<html> <body> I'd like to thank Jack for inspiring the walk-on character in this scene. :-) Part 3 of 4. Metamor Keep: Bearing the Wolf-Touched by Charles Matthias May 16, 708 CR Early afternoon was one of Quoddy's favorite times to sun himself next to one of the fountains in the marketplace. The fountain centerpiece had once been of a quartet of rearing horses but had been destroyed by Nasoj's army nearly a year-and-a-half ago; much of what was lost in the assault had been repaired but not the fountain. Still, the basin was clean which allowed the gull to swim a little if he wanted, and it had been in the sun all day long which meant the stones were warm too. The best part were his fellow Keepers. Beginning a little before noon and throughout the rest of the day, they would come, usually in threes and fours but sometimes alone, to recline by the fountain and eat their midday meal; many would happily share a scrap with a friendly gull. It was a game, and most knew it, teasing him with some morsel of bread and cheese – or worse, fresh-cooked fish – until Quoddy resumed his more human guise and traded a few pleasant words with his friends. It was there his brothers found him. A blue-red speckled tokay newly arrived from Bradanes – and one who had not yet realized Quoddy's true nature – was tearing off a small morsel of an odd-smelling meat for him when two larger forms descended from the sky and settled on the rim of the fountain behind him. “I told you we'd find him here,” his brother Machias cawed. The puffin noted the gecko and laughed. “He's not really a gull you know.” Quoddy swelled in size, and lowered his beak toward their scaly brother. “Please forgive me the deception.” The tokay stared with large yellow eyes and then emitted a croaking laugh. “I should have known! I remember meeting you three at the Fellowship in January. You're the ones who spend Summer and Fall traveling the coasts of Sathmore. I'd be happy to share my meal for a story of your adventures.” “Life as an animal is boring,” Lubec noted with a shrug of his wings. The cormorant stepped carefully around the fountain so as not to slip and dampen his feathers. “You spend most of your day fighting the other birds for every scrap of food when you aren't flying. But it does give you time to lose yourself in contemplation. Far better than most adventures you hear of in stories.” The tokay cocked his head to one side which made his wide-jawed face look as if he were about to topple over. “I spent my last few years hidden beneath rags because of disease. You speak true, friend.” “Lubec,” their brother said as he offered the tokay a wing. He grasped the black feathers gently between two thick-fingers. “Wyaert. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Quoddy offered his brothers a beak-grin and then extended his wing. “And I am Quoddy.” “Machias,” the puffin added, though he was too far back along the fountain to do more than hop about on webbed feet. Wyaert tore an extra two chunks of cooked meat and offered them to the birds. Lubec appeared dubious. “I do not think we all have a story we can tell.” “Consider it a gift then between new friends! I do not have time to sit for a single story anyway; I must return to my duties soon. Master Dunkirk will chop my tail off if he catches me sun-bathing on a rock again!” “Isn't Dunkirk one of the stone masons?” Machias asked after gulping his morsel down. “It is what I apprenticed as in Bradanes.” He lifted one hand and wiggled his dexterous fingers. “I can feel the stone even better now than I did back then. Who knows? Perhaps I'll even help repair this fountain one day.” He lifted his meat and bit through half of it. “Thank you very much for sharing your meal,” Quoddy offered in a conciliatory tone. “I owe you a story, Wyaert, and I will deliver. Do you come here often?” The tokay gulped down the last of his meat and stood, stretching arms, legs, and tail. “I think I will. The sun is warm, the food is good, and the company is rewarding! Eli's blessings, my friends!” They watched Wyaert disappear back into the crowds in the marketplace. Once they lost sight of him, Machias cawed a little laugh. “Why are you begging for food, Quoddy? We have money aplenty now.” Quoddy nodded. “I know.” Duke Thomas had named them honorary members of the Long Scouts and so they received the same generous wages. “But every copper I spend on some tasty morsel is one less I can give to the Ecclesia or to the Fellowship. We've never needed money before and they always do.” None of them had even owned a pouch to keep coins after their change. They'd carried their first donations to Father Hough and Emily in their beaks. Lubec spread his wings as if to dry them, and then settled down next to his older brother. “We cannot always be just birds. I cannot just... go back to the way things were.” “I know. But I'm not sure what else we are suited for.” “Maybe we aren't,” Machias offered, nudging a bit of shed fur off the fountain with a webbed foot. “Maybe all we have to offer is three smart birds.” “We are more than smart birds,” Lubec insisted and snapped his beak shut. “But,” he conceded with a long exhalation, “maybe it's all we can offer now. But I will not go back to living as a bird for half the year. I love the sea too and do not wish to lose it, but... it feels like we only fly from what all our friends here face; we abandon them. But I will not spy for Metamor again... I cannot... at least... not for now.” Quoddy nuzzled his brother with