<HTML> 12/24 11:30PM Thalberg forced his eyes open as he clawed at the wall to rise to his feet.   The slash had forced him to his knees, and then his vision had gone dim as he lay there slumped against the stonework.  Turning his head to the right, h could see the four guards lying upon the ground, blood splattered over their flesh and across the carpet.  He couldn't tell if any of them were alive just from a glance.  Duke Thomas, and the mysterious knight of Yesulam who'd attacked them, were nowhere to be seen.  With a terrible gnawing fear he suspected that Thomas's head would soon be decorating some Lutin General's banner. Glancing at the four prone forms, he peered at the blood, and then passed them down the hallway.  His memory was acute, even if his mind had been wavering in and out of consciousness, but he knew that Thomas had been standing farther back away from the guards.  If he'd been killed, where was the blood to indicate where he'd fallen?  A sudden thought struck him and he breathed slightly easier as he dug his claw tips into the masonry.  Perhaps Thomas had been wanted alive as a present to be brought back to Nasoj?  If that was so, then perhaps he could still be rescued. Turning his head in the other direction, back towards the Follower Cathedral, he tried to move one foot forward, but found he had no strength left in his legs.  Collapsing, he fell to the floor with a pained hiss and a muffled whump, the thick folds of his ceremonial robes protecting him from the impact.  However, his back sent a dull crushing ache through his mind.  The wound was not terribly deep, or otherwise he would already be dead, but it was still agonising.  Reaching forward with one green-scaled hand, he gripped the stones and pulled himself close to the wall, and towards the bodies of the four guards. The woman was clearly dead, as half of her organs lay upon the goat's motionless form.  Reaching out his hand, Thalberg pressed his palm against the narrow face of the goat, and could feel warmth still within the flesh.   His grin crept up a bit, though only imperceptibly.  As a reptile, he lacked detailed facial control, but what little he did have, he preserved as often as he could when alone.  Turning to the other two figures, he could see that the spaniel's skull had been cracked from the kick, and he doubted very much that he would live long enough for even magic to save him.  The stoat however had managed to tie a ribbon around his severed limb before passing out. Crawling closer to the musteline, Thalberg gripped the ends of the ribbon in his hands, and with a tug, made sure that it was tightly bound.  Perhaps he would survive, but only if the Steward could reach the Cathedral in time.   Patting the dog on the side of his cheek, he gripped the stone work and began to pull himself along the floor down the hall, one aching foot at a time.   Hand over hand, he tugged and clawed, scratching the stone at times as he drug his immense weight behind him. He briefly considered climbing on to the carpet, but dismissed the notion almost as soon as he had thought of it.  His clothes would catch and drag on the carpet, and he was just as likely to drag the carpet to himself as he was to drag himself towards the Cathedral!  And Thalberg needed his clothes to keep him warm, otherwise he might slip back into torpor and never come out again.  And if that happened, any hope of saving Thomas could be lost.  He'd served the Duke for too many years to allow any pain or discomfort stand in his way to protect him.  Grunting, his thick tongue pressed up against the long roof of his mouth, he continued forward one hand after another. The hallway twisted and turned before him, as if it were being warped by unseen hands.  Yet Thalberg knew that it was just his own eyes and delirium playing trick son him.  With each painful tug he drew himself forward upon his belly into that miasma, that ever changing hall.  Beneath his claws he could almost feel the floor move, undulating beneath him like a snake, writhing like a mass of earthworms in a fisherman's pail.  Blinking, he tried to abjure those fearful images, tried to force the hallway to solidify and remain still before him.  Yet that only drug up further images, images of things that he knew were not really there. He could hear the laughing voices of children running through the halls.   Thalberg let out a sullen groan as he drew himself forward, watching the shapes of those little boys and girls materialise before him.  Dressed in brown knickers, except for one young boy whose fabric was made of vibrant blue, the children were kicking some soft leather ball through the myriad of halls of the Keep.  