<html> <body> Metamor Keep: First Day on Patrol by Charles Matthias 2/3 An old granite wall surrounded most of the central town of Lorland and its castle. The castle was a mishmash of styles and turrets many of them decorative in nature which at one time might have been pleasing to view from certain angles but which looked lopsided and garish now. Some basic defensive capabilities like arrow slits and choke points had been neglected if not obscured by every new addition. Even Elvmere felt a wince in his gut as they approached. Scaffolding climbed one of the outer towers and he could see workers removing one of the excess turrets. Some of the stone was being delivered to the outer wall to repair sections which the years had not treated kindly, while the rest was being used to build new homes or rebuild others. Apart from the workers the town was full of people going every direction, shouting of vegetables for sale, displaying tanned hides, advertising newly fashioned buckles for plowhorses and oxen, and bartering for grain and fruits of all kinds. Elvmere's nose turned him toward a merchant hawking deep discounts on the last of Autumn's salted meats, but Dallar's pace and the tight formation of the soldiers kept him walking. When they reached the inner bailey wall of the castle, Dallar stopped and turned toward the red-feathered hawk following close behind. “Weyden, while Elvmere and I report in, I want you to lead the patrol toward the city's western gate. We'll rejoin you there.” The hawk bobbed his head before lifting one wing and calling for the others to follow him. Tamsin flashed the raccoon a smile as he followed the rest of the patrol around the right side of the castle. Elvmere wanted to watch them, but Dallar grunted, the sound of cloven hooves on stone rattling his attention free. As they stepped toward the large gatehouse with raised portcullis at either end, Elvmere adjusted his buckler and sword, tugging the straps until they were tight against his chest and back. He flexed his toes against the cool stone, ripping up a blade of grass growing between the cracks. He chuffed and said, “Sir, can I have a moment to get the boots on?” Dallar stopped and turned. “Why now?” Elvmere slipped his pack down to his knees and unwound the strap. His boots were nestled on top. “Well, you're right about it. I could hurt myself in battle or even just walking in the woods. Best to have the boots on. Besides, I wouldn't want the barracks commander to think your men are unprepared.” Dallar said nothing in response, and Elvmere was too focused on slipping his foot-like paws into the boots to see if he smiled or not. The leather boots felt a little tight around his toes and the back of his heel, but they were the best to be found in the armory. Elvmere took a few steps to make sure he had them on right, then latched his pack and slung it over his shoulder again. He tightened those straps too before following Dallar through the gatehouse. Inside the inner bailey was the castle proper flanked by stables and barracks. A central courtyard before the castle housed a beautiful garden of flowers and fruit trees framing a crystal blue pond and several smaller ponds all connected at different levels so the delicate sound of trickling water could always be heard. Elvmere twitched his nose and whiskers in admiration and at the sight of colorful fish swimming within. His stomach growled. Dallar led them toward the barracks, a squat structure abutting the bailey walls near the gatehouse with wide doors facing the courtyard. Soldiers of Lorland stood guard at both sides of the gatehouse, along the bailey walls, and at the doors of the barracks. They nodded to the Metamor patrol as they passed but otherwise said nothing. All of them were large men or carnivores; a legacy of the late Lord Loriod perhaps? Inside, the barracks reeked of oil, metal, sweat, and animal musk. Elvmere wrinkled his snout at the intensity and even sneezed. Both he and Dallar's ears stood on end at the abundance of different predators who walked this way before them. The most prevalent was the earthen mustiness of a bear, though the familiar burning of a skunk was a close second. Their eyes found the bear seconds after their noses. Black of fur with a lighter brown snout, he hunched behind an old oak desk too small for him on the left wall of the entrance hall reviewing notes. His snout lifted so they could see his dark nose taking in their scents above the curl of parchment. One meaty paw with claws as long as his fingers pressed tight upon a feather quill dipped into an inkwell before lifting it out and scribbling notes without even looking upon a second sheet. Heavy doors occupied three walls, all of them closed. An old map of Lorland still bearing Lord Alvarez Loriod's insignia was hung from the right wall between weapon stands with half-a-dozen swords and spears. A wolf and a burly man were crouched on the hay-strewn wooden floor near the door in the rear tossing dice. The wolf gnawed upon a bone like any dog might. Their faces lifted from the dice to note the ram and raccoon, before turning back to their game. Dallar and Elvmere walked the few steps to the table. The bear's eyes followed them, but his posture did not change. His voice was gruff but also, Elvmere judged, bored. “Metamor soldier, identify yourself and your mission in Lorland.” “Captain Dallar of the Metamor Scouts. This is Elvmere, reservist. We're going to be patrolling the western reaches of Lorland for the next three days. Is there any news to report or any dangers we should watch for?” The bear looked down at his desk and rifled through the stack of parchment, before selecting one and scrutinizing it where Elvmere couldn't see. