[Vfw-times] MK Winter Assault part 54

[COkane8116 at aol.com]

~0~

Hunting


    Brennar stopped and carefully peeked his head around the corner, staring 
into the gloom beyond. It was still a few hours before dawn -- partly due to 
the mountains that hid the sun's rising from the Valley, and partly due to 
the recent winter solstice -- but his feline eyes could see just fine in the 
dim lighting, especially in his full tomcat form. The hallway looked clear, 
so he padded down it with the perfect silence that cats seemed to specialize 
in. He could hear breathing somewhere up ahead, so he decided that he must be 
headed in the right direction.
    He found the source of the breathing a minute or so later: an enemy 
guard, fallen asleep at his post. Brennar would have chuckled, if he had been 
in his normal form and it had been safe to do so. As it was, he slipped 
quietly by, and the guard was never the wiser.
    From that point on, it was easy to see that he was in enemy territory. 
Soldiers and lutins were sprawled here and there, in rooms and sometimes even 
in the hallways, often snoring loudly. There were guards on duty, of course, 
but they never saw Brennar in the darkness -- and Jessica had cast a spell on 
him to hide his scent from any of the lutins. So he continued on, slinking 
through the shadows, unseen, unheard, and unsmelt, looking for the people 
that Mistress Raven called Shadow Bringers.
    A few turns later, Brennar found himself in the main hall that led from 
the southern gate to the Duke's throne room. He felt a tinge of sadness as he 
walked through it; the banners and tapestries were all torn apart, the 
expensive paintings covered with blood, the carpet all ripped and torn. It 
wasn't enough, Brennar thought, for Nasoj's army to break into the Keep and 
try to kill all of its people. They had to tear the place apart, destroy 
everything that was nice and good and beautiful, as if they thought that 
getting rid of the beauty would make their own ugliness go away. What 
horrible, miserable people they must be!
    The main entrance hall was empty -- with as far as the invaders had 
gotten into the Keep, there wasn't much reason for anyone to be here anymore. 
With the town outside -- or what was left of it -- under their control, the 
Enemy had their flanks well-guarded already. Still, Brennar decided to check 
the guard house, just in case.
    He knew something was wrong as soon as he came near the doorway. The room 
should have been dark, but there was a soft green glow that spilled out onto 
the floor outside. Crouching low, the tomcat crept up to the edge of the room 
and poked his head inside.
    The sight was like nothing Brennar had ever encountered. Evil-looking 
writing covered the walls of the room, glowing with a sickly green light. 
Blood covered the floor, and from the looks of it, it had been there a long 
time. The body of a horse lay dead in the corner of the room, its throat 
sliced open, but strangely there was no sign of scavengers -- as if not even 
the rats could stand the evil that filled that place. Something inside him 
kept whispering at Brennar to run, to leave this place, to go as far away as 
he could. He knew that this was important, though, and so he forced himself 
to go forward into the room.
    In the center of the guard house was a long, low table, just tall enough 
that Brennar couldn't make out what was on top of it. Around the table, 
collected in little pools here and there, was more of the glowing green 
liquid that covered the walls; in a couple of places it dripped down the 
sides of the table, leaving long green streaks behind.
    Looking up at the window, Brennar saw a sill that was low enough for him 
to reach -- he wanted to see what was on the table, but he was afraid to 
actually jump up onto the table itself. Crouching, he measured the distance 
to the top, then took a running start and leapt up onto the sill with ease. 
Tail flicking, he turned around--
    And let out a startled cry. On top of the table was a girl -- or what was 
left of her. There was a sinister-looking dagger buried in her chest, and all 
around the wound was that horrible green liquid, oozing out of her, running 
down her body and onto the table, where it then dripped down to the floor. 
The girl looked barely twelve years old.
    If he had been able to, Brennar would have cried. There was some kind of 
black magic at work here, some foul, evil spell that the Enemy had killed 
this girl in order to be able to cast. Brennar remembered that Mistress Raven 
had told them about the Shadow Bringers' spell that was hurting Kyia, and 
that it had been cast at the gates of the Keep. This must have been the place 
where they did it, he thought.
    Leaping down from the window sill, Brennar moved quickly and quietly out 
of the horrible room, heading back down the main hall toward friendly 
territory. He hadn't found the Shadow Bringers, but he had found where they 
cast the spell. Maybe that would be helpful.  Maybe that would tell Mistress 
Raven and Master Rickkter and the others how they could stop these evil 
people once and for all.