There was one other lad, much taller than the rest, and older, who appeared to be rather nervously watching the boys, the one dressed in blue in particular. Crawling at the stones, the painful visions of memory gouging his heart, Thalberg tried to reach out, desperate to stop what he knew to be coming, to unleash a warning to the children to stop them from their play.  He could feel the floor cold even through the folds of his garments, bitterly cold as that day had been, and so to was this day.  They should never have been allowed to play ball inside the ever-changing Keep.  Yet there he stood, watching them, knowing it was foolishness, but unwilling to speak his thoughts to stop it. He let out a terrible bellow as he saw the boys kick the ball around a corner, and towards where the open staircase led off the promenade.  The ball skittered off one balustrade, and lay on the edge of the stairwell, resting on the thick, embroidered carpet and waiting for a boy's foot to send it careening off again.  Thalberg, bellowed in terror as he tried to reach the children, the injury to his back pressing him firmly to the ground like the alligator he was every time he tried to rise, as if crawling upon his belly were punishment for just standing by and letting the tragedy occur. Two of the boys, the blue clad one and a friend, both went for the ball at the same time.  But the one in green, a smart looking boy, with bright blond hair, and pudgy face, slipped on the stones and cried out in surprise, grabbing the blue tunic of his friend, before toppling both of them down the staircase. The young man then darted forward, racing down after the tumbling children, but his efforts were in vain.  When he reached the bottom of the staircase, the blue-clad boy's arm was twisted in a way it should not have been, and the other boy lay with his head cracked open along one side. Thalberg, beat his fist upon the ground, a thick sob coughing up from his chest as the images began to melt back into that ever shifting hallway.  Why hadn't he spoken up, he could have stopped it all?  He would not keep his thoughts to himself, no matter who he had to speak them to, or what the consequences of his opinions might be.  He closed his eyes, trying o wipe those children from his memory, but though they had faded from sight, they still remained clear to him, as clear as if it had just really happened. He'd told the Duke he shouldn't send so many men with the librarian, he'd been most insistent about it, but again, he'd just stood there and went along with the foolishness.  Now his liege was taken by that knight, suffering some unknown fate, while he crawled like a simple reptile through halls he wished to forget.  Could he ever forgive himself should Thomas die?  Thalberg did not know, but he doubted that he could. Grunting, he threw out his claws once more, dragging himself around the last corner before the Cathedral.  The wide double doors were closed, probably barricaded as well.  Yet he had to reach them and get those inside to open them up.  He was the Steward of Metamor, he would do everything he possibly could to save Thomas's life, even though it was his fault he had not done so sooner.   Yellow eyes watching those double doors twists and warp, he reached out his other arm, dug the claws into the space between blocks, and dragged his belly and tail over the stones.  His breath came heavy, and he could feel the soaked garments cling to his back, rubbing against the cut, and intensifying the pain he suffered with every motion.  Yet he kept his eyes focussed on that door and the evanescent braziers on either side.  No fever dreams would distract him now, no painful memories would call him to days of old.  He would reach those doors. One block of stone at a time, they grew closer, and yet they also seemed to twist away from him, as if some higher power wished to deny him his one chance for redemption.  It was true that he was a Lothanasi, though he only attended the important celebrations, as his duties took up much of his time.   And even so, he rarely offered supplication to the gods, preferring to rely on his own council as his father had instructed him and his younger brother. With a sudden pang, that stairwell was before him, and the two falling children tumbling head over heels to the veranda below.  He reached out one green-scaled hand, as if to catch them and draw them back up, but they fell away, crashing to the bottom as before, as they had every time he'd turned his thoughts to that day.  The young Thomas lay there in his blue silk with a broken arm, while Thalberg's own brother lay, his life seeping out as quickly as the blood flowed from the crack in his skull.  His council had advised him to allow the boys their fun despite the possibility of accident in the halls of the Keep.  