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the wolf and man cast glances at them between rolls. He could hear the grinding of the wolf's fangs against the bone and smell the already eaten cooked meat lingering in the air. The bear tapped one foot on the floor, claws ticking on the wood. “Everything seems in order then, Captain,” the bear grunted after several seconds. He set the parchment down and scribbled something Elvmere couldn't read. “The fields to the west have been quiet these last few weeks. We think there might be some poachers in the woods between us and Ellingham, so keep your eyes open for them. If you catch them bring them here and we'll see they are punished.” Dallar's eyes widened. “What makes you think there are poachers?” The bear continued scribbling, stopping only to move the quill to a new line or to dip it in ink. “We usually have to chase the deer off the western farms most days this time of year. With the merchants for the Solstice leaving, I should be able to send soldiers in to flush them out in a week. Catch them first and your men will share in the bounty.” “Bounty, eh?” Dallar's lips stretched in amusement. “How much?” The bear glanced from ram to raccoon, then for the first time looked down at what he was writing. “Ten gold for your patrol. Split it how you like.” Dallar offered a small nod. “Fair. We shall keep alert for any signs of poachers and will report or hand over anything or anyone we find before we leave Lorland.” The bear lifted his eyes and noted the way Elvmere held the pommel of his sword. “Did you run into any trouble in the north?” Dallar laughed, “The roads were as clear as the sky! I'm more worried my reservists will be too bored; going to have to start drilling them more.” “You should find another patrol out there and stage some games. It's what we do during the Summer.” “I'm considering it. Is there anything else we should know about the western wood?” “Well, if you're crossing the river, you may want to keep to the bridges. The water is still high and fast from the thaw.” “Thank you, Sergeant. If there is nothing else, we shall be on our way.” The bear shook his head briefly and grunted, “Nothing. May Dokorath guide your swords.” Elvmere flicked his tail in sudden delight. “May Dokorath guide your sword too, Sergeant.” The bear offered them nothing more, making it clear he had work to attend to and the Metamor scouts had best be on their way. Dallar did not linger, and Elvmere was quick to follow. They left both barracks and inner bailey without further word and soon were walking down the road around the castle walls toward the west. Elvmere could faintly smell Tamsin. And more food for sale. His stomach growled. ---------- They rejoined Tamsin and the rest at the western gate which had much the same appearance as the northern gate. Beyond lay more clustered homes while the road took on a definite downward slant. It cut a weaving path through fields for wheat and pastures for cattle and sheep as it eased down to the river. At one such gentle curve they found a wide shelf of granite smoothed down from the passage of feet, paws, and hooves overlooking a fallow grassland and in the distance the sparkling blue shimmer of the river. Here they stopped for a modest meal of dried meat and fruit washed down with the lukewarm water they carried. Distant farmers and shepherds paused in their tasks to peer at them for a few moments before resuming their daily work. When they had finished, Weyden gestured with a wing toward Jessica his wife and the woodpecker Myrwyn. “Captain, should we fly on ahead to the woods and begin looking for signs of these poachers?” Dallar shook his head. “Nay. There will be time later. For now I want to continue training our reservists. This area looks large enough. Let's have several bouts at once and see what we see. Weyden, you take Myrwyn and see how well he can handle a weapon. For the rest, Tamsin against Wyaert, and Elvmere against Sedric. Use the flat of your blades. Larssen, Van, Maud make sure nobody kills each other. Jessica, I trust you'll be able to mend any wounds?” The black hawk tilted back her head and swallowed down the last of her meat before spreading her wings and jumping closer. “Of course I'll do my best.” Tamsin flashed Elvmere a grin before turning toward the tokay who fumbled to draw his sword. The raccoon put one hand on the Dokorath medallion and murmured a quick prayer before following Dallar's instructions. He moved to the side of the rocky promontory furthest from the road and nodded toward the young brown-furred ram who was testing his stance on the uneven ground. “Okay, Elvmere, you ready?” Sedric asked with an excited bleat in his voice. The young man who had still been human when Elvmere became a Lothanasi acolyte was tensing his legs to find his balance. The lobes of his cloven hooves seemed to grip at the rocks before loosening with each step. Elvmere drew his blade, the weight familiar if not comforting in his paw. “I am.” He noted the cursed youth Van stand akimbo watching them with a sardonic grin. “Can we?” The boy nodded. “Just here to give pointers when you're done; and to see if Sedric listened this morning.” “I did! I did! I'll show you!” The ram bleated and gripped his blade in both hands. Elvmere saw he had two-fingered hands like the