********


When Charles awoke the next morning, he felt as if he'd been sleeping for 
several years.  Where he had fallen into his blankets upon the pile of hay 
sore and bruised, he rose from them feeling rejuvenated, and without any sign 
of the wear the previous two days had lent him.  Opening his eyes, he stared 
down at the portion of his tail that Wessex's spell had scalded, only to find 
that the skin was well, and that the pink tint had faded.  Apart from his 
memories, there was nothing left to remind him of that battle.

Turning his eyes about the shallow chamber, he saw that Zagrosek and Jerome 
were both still huddled tightly in their blankets, black Sondeckis robes 
beneath their heads as they rested.  The hay was fresh, and was the only 
thing between them and the rock of the cave floor.  The accommodations in 
Lars' brewery were hardly desirable, but they would have to do until it was 
safe to venture out in the open once more.  Staring at the thick lines of 
granite and other more colourful veins that he did not recognize, he realized 
that he was secretly glad Garigan had insisted upon coming here.  It was as 
if a part of the rat had been left behind in the Glen when Misha and he had 
returned to Metamor last April.

There was not much light to see by in the caves of course.  A torch hung in a 
sconce outside the chamber entranceway - he refused to acknowledge the open 
passage as a door - but its flickering illumination was enough for his rodent 
eyes to notice most details.  Yet his ears and his nose had become just as 
important to him as his sight in the past six years, and with them he knew 
that they were alone, and that no Glenner was moving about nearby.

Of course, as he shook the sleep from his head, Charles was given to wonder 
just what time it was.  It felt like morning, and as he had lived the last 
six years of his life in a room with no window, and until recently no clock, 
he trusted his instincts.  It was surely before dawn though, but as it was 
only a few days past the Solstice, that could mean it was as late as nine 
o'clock, though he knew it to be far earlier.  A moment later, as he heard 
Jerome shifting to his side, he knew that he was right.  

Throwing back the blankets, Charles stretched, and slipped on his garments, 
pulling the Sondeckis robe tightly about his small frame.  Zagrosek yawned 
behind him, even while Jerome began to wipe the sleep from his eyes.  They 
were Sondeckis, and their training still forced them to wake at the same 
time.  Matthias smiled at that, imagining that Garigan was probably rising 
from his bed of hay and straw, surrounded by all his old friends, many of 
whom doubtless would have found his early rising contemptible.  At the 
thought of their groaning, the rat nearly laughed, but he kept his peace, and 
did not disturb the rough walls beneath Lars' brewery.

"Good morning," he whispered instead to his fellows, even as he began to fold 
the blankets Lady Avery had procured for them. "I see we still get up at the 
same time."

Zagrosek let out a throaty chuckle, but softly. "And you are the first up, 
not surprising either."

Matthias smiled and then stood up, stretching again. "When do you suppose it 
is?"

Zagrosek shrugged, and stretched, his joints popping one by one as he did so. 
"I'm not sure, though it couldn't be late enough for my liking, I can assure 
you.  For once, I wish my body would let me sleep past the sun.  Just once 
would be nice."

The rat grinned then, his whiskers set to twitching furiously on his muzzle. 
"Oh, then you should be here for the Summer Solstice.  Dawn comes very early 
then, much earlier than it ever did back at Sondeshara."

Jerome rubbed the back of his head with one hand as he stared vacantly at the 
walls, tracing down the lines of granite. "By now, Ladero would have been 
praying."


Charles nodded, a sullen moue stilling his whiskers. "Yes, he would have 
been.  I wish he were here.  We could use his devotion now."