His own council had advised him not to argue the point further after Thomas had declared for the third time he was sending three of his men with Fox Cutter.  How trustworthy was his own council? He tried to bellow in anguish, but his throat only allowed him to cough weakly.  He turned his mind towards the gods, gods he had neglected in his pride and stubborn persistence.  Reaching out his claws once again, he called out to them as well, seeking strength to continue forward, and safety for his liege from whatever evils that knight may think to visit upon him.  He did not know how it would be possible, but he even asked for the Keep's help itself, hoping that she could assist in the thwarting of that man.  Yet, he could not remain focussed solely on even the gods for long, they would have heard him anyway.  He needed to reach the Cathedral doors. Yet when he opened his eyes, he saw that the doors were there before him, as if he had been picked up and deposited before them.  Balling his hand into a fist, he beat upon the base of them, a dull thud resounding back along the hallway.  He would not question the good fortune given to him, but offered thanks up to the gods, never once considering the irony that they had helped him to the house of worship for a rival faith. He continued pounding for nearly a minute before the door was opened and a sword point thrust into the air above his head.  Glancing up, he could see another knight bearing the escutcheon of Yesulam.  For a moment he felt a brief flare of panic at the sight.  Had they come to claim Metamor as well, for their Mother Ecclesia, and cast out all those that were not of their faith?  He cast that fear aside almost as it fell upon him, for he was not looking upon the fair face of some young, idealistic knight.  Rather he was staring, past the heraldry, at the a face that had lost almost all vestiges of humanity, leaving the knight with the tapered muzzle of a rather large deer.   "Thalberg?" he heard from the cervine throat, before the doors were pulled wide, and several armoured men bearing sharp weapons ventured into the hall, while several soft, gentle hands gripped him beneath his arms and drug him inside the Cathedral. He could see Father Hough flanked by a raccoon dressed in a simple priestly cassock standing just a short distance off.  The young boy gazed at him with concern. "What happened, good Steward?" "We were coming here," Thalberg said quietly as he lay there, the gentle hands pulling at the folds of cloth on his back to expose the wound.  He winced as the fabric dragged over the cut again. "A knight attacked, and took the Duke." "What?" several voices exclaimed. "Is he dead?" "What about his guards?" "Where did he take him?" "Is he alive?" Thalberg just coughed in anguish. "I don't know." The raccoon knelt beside him and examined the wound.  Thalberg stared at his face hard, but could not place him.  With a soft whisper, he placed his paw upon the exposed scaly back of the Steward, and began to chant very softly.   A litany of some sort, but different than any the Steward was familiar with, in the old tongue favoured by the Followers, but there was a power in those words, which came to the alligator's realization with some surprise.   Thalberg felt a warmth spread through him then, as if he were wrapped in blankets soaked in hot water.  With a bit of a start, he realized that the pain in his back was gone, though he still felt terribly weak. "You should live, Steward Thalberg," the raccoon said then, offering him a slight grin underneath his furry mask. "Now who was this knight that took the Duke?" Thalberg could sense the many Keepers who crowded close to see and hear what he had to say.  A few were cut and bruised, but it appeared that they were safe here at the Cathedral as Thomas had hoped. "He was-" Thalberg peered closely at the stag that had greeted him at the door. "He was a knight of Yesulam." There were several gasps and shouts of "Impossible!" from the crowd.  Yet Thalberg shook his head. "I know what I saw, and I think I know his name." "Who was it?" Sir Egland asked, leaning in closer. "And how could a knight of Yesulam come all this way, and why would he be interested in the Duke?" "One body was missing from the Patriarch's camp after it was slaughtered, a body of a knight had been carried off.  It is possible this is the same man." Thalberg ventured quietly, letting his voice drop so that the proclamation did not carry beyond the acute hearing of those closest to him. Egland and the rat Saulius looked at each other with sudden apprehension. "Bryonoth?" Egland whispered, his skin suddenly shivering. "I think so, he spoke as a Flatlander.  