<HTML>   Again Murphy's law and his gremlins struck BIG time. I left out a large scene by Charles Matthias. It does hold up as a good stand alone story. It does take place during WA and I'm adding in the dates and correct times. My apologies for this BIG mistake. Hopefully it won't happen again. ******* 12/24 - 8:30pm Assassins had killed two of the men in his Honour Guard, a small party of Lutins they'd stumbled across had murdered another, and three he'd sent off with the librarian to ensure his safety, over the objections of his Steward, the alligator Thalberg.  Duke Thomas however, had insisted.  The fox had saved his life and did not deserve to be left to die.  Besides, there would be a good number of warriors at the Cathedral, which should have only been a short distance away. Should have been, but strangely, was not. The four men who were still surrounding them scanned cautiously from side to side, two at his front, and two behind.  Thalberg walked at the Duke's side, his massive tail swaying nervously behind him.  The alligator clutched his left arm with one hand, pressing the sleeve of his official robes against a bleeding gash.  The stain appeared only as a darkening of the satin, a wound that he refused to let anyone else see.  Nor would he allow Thomas out of his sight.  In fact, he gained that gash when he'd leapt in front of a Lutin's blade before crushing the monster's head in his massive jaws. Thomas stared wanly at his friend of so many years.  Though Thalberg was often cantankerous, and usually very insistent about being his Steward first, there had been times on those bitterly cold winter evenings when they had just shared a drink together and watched the festivities, or talked of the times when they were children.  Posti had been with them in those days, and this would have been the first winter without him.  The attack only seemed to highlight the former Prime Minister's absence, like an open wound that had become infected and began to spread. The hallways were dim, many of the torches that hung in the braziers had been extinguished.  Several of the tapestries had been torn down, and those that hadn't had either been slashed to ribbons or defiled by the Lutins.  Thomas grimaced as he surveyed the rampage and wanton destruction, knowing that it would tear Malqure's heart to see it, were he still alive.  Some of those tapestries had been in the Duke's family for generations, and some had been even older.  A few were untouched, but only a few. Already, thoughts of how he could make Nasoj pay for this latest atrocity were going through his mind,.  He flicked his ears in greater annoyance at each work of art that he saw ruined.  The damage had been not nearly so terrible the last time this had happened; the Lutins had never really managed to get into the castle itself the last time.  Might they succeed in destroying them all?  He hoped not, but his heart was heavy with that fear. A glance from Thalberg and those menacing yellow eyes told him that his Steward felt the same thing. Yet, they also told him more, a worry that even should they push the Lutin hordes back, would they have enough fighting force left to strike back?  And who would lead the fight?  How many of his good soldiers would be gone after this was over?  Those questions only made his heart sink even further. The two guards before them moved quietly along the carpeted floors.  Thomas himself had soft shoes placed over his hooves, so that he could move silently as well.  The clatter of his hooves on the stonework would resound through the halls, and so many years ago he'd had these socks made to muffle that noise.  The worked quite well, and aside form that one Lutin band they'd stumbled across, they'd seen nobody since.   But just as he was dwelling on that, the clinking sound of armour approaching came from one side passage.  The four guards tightened their grip on their weapons, while Thalberg tensed visibly, his jaw hanging open in case he needed to bite again.  The foul aftertaste of dirty Lutin still permeated the alligator's maw, leaving him with an oily, ill sensation of disgust.  The goat standing before him held up his paw, and raised one stubby finger, and then pointed around the corner, his short tail wagging in anxiety.  The stoat at his side rolled his long daggers about in his paws and nodded. The boot heels continued to sound though, and ere long, out strode a man dressed in plate armour, bearing a sword and a shield.  He turned to face them, his visor down, so that all they could see of his flesh were his eyes, and wild eyes they were, consumed by some unseen desire that would not be denied.  His armour was mostly ceremonial apart from the white cross emblazoned on the front, while upon the escutcheon was a white bend sinister across a solid green.  It only took the Duke a moment to recognize the heraldry.  The sword and shield he carried were considerably more serviceable in appearance. "Yesulam," he muttered as he stared at the knight in that single moment as the man had turned to face them. "Why is a knight from Yesulam here?" he called out, his voice carrying slightly, but not far enough to attract any attention the clattering of the knight's mail had not already brought. "I came to claim thee," the voice inside that polished helm spoke, dull but intent, indicating the Duke with the unwavering point of his polished longsword.  