captain, but then drew his eyes back up to the ram's shoulders like Tamsin and DeMule had taught him. “Then have at it! Flat of blade only; don't want to kill each other. Yet.” Van almost laughed the last word. Sedric stepped forward and swung at the raccoon from both sides. Elvmere took a step back, raising his blade to parry. He put force behind the second blow, rocking the ram backward and off-balance. His heart pounded and a heat filled him as he lunged forward, swinging the flat of his blade back in. Sedric stumbled back another pace, swinging his sword to knock Elvmere's away. The tip brushed across the ram's tunic but no more. Elvmere felt the heat in him grow like a hunger pent up. His eyes fixed on the ram in a way he knew Tamsin had wanted him to learn. He saw the way Sedric shifted his shoulders and chest, saw the blade moving from one side to the other. He knew before he saw it the ram was getting his hooves beneath him again and the blade would come at him from the right before Elvmere, whose own sword had swung too far to the right, could ever hope to parry. He pushed down with his feet and charged to his left around the ram's right side, sliding their blades with a metallic hiss. Sedric stepped backward in surprise and was able to bring his sword up before the raccoon could take advantage of it. He felt the flat smack him square in the back, sending him further sprawling across the ground. Rock and grass thrust against his snout and chest, and he gasped for breath as he tried to roll over and get back to his feet. Van grinned and nodded toward the ram. “Good one, Sedric. Looks like you did remember some of it. Elvmere, nice try with the dodge. Work on your feints. Get up and try again!” Elvmere brushed a bit of grass and dirt off his snout, rolled the sword around in his other hand, and chuffed. “Good move, Sedric. I'm ready.” The ram, heady with delight at landing a blow, rushed in moving his sword back and forth even faster this time. Elvmere focused on parrying each blow. His arms rung with each clang and his chest tensed. He did his best to remember all of what Tamsin and DeMule showed him, even while he tried to ignore the bruise on his back. His tail lashed in frustration as the ram pressed him back step by step. And then he swung left when he should have swung right and received a blow on the shoulder as a reward. Elvmere hissed between his teeth as he reeled away, paw gripping his throbbing right shoulder. His sword arm dangled and the blade almost slipped from his grip. Van clapped his hands once. “Good one, Sedric. Elvmere, can you still fight?” To his surprise, he felt indignant at the question. He tightened his grip, straightened, and drew his left fingers over the Dokorath medallion. Dokorath, I give you my blade. Help me! I will not stop until I land a blow no matter how much I am hurt. I offer this sacrifice to you! Elvmere wrapped both hands around the pommel of his blade and nodded. “I can and will!” He did not wait for Sedric this time, lunging forward, hissing between his fangs, hackles raised and fur spiked down his neck and back. He spat as he swung, back and shoulder stinging, chest ringing with fire. His muscles burned with memory from all of his training, and with the reverberations from each blow. Sedric parried and backed off, stunned by the raccoon's ferocity. He beat up and down, side to side, eyes never leaving the ram's shoulders or sword, forcing him backward to where the ground shifted suddenly. But them ram's eyes saw more than Elvmere expected and he turned aside before tripping there, bringing his blade up from below, catching the raccoon in the stomach. Sedric, satisfied with his third strike, backed up and relaxed. Elvmere did not. He grunted from the pain but allowed himself no more pause before feinting his blade to the left and swinging it back from the right. Sedric did trip this time, falling fast enough to avoid the blade. The ram clattered his hooves as he rolled, sword against himself, until he could get back up. The raccoon hissed, frustrated at how this young ram could keep away from him so well. Sedric got back on his hooves and rushed a few steps away before turning to face him again. Elvmere, stung from the pain of his bruises, charged after him. And then his boots slipped on some loose stones; stone his bare paws and claws would never have slipped on. He fell toward his right, letting go of the sword with his right hand to steady himself. A lance of pain shot down his shoulder and into his fingers as he pushed himself up. Sedric battered at his sword three times before pushing it down enough to land another blow against the raccoon's left arm. He hissed in pain from the blow, before kicking at the ram's legs. One boot landed and Sedric bounced back several steps, long enough for the raccoon to get back on his feet. Dokorath, please! Both arms throbbed as he stood and readied his blade. Sedric had been lucky with his last blow, but the other three were well-earned. The ram may be Elvmere's junior by about six years in apparent age, but Sedric had likely never had inhibitions about pretend fights with his boyhood friends. Elvmere felt a sudden shame at his own reluctance and offered one more prayer from his heart. Dokorath, forgive me for hating battle. I will bear arms without hesitation however I am asked and I will practice and learn. While Van shouted encouragement to both ram and raccoon, Sedric eased forward, smiling at the edge of his snout toward the raccoon. He weaved his sword back and