His accent was unmistakable," Thalberg said before he was given over to that racking and wheezing cough again. "But why would he take the Duke?" the raccoon asked, his face bemused. "I don't know, I just know that it was him." Egland stood erect and looked down at Father Hough and the raccoon. "I'm going after him and I will rescue the Duke." "Thou shalt have myself as a companion," Saulius declared hotly, rubbing the hilt of his sword with one paw.  He was joined by at least ten other soldiers standing close by who insisted upon going. Father Hough shook his hand and held out his hands. "We cannot send all of you, we need you for the defence here.  I'm afraid if we spare too many men for this, you may still fail, and the hordes of Lutins will crash in her and slaughter us all." The racoon nodded his assent. "Father Hough is right, I would only send as many men as is absolutely necessary." Thalberg coughed again and then gripped the hem of the racoon's robe. "Thomas's guards, some are still alive." Hough grimaced. "Eight men then.  Egland, you and Saulius should go, as you both knew Bryonoth.  Six others will be drawn by lot, four of which should carry the guards back here so that we can heal them.  I know it is not many, but it is truly all that can be spared for this."  The boy spread his hands apologetically at that. Egland shook his head, the massive antlers that rested atop them slicing the air neatly. "Four should be enough, as long as we do not walk into a horde of hundreds of Lutins.  And even if that happens, I think we could outrun them.   Though the thought of showing such cowardice pains me, we cannot save the Duke if we are dead." Thalberg did not hear any more after that, as the sullen pain in his back, and the terrible exertion he'd undergone to reach this place had taken their toll on his mind.  With a hopeful sigh, he allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness. **** "And remember, if it is Bryonoth, he was once my friend, I hope he still is," Egland said as his hooves fell softly upon the carpet just outside the Cathedral entrance.  He had grown used to walking upon them in the last two months.  His adjustment to life at Metamor was hardly complete, though he had long since resigned himself to it.  There were just so many things to become accustomed to, so many differences, that he suspected it would take a year at least before he would be comfortable calling himself a true Keeper. Yet a Keeper he was, for he had given his allegiance to Duke Thomas after the Patriarch's death.  Sir Saulius and Sir Andre had made sure that he would not lose his knighthood, and he too was among the knight errants now locked in an animal's form.  Even so, he clung to the memories of the past and of the faces that were gone now.  Yet here, on this most terrible of days, when his new home was besieged by ghastly forces from the frozen North, two of those faces had returned.  First Bishop Vinsah, now masked as a raccoon revealed himself to stop the evil spirits from wreaking havoc in the Ecclesia Cathedral, and now Bryonoth had apparently stolen away with the Duke! He breathed quietly,, the weight of his mail shirt bearing down on his slender shoulders, but thick chest.  He was not sure if he truly minded being a deer morph.  The antlers as he'd discovered frightened his foes just as much as his blade did, and the diet of fruits and nuts that he tended to favour was one that he had preferred while in Yesulam.  His body was lithe, and he found he could run faster than before, despite the fact that his feet had been replaced by narrow cloven hooves.  He did often fall on his tail, but he was finding his balance much easier in the last few weeks.   Yet his biggest regret was the difficulty he had in playing his viola.  His two thick fingers and thumb with large black hoof-like nails made the sort of delicacy he had once mastered impossible.  In fact, his nails were so thick that he tended to press two or three strings down at a time whenever he attempted to sound a note.  Dream Serpent, the gentle fop of a tree marten with the strange name, was helping him relearn the art of making music with his chosen instrument, and so far they had made fair progress, but he felt a child again, a vulgar brute, whenever he picked up that fragile bit of age polished wood and set the bow to its delicate strings. And then, just as his thoughts turned towards the other more intimate lessons that Dream was teaching him, and new friends that the ever-smiling musician had introduced him to, they rounded one more corner and found the carnage left behind by his friend.  Four bodies lay strewn in drying blood, smeared across the floor in Thalberg's crawl to the Cathedral.  