"But he isn't," Zagrosek murmured, his own face morose, and his voice 
gravely. "Even so, we are four, with young Garigan at least."

The slim-shouldered Sondeckis rose and gazed back at them, "Speaking of 
Garigan, there is one thing I have been thinking about ever since our fight 
with the Shrieker."

"Yes," Jerome muttered, stepping across the rom to the open passageway.  He 
glanced out both sides and then turned back to the rat and the other man. 
"We're alone, so we can safely discuss it."

Charles pointed to his nose and his ears with one paw. "I could have told you 
that. These do work much better than they use to, you know."

Jerome blinked, and then grinned slightly. "I had forgotten how much better 
your senses are like that.  Too bad we all can't be rats, eh?"

Matthias felt a bit of pride at the implication that being a rat was 
something to be hoped and yearned for.  After so many years living with his 
fur and his tail and everything else, it felt as if he always had been a rat, 
and he had no desire to change back anymore.  With a wistful smile, he 
considered the loveliest part about being a rat, that of being with his Lady 
Kimberly, cuddled close, not saying anything, but just being together.  And 
then he remembered that she was bak at Metamor, hopefully safe in the Chapel, 
and his smile vanished.  What if the Chapel had been overrun?  Those filthy 
Lutins could be raping her violently, before they killed her in any hundreds 
of horrible ways.  The thought of those abominable creatures desecrating her 
holy flesh made his own quiver with sudden rage.  The Sondeck nourished that 
rage, turning his heart into a cauldron of boiling oil ready to spill forth 
and flay the skin off the next Lutin he should see.

"Charles?" Zagrosek asked, waving his hand in front of the rat's face. "Are 
you even listening?"

Matthias turned at the sight of his friend, the unquenched desire still 
smouldering inside his chest.  With terrible reluctance, he sought to find 
his Calm, assuring himself that Kimberly was safe, and that they would be 
together again after this was over.  He banished all thoughts of Lutins even 
coming near her, seeking only to think about them by that espaliered tree, 
snuggled close, bodies touching in a most pleasant fashion.

"I'm sorry, my mind started to wander," Charles said, drawing the blanket 
close to him and around his waist, to hide the visible signs of his emotional 
wavering.

"We noticed," Zagrosek said, though his voice was dry. "We asked you what 
sort of techniques you've been teaching Garigan."

"Only the standard methods to calm his mind and heart, and to reach a balance 
with his Sondeck.  Why?"

Jerome and Zagrosek glanced at each other for a moment before the larger man 
said, his voice cautious, "Do you remember what Garigan did to the Shrieker 
when it charged at him?"

"Yes, he-" Charles stopped speaking, his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence.  
He did indeed recall the scene, with that black mass hurtling towards his 
student, and the ferret reaching out with his arms, as if to draw it towards 
him.  Instead, the abomination was sent sprawling backwards as the Sondeck's 
intent was turned backwards upon it.  He'd almost forgotten it in the nearly 
two days since then.  So much had happened that he'd not given it much 
thought.  Alone in the morning with lifelong friends, the implications of 
that moment were becoming rather clear.

'That technique is not taught until a Sondecki attains the blue," Jerome 
added. "How did he learn it?"

"I don't know," Charles said, his voice filled with the frightened curiosity 
that the rest of them shared. "He might have picked it up watching me, but 
that is all I can think of."

Zagrosek let out a throaty chuckle. "I remember trying to do the same sorts 
of things that I saw the higher Sondeckis doing when I was a yellow.  I 
couldn't even push sand, let alone a creature of the Underworld.  Do you 
realize what this means?"

Charles sat staring blankly at the floor, and the blanket draped before him 
as he sat on the hay.  Jerome finished the thought that was going through all 
of their minds, his voice level, but certain, "He is one of the most powerful 
Sondeckis ever to tread the face of this world."