forth, simple practice moves Elvmere had also trained with. Elvmere's eyes followed the tip of the blade as it wove a pattern in the air. He recalled the more intricate and beautiful way in which his master Malger had danced with his blades, each as much a performance as one of his songs. The tassels on his blades would draw the eye and distract allowing the marten to draw blood and death with ease and grace. Several times the raccoon had watched his master practice his deadly dance. Years of training in both dance and the blades, and a life lived ever on the edge of ruin and death, had perfected Malger's art. Elvmere had neither. And yet, as he raised his blade, he felt his muscles remember his master's dance, the curling arc of each tang a song as much as a battle. To his surprise his blade careened upward in those same arcs as he deftly spun on the tips of his boots. Van whistled even as the ram took two steps back, bracing himself against the rock, sword before him, bright eyes uncertain. Elvmere let the dance step carry him forward, blade turning around his body, trusting in his muscles and the way some other force seemed to drive him. His chest burned and his heart thrilled. The pain lanced through his body but he let his muscles move as they willed. He offered each burst of agony to Dokorath. Sedric gathered his courage and stuck his sword into the dance to try and break it apart. Elvmere glided inward, let go long enough to wrap his hand about the ram's wrist and bent it backward. Sedric bleated and tried to yank himself backward, but Elvmere's blade, now swung by his left hand, came around behind him and the flat swept through the back of Sedric's knees. The ram toppled over, his sword clattering against the stone. Elvmere let the arc carry his blade up and then down so the point was at the ram's chest. He gasped between his fangs, the fire burning bright, every hackle lifted, every fur standing on end. His claws dug at the confines of his boots seeking ground to tear. He hissed in victory, and grinned from ear to ear. “Hah! I did it!” Thank you, Dokorath. Thank you! “Well done, Elvmere!” Van applauded. “Pretty risky, but you did it this time. We need to work on your basics still. You can let Sedric up now.” Elvmere blinked and lifted his sword away. He offered the ram a hand to help him up. The ram bleated and laughed, “Nice, Elvmere! I'm so glad you kept going. I hope I didn't hurt you too much there.” Elvmere sheathed his sword and rubbed down his arms and shoulders. “No worse than DeMule has been giving me these last few weeks. And you?” “Had the wind knocked out of me. We're going to do great on this patrol, aren't we?” “I hope so.” Van clapped his hands one more time. “All right, enough talk. Let's discuss what you did wrong and do some more practice on the basics.” Elvmere cast a glance at the rest of the patrol and saw the other bouts were finished. Wyaert was clutching his arm while Tamsin eased him over to Jessica, and Myrwyn was practicing moves with a spear alongside Weyden. Larssen reclined on the ground while Maud stood on a stone behind him currying his long neck and the mane of thick brown hair running down its length. Dallar watched all with his pipe between his lips. Elvmere smiled as he watched the others, hoping and knowing they would all be friends soon. He reached his hand to the Dokorath medallion, lifted it from his tunic and pressed it to his sore snout. He breathed deep of the metal, feeling the circle and arrow thrust up from it with his nose. For a moment the excitement of the battle returned to his muscles and he skipped forward, hungry for another bout. He tucked the medallion beneath his tunic one more time, letting his breath out between his fangs. Before Van and beside Sedric he stepped. At the boy's instruction he drew out his sword again, ready for practice. ---------- Elvmere was grateful for the hours of practice Mistress Celine had bidden him take in the last month by the time Captain Dallar called an end to the drills. Van had led Sedric and he through a dozen different practice moves at least thirty or forty times each. A month ago his muscles would have been stiff and his body in agony. Now he felt sore where he'd been struck, a little tired from all the exertion, but otherwise invigorated. His muscles were used to swinging a weapon now, and the practice moves came easily with only the occasional mistake Van was quick to note. Sedric gushed with questions about how he did and what Van thought of his moves during the combat. The boy who was really a man greeted them at first with aplomb, but as the stream continued made a curt gesture, hopped off the wall, and walked away. The young ram bleated and started to follow before Elvmere put a hand to his shoulder to stop him. “I think it's time to assemble. No more time for questions now, Sedric.” “But I'm just trying to do my best!” “So am I. Van knows it too, but you're not going to become a great soldier in a day. We've two weeks. There will be another time for questions.” The ram pulled away from Elvmere and shook his head, tone sour, “Always later. Everything's always later!” He did not wait for the raccoon to say anything else but kicked at the stones as he walked toward Dallar and the rest of the patrol. Elvmere chuffed under his breath, faintly smiled, and followed after. ---------- As everyone assembled, Elvmere managed to find Tamsin and stand at his side. “Tamsin, is Wyaert going to be okay?” The tapir blinked and lifted his snout. “Oh, aye, he'll be