Quickening his pace, Egland reached the bodies, and stepped past them, holding his sword tightly between his thick fingers. "Take them all back to the bishop, he can heal them." "Not her," a young man said, indicating the woman who was laying face down in the pooled crimson. "I'm afraid she's dead." "Take her anyway," Egland groused. "Thou wouldst not dishonour the memory of thy fellow Keeper by leaving the body of this lass for foul Lutins to pick over?" Saulius added pointedly, his whiskers twitching as he gazed down at the cooling corpse. The man shook his head at that, reaching down and gripping the woman's body underneath her shoulders. "Of course not.  The living need our attention more.  How many other Keepers will have their bodies defiled by the Lutins in this awful attack?" "Too many," Egland muttered, his tongue pressing firmly against his teeth as he worked his jaw side from side in displeasure. "But we have a chance to keep that body safe from such debasement, and so we shall." The man nodded, and began to drag the disembowelled woman back along the hallway, while the other three guards were checked over for injuries beyond the obvious ones.  The goat stirred when shaken, and though still groggy, was helped to his hind hooves, and managed to walk back towards the Cathedral with minimal assistance.  The stoat did not respond, but his flesh was still warm.  The spaniel however, did not appear to have much life left in him, but two of the soldiers carried him back to Cathedral anyway. After the guards had been carried back, Egland began to inspect the area, while Saulius sniffed along the floors and walls, his whiskers twitching feverishly.  The other two soldiers that had stayed with them, a large lizard morph tightly bundled in thick cloth and leather and a rather lightly clad polar bear whose presence made Egland a bit nervous, were watching either side of the hall to insure that no party of Lutin's surprised them. The bear though, gave out a startled cry, a deep rumbling sound that turned all of their heads. "What is it, Cassius?" Egland asked as he darted forward, always staying on the carpet to muffle the fall of his hooves. "I think those are the Duke's clothes," Cassius pointed with a single claw at a pile of torn and shredded garments, of a rather fine cloth. Saulius approached them, even as the lizard morph Egland had heard given the name Copernicus stepped forward, bright eyes gleaming in the dim light.  He turned the mace he'd taken from the Lutin warrior in his thick hands, a macabre trophy from a fallen foe who had foolishly led an attack against the Cathedral.  Leaning over, the rat sniffed at the clothes a few times and then nodded. "They bear the scent of a stallion, our precious liege.  Yet, they hath not any more than but a trace of blood upon them."  His narrow muzzle drew up in a disgusted moue, "Leastwise aught than Lutin." Egland peered down at them from over top of the rat's kneeling form, and gently kicked them with one hoof. "Strange, what could cause this?" "He probably shifted to his full horse form," Cassius interjected. "I've made that mistake myself a few times, and I always shred my clothes like that when I do." "But why would he shift?" "To run faster perhaps?" Copernicus suggested, his thick tail swaying back and forth underneath the thick wool he'd wrapped about it.  Egland regarded the lizard for a moment as he considered that, pondering for a moment how he could be so effective when laden with so much cloth, but he had proven himself quite nimble. "It would be a good idea.  I cannot imagine a man dressed in armour could outrun a horse, especially not one as healthy as the Duke," Cassius added, his deep voice resonating through Egland's bones and making his neck fur stand on end.  Before his change, Egland had been impressed in many ways by the sheer power that flowed through every sinew of the wolverine knight Andre's body.  Yet now, he was unnerved by the presence of this bear for many of those very same reasons.  It was that part of being a deer that he did not find appealing, bearing the instincts of prey. Saulius glanced up at them, his nose twitching. "'Tis oil here as well." "Do you think that you can follow that trail, Sir Saulius?" Egland asked 'Thou dost know I can, unless the Keep moves." Egland nodded and motioned for Saulius to lead them on. "Then let us hope that the Keep should hold its form long enough for us to follow this trail.   Cassius, stay at Saulius's back.  Copernicus and I shall watch the rear." "Let us move quickly, " Copernicus suggested. "If Thomas was fleeing, then we'll have a long trail to follow." Saulius nodded, and then set up a rather quick pace, only stopping at intersections or doorways to determine which way the Duke had gone.  With his heart filling his throat, Egland offered prayers once again that they would find him safe, and Bryonoth as well. End part 2</HTML>