The three said nothing for sometime as they sat in the vague light, the 
flickering torch casting the shadows this way and that as it shone outside 
the small room.  Charles had known that Garigan possessed a very strong 
Sondeck, as it had taken him very little time at all to master the techniques 
of the yellow.  He'd been able to find his Calm within weeks of searching, a 
feat that had taken Charles and his friends several months to duplicate.  And 
he'd risen to the green after barely seven months of training.  Charles had 
chalked that up to Garigan's age, but as he considered it, he knew that had 
been a self-deception, for even the Sondeckis he had known at Sondeshara that 
had started late, still spent two or three years wearing the yellow robes of 
a novice.

"How old is he?" Zagrosek asked, drawing his thumb down his chin 
speculatively.

Mathias's voice was hollow when he answered. "He just turned seventeen two 
months ago."

"Had he been born in the Southlands and started his training at the same age 
we had, by now he would undoubtedly be a purple."

"If not a black," Jerome added.  

"A black?" The thought made the rat shudder.  He'd never even heard of a 
Sondeckis ascending to the penultimate rank in less than fifteen years.  It 
had taken sixteen years for Charles to o so, and he and his friends had been 
among the most talented at Sondeshara.  It was thought that one day, one of 
the three of them, or Ladero, would have become the new white.  But the 
thought that the ferret had more raw power within him than the three of them 
combined was most unsettling.

"I've read more of the history of our clan than either of you two have," 
Jerome pointed out, crossing his arms and pacing a moment. "There have been 
figures in the past that have possessed the Sondeck to the same degree as I 
believe Garigan does.  Every one of them ascended to the white within ten to 
fifteen years.  Every last one of them.  Our greatest and worst times have 
been when our clan has been ruled by ones such as they, and your Garigan."

Suddenly, a stray thought came back to the rat, and he exclaimed, "That can't 
be what he means!"

"What who means?" Zagrosek asked, even while Jerome continued to pace, 
scouring his own thoughts, surely on the annals of the Sondeckis history.

"Remember that kangaroo, Habakkuk, I told you about?"

"Yes, I remember.  The one who told you to give the Sondeshike back, the one 
who is a Felikaush."

"Well, I've heard that he's introduced a new character in his story.  This 
one a white weasel." 

Both Jerome and Zagrosek looked to each other, then back at Charles, their 
eyes saying all that was required.  Licking is lips, the black-haired 
Sondeckis finally gave voice to what they all knew, "So, how long before he 
becomes the next white?"

"And how?" Jerome muttered. "He's a ferret.  The Council of blacks is not 
likely to accept an animal as their leader.  No offence."  

Charles shrugged. "I'm used to it, and I agree.  I don't see how they would 
tolerate having an animal that parades about like a man as their leader.  I 
cannot imagine anything but dissension being formed in their ranks if he does 
fulfil this pseudo-prophecy.  I'm going to have to find Habakkuk's story when 
all this is over to see just exactly what he's written."     

Suddenly though, even as the words finished leaving his mouth, he heard the 
sound of footsteps echoing faintly off the cavern walls.  His nose rose into 
the air, drawing in the various scents that mingled in the dry caves, seeking 
to identify the trespasser.  Both Jerome and Zagrosek looked at him oddly for 
a moment, then their ears heard the clinking of claws against stone, and they 
turned to face the open passage, no longer speaking of matters only for the 
Sondeckis.  Whatever thoughts they still had would have to wait for another 
opportunity.


As the footsteps grew closer, Charles tried to turn his mind away from things 
that might be, and away from that kangaroo.  He wished Habakkuk would stay 
out of his life, and not keep trying to interfere.  Yet with each passing 
moment, the rat knew that he would have to entrust himself to the Felikaush's 
guidance eventually, and the thought angered him, though not to the same 
extent that the Lutin's harming Kimberly had.  He still wished to see 
Habakkuk pay for breaking his arm, but so far, he'd not thought up a suitable 
bit of revenge he could exact, at least not without being caught.  And he'd 
had a lot of time to think while scrubbing all the armour in the Long House 
the previous month.