fine. He surprised me with a really bad move, ended up breaking his arm. Jessica's already mended the break; it'll be sore for a couple days more. How'd your fight go?” Elvmere shrugged. “I've a few new bruises as well, but Sedric has some too.” Tamsin grinned wider and patted him on the shoulder. “You're getting better every day, Elvmere. Maybe Captain Dallar will let us do a little of our own practice later.” “I'd like to, aye. Ah, he's waving to us.” Tamsin and Elvmere, along with the rest of the patrol, turned toward Dallar. The ram had his still smoking pipe cradled in one hand as he stood with the river and pastureland behind him. His hooves scrapped against the granite block exposed from beneath the otherwise grassy knoll. Weyden stood at his side while Larssen and Maud finished putting their supplies back into the saddlebags. Van and Jessica stood with the rest of the Metamorians on their annual patrol. Dallar lifted the pipe to his lips and sucked one last breath before turning it and dumping the burnt leaves out. “I want to commend each of you on doing your best. We will be practicing like this every day we are out on patrol. I will change who you are partnered with, but you will be practicing the basics and I expect each of you to be competent with your swords or spears. By the time our two weeks are done each of you will be strong enough and capable enough of joining Metamor's patrols full-time if you wish. But before we continue, I want to discuss what I was told at Lorland castle.” He nodded to the hawk at his side but kept his gaze on the rest of them. “You've all heard there are poachers in the western woods between Lorland and Ellingham. We have been asked to keep an eye open during our three days here. If we capture any poachers we can turn them into the Lorland constabulary and receive a reward of ten gold. Not each, just ten gold. If we do, there's eleven of us, so I'll give one to each of you. Catching poachers is one of the tasks of a Metamor patrol. We enforce the Duke's law here in the lands between city and village. But if we hope to catch these poachers we must be smart and observant. We must be able to hunt like they do. Now, my patrol has caught poachers during our time together; we found several patrolling the forests of Lake Barnhardt this past Spring. What I need to know now is what hunting experience any of you have had. Have you ever been out in these woods before? Have you ever killed your own game? Tamsin?” The tapir blinked in surprise at the question, but took only a moment to find his voice. “My family lives in Ellingham, Sir. I learned to hunt as a boy and have taken many pheasants and ducks. I have hunted a stag before. I have only hunted small game in the last five years.” Dallar nodded. “Good. As with combat I expect you to assist in helping teach the others. Now, Elvmere, what of you?” The raccoon shook his head. “I have fished many times, and I have had to move quietly through the woods, but I've never hunted before, Sir.” Dallar appeared surprised by the answer. “Not even when you journeyed south with the minstrel?” “Nay. Fished aplenty, but we hunted for our food in taverns and inns; our weapons were lute and song.” “Neither deer nor poachers will be felled by the slings and arrows of your ballads. But we might all enjoy your craft around the evening meal. Myrwyn, what about you?” The woodpecker flexed his wings and tilted his head to one side. The red crest of feathers atop his head seemed to lower as he cracked open his beak to speak. “I've lived my entire life in Keeptowne, Sir. This is the first time I've been beyond its walls. So I don't know anything about hunting or poachers.” “You will learn, young man, you will learn. Sedric?” Elvmere's enthusiastic combatant stood taller and bleated as he spoke, “My father is on the timber crews and so he'd take me out into the woods when I was young. I've done a little hunting.” Dallar narrowed his eyes. “What were you hunting, and did you catch and kill anything?” Sedric frowned and tore up the grass with one hoof. “Rabbits and pheasants and the like, Sir. And no, none of my arrows ever hit anything, but I did see some.” “And you, Wyaert, what of you?” The tokay had been stretching his mended arm but snapped up his head as soon as he heard his name. “Ah,” he croaked in a raspy voice, “I did a little hunting back before I joined the Stone Masons, Sir. Have not done any in several years. But I did catch some small game in my youth.” Dallar nodded and started to clean the bowl of his pipe with one finger. “The only real way to learn is to do. We will spent the next two days hunting in the woods to the west. We will not kill anything since we are not poachers ourselves. But to the south where game is more plentiful this time of year it is permitted we will hunt and kill for our own food, and each of you will do so. For now, as we continue our patrol, I will pair you up wish someone with more experience. You will listen to them and do whatever they ask; we will teach you and remind you how to track game, how to flush out pheasants and other small game, and how to see the signs of others hunting and poaching. “Now, we're almost to the river and we've a few more miles to walk this day to reach the woods. So let's keep moving. Myrwyn, you are with me. Weyden, arrange the rest as you think best.” Dallar did not wait another moment before slipping his pipe back into the pouch at his side and walking to the road. The woodpecker bobbed his head back and forth as he rushed to catch