The two guards stiffened and advanced upon the knight, who had strode forward, his own sword fresh and without stain or nick.  Thalberg interposed himself between the knight and the Duke, while the two guards at their back charged forward to meet this new adversary. The goat swung his sword in from the side, but met the knight's shield with a metallic whack, while the knight's blade thrust forward towards the stoat, who parried it with both of his narrow blades.  With a heave, the knight threw back the goat, sprawling him against the wall, then sliced his blade upwards, neatly severing one of the stoat's arms just above the elbow.  The mustelid cried out in agonised horror, falling backwards, blood drenching his surcoat even as he gazed at the lifeless limb that had landed with a wet smack upon the damask carpet. The metal of his armour clanking with every movement, the mysterious knight slapped the goat's head one more time with his shield, and then turned his attention once more upon the Duke.  The other two guards however, had jumped between them all.  The first, a woman, thrust at his helmet with a slender blade.  The knight lifted his shield, ducking low, and let the sword ineffectually screech off its smooth surface.  Thrusting  his broad sword even as he blocked the woman's strike, he speared the ankle of the spaniel that had tried to come at him from the side.  Yelping at the pain, the spaniel jumped back, only to collapse as the paw gave out from underneath of him.  Turning then, the knight slashed his heavy sword across the woman's lighter blade, which shattered just above the hilt without slowing his strike, and opened her abdomen as neatly as a surgeon's blade, spilling her entrails out in a viscid surge as she sighed and crumpled to the floor on top of the goat's prone form. Thalberg snatched up his own blade then, pushing the Duke back a pace, and he spread his arms wide, his jaw dropping to expose the rows of sharp teeth.   The knight paused then, as he kicked the cringing spaniel's head with his steel-toed boot.  He rubbed the pommel of his blade with his gauntlet, the wild eyes narrowing as he considered this massive foe.  And then, he charged froward, shield held high and his sword arm moving low. The Steward stepped back a pace, bringing his own sword up underneath, trying to slide it around the shield.  But the knight was well trained, and dropped his shield to counter the blade, as he sliced upwards, striking at the alligator's arm.  Despite the fact that he was a reptile, and covered in several layers of cloth, he was able to move out of the blade's path, but the effort cost him his own blade as the knight changed his strike slightly, hammering the hand basket of the alligator's blade soundly, sending it humming away as the reptile's sword hand went suddenly numb.  Hissing, Thalberg snatched that hand back before it got severed, and struck out with his other, raking his claws across the knight's visor so hard that it twisted half around on his head. Suddenly blinded, the knight from Yesulam stepped back several paces and slipped slightly in a pool of blood, dropping his sword as he reached up to readjust his helmet.  Thalberg surged forward in that moment of weakness and grabbed at the knight's shield with both of his hands and yanked at it, intent on dragging it off the knight's arm, or dragging the knight of his feet if luck were with him.  However, he did not expect the knight to actually give it over. Thrusting out with his arm, the knight shoved the shield into Thalberg, sending the alligator crashing into the near wall.   Lifting his helmet from his head, he revealed his face, fraught with fury and pure desire.  Beneath the canopy of long dark hair, amber eyes flashed. He swung his helmet against the side of Thalberg's head suddenly, smacking him across the cheek and red blood began to flow from beneath the yellow-green scales.  The alligator was not finished however, and threw the shield off of his chest, then snapped his jaws at the knight's face, which was now exposed.  The knight took a step back, leaning away from those horrible jaws, and caught the folds of the Stewards robe with one hand.  He yanked hard upon the fine, tattered robes, pulling the steward close for a brief moment, their eyes locking for a brief flash of time.  Thalberg let out a sudden croak as he was spun about on his feet, falling face first against the wall, slapping his head right between the eyes.  The mysterious foe then reached down, retrieved his sword, and with one swipe, sliced through the gown and into the alligator's back. Duke Thomas stared, aghast, as his old friend slowly slumped against the wall, leaving him to face the rogue Knight of the Ecclesia alone.  He had no desire to abandon his friends and servants, yet he was no fool either.   Whoever this knight was, it was clear that he meant to kill him, though Thomas could not fathom why a knight of Yesulam would desire such a thing.   He cast a momentary glance at the weapons scattered about on the floor not far away, then discarded the idea.  He was passably decent with a sword, but this knight was something else altogether.  Thomas knew that, having dispatched four battle-hardened veterans of the Three Gates, the knight would make very short work of him.  Turning on his hooves, Thomas fled down the corridor, intent on escaping the man.  