gray and black snout toward the two figures gliding into the valley and gestured with the sweep of an arm. “I think they're headed for the Glen. Do you recognize them?” Charles shook his head and blinked the last of the rest from his eyes. “Even if I knew them I wouldn't from this distance. Your eyes are better than mine. What do they look like?” “Gray scaled, with a touch of red I think. The small one... I don't think I've ever seen a dragon so young come out of their mountain home.” Charles nodded as he plucked needles from his chain mail. “I think the larger is carrying someone; I can't tell for sure.” “Did I ever tell you about the time I rode a dragon?” “Heraclitus?” “Aye, and quite proud of being a dragon of Whales. I wonder who these two could be.” Garigan turned and helped Charles rid his armor of the last of the needles and leaves, brushing down his tabard with one paw while craning his neck in a way only a ferret could to watch the pair of winged shapes begin circling above the mighty Glen redwoods. In a quieter voice he asked, “Didn't you say your friend Lindsey has become a dragon?” The last of the sleep left the rat and with one heart beat he felt alert and a terrible foreboding. “We need to return to the Glen right away. If it is Lindsey...” But very soon you will have the chance to aid two who suffer greatly. Garigan stopped his work and blinked at his mentor. “Yes?” Charles shook his head and offered the ferret and fellow Sondecki a smile. “If it is Lindsey then I cannot wait to see him again. And compliment him on his success; Calephas is dead thanks to him.” “May he rot in hell,” Garigan spat and with one last look to check on the rat started back down the ridge. Charles shuddered then followed with one last glance at the blurry shapes descending to the Glen. He took no breath all the way down. ---------- Glen Scouts spotted the two dragons as soon as they crested the mountains but for most Glenners the day continued as any other Wednesday in Spring might. The fishermen were so busy reviewing their haul from the night before they were the last upon the lake to note the arrival of the serpentine beasts. As the pair circled down, heavy wings beating the air and stirring the shore into a froth, the fishermen nervously brandished scaling knives and spears. They did not raise their weapons, but kept them at the ready as they warily eyed the Glen's reptilian guests. Most dragons who visited Metamor were friendly but caution with strangers was the Glen way. Gibson the frog had been preparing to take his son out on the lake when the pair descended from the sky. Unlike the fishermen who spent their lives beneath the mighty boughs of Avery, the merchant traveled the valley each Summer and Autumn and had become familiar with many of the dragons who traded service to Metamor for a lofty tale of adventure to tell in the decades to come. Most were known only in passing but he prided himself on remembering their names and greeting them each time he was graced to stand in their presence. So as the fishermen anxiously cowered much like his one-year old son Bertram who hid behind his father's spindly legs, Gibson felt his heart lift in delight as he recognized the larger of the two dragons. He warbled and croaked as the pair circled with wings spread wide; when their long necks turned toward him he waved with both his arms, hoping they knew it as a welcoming gesture. The dragons circled twice more before the larger beat his wings, sending up a spray across the lake and scattering the grass and fallen needles along the shore, and settled into a gentle landing on the well-beaten path about the lake. He then craned his head to watch the smaller dragon – still twice the size of any man – attempt the same feat. The smaller however wobbled as he neared the ground and only just kept himself from crashing by digging his claws into the rock-strewn earth and holding fast. Gibson brushed a few needles from his tunic and then waved a long green arm as he croaked as loud as he could. “Pharcellus! Welcome to Glen Avery! What brings you and your friend here?” The larger dragon, gray of scale with crimson highlights along each, turned his purple-flecked golden eyes upon the frog and his long snout opened in a delighted smile. Something shifted along his back and Gibson noticed the man-shaped creature the young dragon had carried. The face was of a solid, dark-haired foreign man, and the arms were strong and stout, but his ears were pointed and covered in fur, and his legs looked like those of a wolf; he even had a tail like many a Keeper. His silvery black fur shimmered as it settled in the churning wake