up. ---------- Elvmere had little trouble listening to Tamsin and following his friend's instructions as they continued their walk westward through the seemingly endless expanse of cultivated fields, fallow fields, and grazing lands for another hour. The land descended gently toward the river. The main road crossed over a wooden bridge built near the site of an old stone bridge long-since collapsed. They stopped at the bridge long enough to refill their waterskins before turning north. The only road was a footpath beaten through the long grasses a stone's throw from the river. Wagon wheels had forged divots in the track, with grasses peeking up in the middle. Tamsin and Elvmere walked side by side, the tapir's warm voice brushing the air from time to time, helping the raccoon see things in the grasses and along the river he would never have noticed. There was a place where the grasses had been pushed aside as a small animal had come down to get a drink. Over by those stones were bird tracks. And one of the fern fronds has been broken by a passing animal. And of course, as only possible in Metamor, Tamsin instructed Elvmere on using his nose. In between looking for the signs Tamsin had shown him, he drew deep breaths of the air and attempted to catalog each of the scents. He turned his head from side to side like Tamsin showed him. The scents changed as he did so, helping him sense the direction each of the birds and beasts were coming from. But more than learning about hunting, and both thanking and beseeching Artela in prayer, Elvmere felt at ease and happy as he walked with his friend. Tamsin was convivial and in many ways more natural here in the wilderness than he ever was at the Temple. While Dallar and the soldiers in the group gave him confidence they would not suffer ill during their two week patrol, Tamsin's familiar presence assured the raccoon he would earn Dallar's commendation by patrol's end. The road north followed the river but unlike the rest of Lorland, the first hour's journey took them through uncultivated land. The river was wide enough to support docks here and there and they saw fishermen plying their trade in the estuaries formed by natural walls of granite cutting across the water's path. The grasses swayed in the midday breeze, the air very warm on Elvmere's fur. Flowers blossomed where the grasses were short, while only the ferns and occasional bush prospered in the tall grass. Small pine trees dotted the fields, their fallen needles suffocating the earth beneath their branches. When Elvmere asked why this land was so different from the rest of Lorland, Tamsin could only shrug. “Looks like this part has been left fallow for a few years. Four or five is my guess. Perhaps nobody has come to farm it since Three Gates. With all the folks from Bradanes settling the valley,” Tamsin gave a nod toward the tokay walking in front of them next to Maud, “I'm sure in another year or two this place will be cleared out and crops will grow here again. Or sheep graze. Wonder if Dallar and Sedric get hungry just looking at all this grass.” Elvmere blinked at the suggestion before chuckling under his breath. He shook his head, tightened his buckler, and kept walking, looking, and smelling. ---------- After two hours of trekking through the wild grasses along the old wagon trail Dallar called for a short rest. They drank a little but ate no more than a bite from their bread. A group of otter keepers were down by the river bank sorting a haul of fish and the scent made Elvmere drool. He could not help but keep turning his head and wiping his snout. When they resumed walking, Elvmere's tongue and stomach still craving his beloved fish, he found himself next to the pack horses upon one of which perched their mage Jessica. The black hawk had assumed a form halfway between an animal and the half-human form every beastly Keeper could take. He'd seen the black hawk in the Temple from time to time and had heard her name spoken as one of the most promising and capable young magicians at Metamor. He remembered singing with the musicians at her and Weyden's marriage feast in the Spring. But until this day he'd never before spoken with her. “So, Mistress Jessica, what about hunting are you going to teach me?” The black hawk turned her piercing golden eyes on him, more intense set in a field of midnight black. Her hooked beak cracked as she peered down at him from her perch, and a croaking voice emerged from her throat. “Hunting? I don't think there's anything I can teach you. I can see almost everything from up high, but you cannot fly.” Elvmere spread his arms wide and shrugged. “No, I suppose not. Is there anything you can teach me?” Jessica tilted her head to one side. “You are an acolyte in the Temple. What are you learning there?” “The history of the Lothanasi and the gods, helping with the prayers and keeping the Temple clean and in order. I'm assigned to tend to the instruments and keep them in tune. For the last month I've been training for this patrol and have been serving as a Temple guard. I'm going to be working with Master Weiland to learn the Stories of Sakkan and Samekkh after we return from Patrol. Oh, and Priestess Merai promises me I'll begin training on magic with Christopher come the Autumn. I do anything and everything I am asked in service to the gods.” Jessica blinked once and shuffled her wings against her back as she rocked with the slow pace of the horse beneath her. “I heard you accompanied Murikeer and the Dreamwalker to Silvassa