When their visitor finally arrived a few moments later, they saw Angus's 
angular head with the familiar diamond-shaped white blotch of fur amidst the 
black on his forehead peer around the corner. "Ah, you are awake.  Good." He 
stepped full into the room, a thick jerkin pulled tightly about his chest, 
while his leggings threatened to engulf his paws. "The scouts returned a few 
hours ago, and we've begun planning our counter strike.  I thought you might 
like to participate.  And get a little breakfast in you besides."

"Certainly!" Charles said, leaping to his paws and dropping the blanket. 
"What time is it anyway?  We've been wondering about that." 

Angus shrugged, his massive shoulders wider than Jerome's. "I'd say nearly 
seven. The scouts are getting their sleep after a long hard night, while most 
everybody else is heading back to the common room.  Lord Avery is already 
there trying to decide what we should do.  It is a good thing that you 
stumbled across that supply wagon yesterday, we've been able to track it back 
to its source."

Jerome and Zagrosek grabbed their Sondeckis robes and began to pull them over 
their heads, while Charles continued to ask questions. "Where is it?"

"Up at the Dike.  It is almost a day's journey that far, so I doubt we'll be 
attacking there unless there is nothing else we can do." Angus then shook his 
head, eyes gazing past the wall at something distant. "You are not going to 
believe who is overseeing the supply lines, at least if our information is 
correct, which I am certain it is."

Charles reached down and snatched the black cloak from the hay and began to 
shimmy into it. "Who?"


"Our old friend Baron Calephas. At the very least he was seen at the Lutin 
camp by the Dike.  I'm surprised he's still alive even after all the failures 
he's overseen for Nasoj."

The rat shrugged, not too terribly surprised to hear this bit of news. "He's 
overseen quite a few successful ventures as well.  If nothing else, he 
maintains order in Nasoj's holdings west of the Dragon mountains better than 
any of his other minions probably could."

"Who's Baron Calephas?" Jerome asked finally, staring at the two animals.

"One of Nasoj's lieutenants who has some very sick tastes," Angus spat, and 
then waved them on out the passage.  Jerome's brow furrowed slightly, but he 
said nothing.  They followed the badger up the slanting corridor a short 
distance, until it met the intersection with the main passage into the 
mount's heart.  A long staircase had been chiselled into the floor, and it 
twisted this way and that up the natural corridor, with only the torches 
spaced every few metres to guide them.  

The light of course was something that the rat relied on to steady himself as 
they headed back towards Lars' brewery and the surface.  It would be 
comforting to be out from underneath the tonnes of rock that were surely 
overhead.  The only thing that Charles could think about as he moved along 
that passage was the weight of all that stone being placed atop his 
shoulders, crushing him flat.  Shuddering, he pushed that image from his 
mind, and focussed instead on the badger's back.

Soon though, the sound of other voices rang down the corridor, and the rat 
felt safe again. Stepping out into the main room of the brewery again was 
comforting, as so many familiar faces were clustered about the tables, 
spooning the culinary efforts of Mrs. Levins into their muzzles.  There were 
eggs, and some lovely stew cooking, Charles's nose told him, and he found 
himself drawn towards it, his stomach churning in anxious delight.

However, his eyes caught sight of the grey squirrel Lord Avery sitting at a 
table, with a piece of parchment spread before him.  Garigan was there as 
well, pointing to it and saying a few words that they could not hear to the 
lord of the Glen.  Angus led them to that large oak table, the two's eyes 
rising to meet them as they approached.

"Ah, good to see that you are awake at last.  Garigan and I have been 
discussing some ideas while you slept." Lord Avery pointed to the chairs 
about the table, and the four of them sat, gazing at the unfurled map before 
them.  The parchment was yellowing at the edges, curling up from lack of 
proper care, but otherwise, it appeared to be in reasonably good shape.  

"Can we get something to eat first?" Charles asked, even as he leaned 
forward, his nose drawn by that irresistible smell.

"Of course.  Christopher!  Darien!" Lord Avery called out, and suddenly, the 
two young squirrels who had been hiding behind the counter bounded out across 
the floor and stood by their father's side, their faces eager.

   End part 54
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://lists.integral.org/archives/vfw-times/attachments/20011115/6ae2727e/attachment.html