of dragon-flight. He climbed down from Pharcellus's back, slipped past the younger dragon who reached out a foreleg to touch him, and then bent down in a bed of needles beneath the branches of an old pine and closed his eyes tight. His only raiment was a tattered black robe which he clutched with the ardor of a child for a favored doll. Gibson thought there was something familiar about the beast-man's face, but the sinister touch and wrongness of his deformed shape, even for Metamor, squelched any recollection. He turned back to the dragons in what he hoped would be taken as polite curiosity. Pharcellus studied him for a moment before a gregarious laugh echoed within his massive chest. “Gibson, I believe! And who is hiding behind your legs?” Gibson lowered his hand to the top of his son's head. The boy cautiously peered around his father's knee. “This is my son, Bertram. Bertram, this is Pharcellus the dragon, one of Metamor's friends. And the other...” The younger dragon, gray in scale but with a lighter touch to his scales, more vermilion, craned his neck before taking a few quick steps to work out the tightness in his legs. “It's me, Lindsey! I'm Pharcellus's younger brother. Bertram, you can come climb on my back if you'd like.” Pharcellus glanced at his brother and even Gibson could see the beam of pride in the dragon's eyes. Bertram stared with yellow eyes as wide as they could and only clutched his father's leg even tighter than before. Gibson croaked a laugh and patted him on the back. “Come, Bertram, these are friends. Dada will show you.” So saying he scooped his little boy, gangly legs and all, into his arms and carried him toward the pair. Being a frog Bertram couldn't hide his large face though he tried with all his might. “It's safe, Bertram. Dada's here. They won't hurt you. They want to say hi. Can you say hi?” Gibson stopped a few feet from the pair and the smaller, Lindsey, took two steps forward, lifting his head only a hand-span to bring it level with the little boy. A tongue flicked out from between sharp fangs and whispered past the back of the boy's head. Bertram squirmed but did not turn. Lindsey teased him with his tongue twice more on either side of his head, and the little frog finally shimmied around so one eye could see. Lindsey bunched his body and then sat on his haunches like a dog. Bright, golden eyes glimmered in the morning sun. “Hello, Bertram. I'm Lindsey!” Pharcellus's bigger head swung into view, but not nearly as close as his brother's. “Hello, Bertram. I'm Pharcellus! It is a great honor to meet you.” Bertram stared for a moment longer, then turned his head back into his father's chest. But a moment later he shifted it back half-way so the edge of his eye was visible. A little croak escaped his throat. Gibson warbled a pleasant laugh. “I think my little boy wants to play with the dragons, doesn't he!” This time, when he put Bertram down, his son did not try to hide. Instead he took a cautious hop to where Lindsey sat. Lindsey watched him but did not move. Bertram reached out an arm and poked at a leg or tail. Lindsey slithered out his tongue to tease the back of the frog's head. Father and older brother watched for several seconds as their beloved kin began to play together. “So, Pharcellus, what brings you both here to the Glen?” Behind him he could hear the fishers resuming their duties and the arrival of other curious Glenners eager to marvel at the sight of not one but two dragons in their land. Pharcellus lifted his head and stared at the figure crouching beneath the sheltering pine. “For the sake of our friend, Jerome. We brought him here because this is where Charles Matthias lives. He is the only one who might be able to help break the spell on him and restore him. And we needed to return to Metamor anyway; there is much to discuss of the events in Arabarb. Why you should hear what my brother accomplished in Fjellvidden against the loathsome Calephas!” Gibson cast a glance behind him and could see Lord Avery and his closest men descending the road from the commons to the lake. “I'm sure milordship will want to hear the tale, as do I! But Sir Matthias is visiting his fief, the Narrows, to our south and may not return until evening.” The dragon's gaze also saw the many coming to greet him and he settled down upon the ground, the spade tip of his tail paddling the edge of the lake. “Then we will wait here for knightly rat to return. Do you think yon fishermen might spare two flight-weary dragons some of their delicious catch?” Gibson warbled and shrugged his shoulders. “I'm sure we can ask!” ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>