last year. Did Murikeer not teach you anything? He is a most remarkable mage. I wish he and I had more time to teach each other.” Elvmere shook his head. “I was... not ready to learn magic back then. Learning harp, lyre, and song was more than enough.” He remember all of the illusions and the incantations and the earnest goodness of the skunk mage and could not help but smile. Warmth filled his chest, even as the sun warmed his fur. He had pondered the coming of the fall and training with the bear. Never before in his life had he seriously considered the possibility he too might be able to craft spells and bend the flows of magical force filling their world. Vinsah would have rejected the idea outright as sinful, but Elvmere knew the Patildor rejected it out of misunderstanding and then not even all magic. How many southern mage clans had been given exceptions to the magic prohibition? He would need to use more than two hands to count them. Samekkh, if I am to use magic, give me the wisdom I need to use it properly. Help me not be afraid. Jessica continued to stare at him as only a bird could. “If you wish, I could try to teach you a little. I fear there is not much time to learn here on the trail, but maybe I can help you do something simple, or even see the flow of magic. Would you care to learn?” His heart tensed inside of him. For a moment Elvmere had no voice. He put one foot before the other, toes nestled inside his boots, claws digging at the soles beneath. He could see the feline Merai's assuring smile as she spoke of his training. How was it wisdom had been given to a girl so young, and he with all of his years still felt so paralyzed and so tied in knots? He hoped his philosophical speculations would provide him an avenue through his confusion, but so far he'd barely begun to establish even the principles on which he could hope to judge each conundrum. Question after question besieged him. What were the Lothanasi gods? Were Yahshua and Eli merely other examples like them of this class of being he sought to understand? Who was he supposed to worship in truth? Which faith was truly right? How would he ever know what was right and what was wrong again in morals, faith, action, and belief? Were the gods even something he could understand as a what? It seemed from the Lothanasi histories and legends he'd transcribed and read they must be so in some sense. But they were also beings with identity, purpose, and characters. They controlled and directed various aspects of reality according to who they were. Who was he, Elvmere a man and raccoon, to doubt them? Who were the Patildor to assert they were wrong?They were wrong about the gods. They were wrong about magic and the Canticles. Elvmere had to learn to defend himself and bear arms for the Temple if he was to give proper service to Dokorath. Dokorath was a god. Elvmere was not. If the gods had given him an affinity for magic, then did he not have a responsibility to learn those arts too? He sighed, heart still tense, but made himself nod toward the hawk. “Aye, I really should try, if you think we'll have time for it. Will Captain Dallar mind?” “Not at all. I've tried teaching my husband and the rest of the patrol, but none of them has so much as made a smoldering ember glow. But it does take time to learn. Few manage anything on their first lesson, but if you are ready I can begin.” Elvmere nodded. He had to try. He had to learn. “Aye. What do I need to do?” ---------- For two hours as they continued north along the river Elvmere did his best to focus his mind and follow the hawk's instructions. Weyden landed next to her twice, but she begged him off both times and he obediently returned to the skies. Myrwyn also came down for a rest now and again, which neither Jessica nor the horses seemed to mind, but after a few minutes the woodpecker would also flap his wings and leave hawk and raccoon to their training. Elvmere did his best to clear his mind of distractions but found himself offering prayers to various gods whenever his long-held inhibitions got the better of him. Other times he remembered the tightly held anguish of Murikeer as he sought to channel the flow of magic for their benefit. In the balance Elvmere's distractions and defunct compunctions were of little account. Since they were walking, Jessica had Elvmere put his hand on the horse's neck. He closed his eyes and trusted the beast would not lead him astray. The ground was mostly level this near the river and so Elvmere found it easy to relax into the pace. His ears turned and his nose breathed deep of the grass, the river and his companions. Other than the rise and fall of his boots they were sufficient for him to know where he was. The coarse-hair of the horse's hide beneath his hand, and the strong muscles beneath were a steady guide. The flow of magic was all around them, an invisible river that gently brushed from one thing to the next. Mage sight was the ability to see this ever-flowing river. It was not necessary for him to be able to master this skill in order to use magic, but if he could open himself enough to glimpse the pearly resplendence then it would not be long before he could craft the simple enchantments with but a thought. Still, as those two hours progressed, Elvmere found the only thing he sensed were the brief flashes of light when his eyes flickered open in response to hearing fish splash in the river, an unexpected scent coming to him, or his boots striking a stone or upthrust root. The world of sound and scent