Surely an armoured knight could not outrun a horse who was intent on escaping.  Yet a sudden pain tore into his back and he fell forward onto his face, bruising his sensitive nose.   He clambered once more to his hooves, forcing himself to run despite the terrible pain in his back.  It did not eel as if he'd been stabbed, more like he'd just been hit by something.  Taking a quick glance behind him, he could see the knight racing after him, retrieving his helmet, and hurling it once more at the Duke's back.  Though he tried to jump aside, he was to late, for the solid thwack sent him spinning, tumbling to the stone floor as the weighty steel slammed into his face.  A new ache greeted him, one in his jaw as he moved it about.  One of his teeth had been broken. He looked back, perhaps to grab the helmet and make off with it, but as he looked up, he could see the knight only a few feet away, picking it up once more.  The gaze on the broad face was one of triumph. "Thou aren't going to make me hurt thee anymore?  'Twould be a pity to damage a fine stallion such as thyself." Thomas felt fear and a great anger building in his chest as the knight stepped closer.  Tensing his legs he pulled them closer to his body as he lay there, watching the knight approach smoothly, idly noting that the human was not even breathing hard yet.  With a snort he kicked at the knight's shin, but his hoof only met empty air as the man danced nimbly aside.  Pulling a knife from his belt, he pressed it firmly against the Duke's neck. "Thou art going to allow me to slip this upon thy head, or I shalt kill thee." With his other hand, he produced a rather ordinary-looking halter. Thomas took one look at it, and glowered, "Never!" The knight shrugged and then pressed the blade of the knife firmer into the Duke's neck.  Wincing, Thomas let out a pitiful whinny, before he nodded softly.  Instantly, the knife's edge was drawn back a bit, and he could feel the other hand lifting up his muzzle.  He open his lips and tried to bite at it, but the hand was gone in a moment, and a fist slammed down into the side of his head, making his sight swim. While the Duke tried to resolve the multiple images of the knight into one cohesive whole, he felt the leather against his head again, and he pulled back, trying to get away from the vile thing.  Yet the knight placed his other hand at the back of his head, and forced it on, tying the cinch tightly, fixing it in place.  And then, even as he stared past the straps over his nose, he saw the man tracing something on his forehead with a single finger.  A sullen blue nimbus filled his vision for a moment, and then his body was on fire!  Agony raced through his limbs, wringing an agonised gasp from his chest as he fell on the floor and convulsed in a vain attempt to escape the pain. Thrusting back away form the man, Thomas squirmed, trying to draw his hands up to his face to rip the halter off.  Only, as he looked down, he found he no longer had hands, only the hooves of his full horse form remained.  With a rending pop the clothes on his back tore from his body as his flesh stretched and grew.  He whinnied in terror, thrashing about as he managed to rise to four limbs, kicking at the air, trying to shake the awful fire from his body. And then the pain was gone, leaving him nothing more than just a horse wearing a halter over his head, standing in the hallway with the knight looking on rather pleased with himself.  He turned his mind towards changing back into his morphic form, but that fire exploded over his flesh once again, causing him to fall back to the ground to writhe in agony.  As he lay there, he let go of his desire to be anything but the horse, and the fire subsided, leaving him with a strange sort of calm, one that did not feel natural at all. He breathed slowly as he lay there, his tongue working at the broken tooth, until he had managed to push it out of his mouth around the cold metal of the bit that he'd been forced to take.  Try as he might, he could not get it out.  His eyes glared up at the knight, and he once more climbed to his legs, intent on charging the knight.  He knew that he could kill this man, horses were not weak by any standards. Yet, the man just stood there, and smiled to him, and spoke one soft word. "Stop."  Instantly, Thomas's hooves sealed themselves to the ground, every muscle in his body stiff.  He burned with the desire to strike out at the man with his forehooves, yet he could not even lift them.  The knight then walked over to his side, standing just as tall as Thomas.  He pulled one of his gauntlet's off and began to gently stroke through Thomas's mane, ruffling it gently between his fingers. "Thou art a beautiful stallion, and thou shalt sire horses to make the clans of the Steppe feel shame." Thomas's eyes went wide at that pronouncement, realizing that this man intended for him to spend the rest of his life as a simple horse like every other.  He wished to run, but his body would not respond.  The man walked back down the hall, retrieved his equipment, replaced the helmet, and then took the lead to the halter in one hand.  He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and suddenly Thomas found himself walking beside the man at a slow trot.  Whatever enchantments were in this halter, they had completely reduced the Duke of Metamor to an obedient and tamed horse.   End part 1</HTML>