his beak and rested his wing claws on his back. “We won't. And you're right. There must be something more we can do. Not all of our winged brothers and sisters serve as spies or scouts either. Why don't we ask them? Eli will help us find our way. Together.” Lubec's eyes smiled and he beak-nuzzled his brother in return. “Thank you. Now about begging for food.” “I'm not going to spend money on myself,” Quoddy objected with a squawk. “It doesn't...” His eyes lifted, along with many other Keepers in the market, as a shape flew overhead. Dragons were a common sight in Metamor especially after the Curses when a few of their own had joined the draconic ranks; there were also a few dozen young dragons from the mountains who offered their services to Metamor so they might have adventures to increase their stature among their own kind. But even though the passing of a dragon overhead was something they expect to see every few days or so, for most Keepers their magnificence never lost its luster. For Quoddy the sight was more than a marvel of a mighty dragon; it was the welcome return of a friend. “Look! It's Pharcellus!” His brothers snapped their heads up to see even as Quoddy shrank to his feral size and beat his wings, lifting off from the fountain and working his way up into the sky. His brothers shifted and chased him, eyes locked upon the gray-scaled dragon descending from the northwest. They had no chance catching up to a dragon in full flight especially not when starting from the ground. But Pharcellus was descending from the upper air, turning in a long circle above the mighty fortress at the northern end of the hill on which Keeptowne was built. On his second pass around they were high enough in the sky to catch his attention. Pharcellus's determined expression broke into one of delight, long jaws opening and golden eyes brightening. His long neck ducked and rose, carrying his body in a cavorting dance out of his spiral and into their midst. The brothers had to beat their wings to keep from being spun about in the enthusiastic dragon's wake. They saved the rest of their greetings for the ground. Pharcellus banked to the field north of the Keep where the Duke preferred dragons to land and the brothers followed. After setting claws to earth, Pharcellus's body shrank in on itself until a crimson-haired young man was standing in his place. He spread wide his arms and with buoyant laugh welcomed each of the birds with a firm hug. “Quoddy! Lubec! Machias! It is a joy to see each of you again! I was hoping I would find you on my return. How are the heroes of Fjellvidden faring?” Lubec tensed at the name, but the joy of seeing their friend was greater. “We are very happy to see you! How was your journey back? Did Lindsey stay behind?” “How is your wing?” Quoddy asked, remembering the scar stretched halfway through the leathery folds. “And how are the people of Arabarb? Have they kicked out the rest of Calephas's troops?” Machias squawked, not willing to let his brothers be the only ones to ask questions. Pharcellus waved his arms, tipped back his head and laughed, long hair bouncing with each breath. “You peck me with such wonderful questions and I am eager to tell the tale for each! But I am on an errand of utmost importance and must be brief. Forgive me so small a token for such dear friends!” Quoddy laughed inside, though he would have enjoyed hearing a dragon's tale for each. “The journey was uneventful but pleasant. Lindsey is much more confident in the air and now hardly ever crashes when he lands. My brother has come with and we brought Jerome as well. We stopped at Glen Avery first and there they remain awaiting the word I will bring when my errand here is complete. My wing is still weak,” he said with lowered his head as if in shame at the admission, “but it is good enough for an easy flight; another month or two and it will should be fully recovered. And all our friends in Arabarb are well; they returned triumphant from their first sortie to reclaim the mouth of the river. The hinterlands and the coasts await but they are flush with hope to see the last of the brigands routed by Winter's return.” He gestured with his chin toward the blue-liveried soldiers approaching them from the castle. “Doubtless yon Duke will wish to hear this news, but I fear it must wait for my errand here is too important. Jerome's life hangs in the balance!” This last he said with such sudden intensity they lifted themselves to stand on the tips of their webbed feet in anticipation for the rest of the dragon's tale. “Is he still... beastly?” Quoddy asked, trying not to look at his cormorant brother as he spoke. They never mentioned Gmork or Lubec's enslavement. Lubec was still haunted by the occasional nightmare, though his days were spent aiding in any way he could those he loved and knew at Metamor. Most of the time there was no hint at the wound he suffered except the mottled feathers strewn about his nest come morning. Even at the word from Quoddy there was no outward sign other than a faint tightening at the corners of his yellow eyes. Pharcellus's lips drew into a serious moue – his penchant for exaggeration did not extend to the needs of his friends. “I fear it is true. My errand is for his benefit so I do not wish to delay.” The soldiers were almost upon them and to them Pharcellus turned his back. “Tell me, my friends, do any of you know where I might find Archduke Malger dae ross Sutt?” ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>