became as powerful to him in those two hours as they were when he explored as a normal-sized raccoon. The patrol before and behind him existed as a combination of many beastly scents mixed with oil and leather, and the unique sounds of each breathing, walking, and talking. They filled his mind, laid out in a line stretching along the level path, the river tumbling along beside, while on either side whispers of scent and sound, bird calls, brushing leaves, rustling grass, the scamper of field mice, rabbits, and the soft paws of a fox at hunt, brought to his mind an ever shifting tapestry of light without sight. And he also grew more and more comfortable listening and smelling and touching his way along. Jessica's occasional words of encouragement and suggestions for seeing the flow of magic faded from his awareness as meaning, but became merely another element of the tapestry shaping the world around him. Finally, the weight of the gear shifted on his body and he felt the horse's muscles sliding upward against his paw. Everything began to stretch up and away from him, his head tilted toward the invisible sky. Faint wisps, nimbus of shadow, and sweet of scent, seemed to percolate through his tapestry, dancing from breath to breath, even through his own. And then a loud clattering startled him and he chittered in surprise, eyes opening to dash out to one side beneath the horse's hooves, only to be yanked backward by something wrapped around his chest. A large black hawk dropped down beside him in the brilliant afternoon radiance like the heavy shadow of night. Elvmere glanced at what held him and the tapestry ripped asunder. He was caught by his own clothing and gear after shrinking into his animal form without realizing it. Elvmere willed himself to grow toward human, trying to wriggle his legs and tail back into his clothing and only tangling himself more. “Elvmere? What happened to you?” Jessica asked as she dug her talons into the ground, wings outstretched to surround him. He could hear two pairs of boots rushing up from behind to reach them. A moment later Tamsin and Wyaert were there peering in over the lip of her wings. Elvmere, as human as he could make himself, worked his arms back through the sleeves of his tunic and armor, then fought with his breaches and leather greaves. “I don't know... I just... I just changed into my animal shape. I was so attuned to the sound and scent around me I just... changed.” Jessica lifted her wings higher to block tapir and tokay. “Has this ever happened to you before?” Elvmere chittered in irritation, the tapestry of sound and scent utterly wiped clean, as he managed to get both greaves back on. The boots were next. His sword hilt jabbed him in the side. “I have spent a lot of time exploring as a normal raccoon, but not out here in the wilderness. I've never wandered around with my eyes closed all afternoon either.” The hawk lowered her wings, allowing Tamsin and Wyaert to approach and help Elvmere get set aright before the rest of the patrol came running. With their aid the raccoon was on his feet and straightening his pack and buckler in seconds. “I am sorry, Elvmere, I didn't think this would happen.” Elvmere could hear the contrition in Jessica's voice, but other than the bite of embarrassment he directed at himself, he had no anger to assuage. Forgiveness came immediately. “How could you have known, Mistress? I didn't expect it either! All is forgiven.” Tamsin brushed down his tunic and gave Elvmere a bemused look while the tokay stepped back and lifted his head toward the sun to bask for a moment. “Just what were you doing anyway?” “Mistress Jessica was trying to teach me how to use, what was it... mage sight. Instead I think I started seeing the world as beasts do and well... changed.” Jessica stepped closer, brushing a bit of dirt from his shoulder with the tip of her wing. “Did you see anything? Did you see the rivers of magic flowing through you?” Elvmere blinked and narrowed his eyes, tongue running across the back of his fangs as he pondered. After a moment he chittered and shrugged. “I don't know. I experienced something. I'm not sure what.” “I've been studying magic incantations at Temple the last few months,” Tamsin noted, “and it took one month before I saw anything. Still can't get a witchlight to last for long. Keep at it, Elvmere. Imagine how thrilled the Lothanasa will be if you come back to Temple able to make them dance!” Elvmere chuffed and offered his friend a guarded smile. “Well, I would like to try again, but this time, not while we're walking.” Jessica bobbed her head and lowered her wings. “There will not be much time for it, but I will speak to Captain Dallar about it. We've two weeks together. I'm sure we will find a few more chances to try. The Temple could use more spellcasters and if you saw anything at all then you could have the gift.” Elvmere felt a hesitation touch his heart. “If it was magic.” “If it was magic,” Jessica agreed. “Now, get back to your places. Captain Dallar will reprimand you if he sees you elsewhere.” Tamsin and Wyaert fell back a few paces while Jessica shrank and flew to her perch on the horse. Elvmere gave the reins a quick tug and the animal resumed its easy pace. The raccoon kept his hand on the horse's neck, and let his eyes narrow some, listening and smelling to the world around him, hoping for some strands of the tapestry. A wordless prayer drifted up from his heart toward Artela, grateful and hopeful. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>