<HTML> Snorting a moment, Egland considered the stable that emerged from the wood.   It was attached to an old abandoned farm house, one that was crumbling from neglect.  The stable though appeared to have been repaired somewhat, as the wood along one side was only a month old, whereas its neighbouring planks were rotting in places.  Two aspects of the stable however spoke loudest to the elk.  Between the cracks in the wood shown feeble light, and there was smoke emerging from the narrow chimney. Saulius whispered into his ear, "It appears they hath taken this place as refuge."  Egland nodded, even as he felt Saulius loosen the straps around his belly.  He stood solid there, his hooves planted firmly in the snow as the bits of cloth were unwound.  With a muffled whump, Saulius rolled off of his back, landing in the snow with a mild grunt. "I do not wish to ride thee ever again, I hath sores from my tail tip to my whiskers." Egland snorted again, though this time it was in amusement.  However, his heart returned quickly to his promise, eyes turned on those stable doors.  He cautiously approached, not bothering to shift from his elk form, at least not yet.  Saulius stalked at his side, sword in paw, his mail shirt tight in the chill. As he drew near to the door, he could hear the crackling of a fire, and could smell the thick scent of a horse, and that of Bryonoth, as well as the customary hay that is usual with stables.  However, there was no indication where any of them were inside of the stable, or what they were doing in there.  Saulius stood back from the door watching him, waiting for something. Egland felt a bit of a flush creeping over him as he realized the rat's intent.  Turning his hind quarters to face the middle of the double doors, he leaned forward and gave them a sharp kick.  The sound of cracking and splintering wood came back to him, but the door still stood shut.  Rearing again, he thrust his hind hooves will terrific energy into the wood, and the splintering grew more pronounced as the doors heaved inwards.  Grunting, the elk knight kicked again, this time sending one door singing inwards as the long wooden shaft that held them shut cracked in two. Saulius rushed inside, even as Egland turned on his hooves to see what lay before them.  Bryonoth was standing, sword in hand, before a stall in which stood the horse that was Duke Thomas.  Thomas appeared to be rather frightened, the whites showing around his pupils.  Yet, he just stood there in the stall, whinnying in anxiety. "Thou canst have him, he's my steed!" Bryonoth declared hotly, waving his sword tip before him at the rat knight who was slowly stepping forward. "Thou hast claimed the Duke of Metamor as they steed wrongfully," Saulius answered back, his voice, though high pitched, challenging nonetheless. "Thou shalt let him return to his people, as is his right and privilege." "No, he is my steed, thou shan't take him from me!" Bryonoth repeated, his eyes looking even more wild than before.  Thomas continued to stand mute, just watching, tail flicking back and forth in agitation. Saulius gasped, even as Egland began to change back to his morphic form. "Sir Bryonoth, it is I, a fellow man of the steppe.  Dost thou remember me, Sir Erick Saulius?" An expression of momentary recognition flashed over Bryonoth's wild face, but it was quickly subsumed by that other part of him, that part that was determined to make Thomas a true horse. "He is my steed, and I am his rider.   Thou wilt not separate us.  I shall kill thee if I must to protect him." "Bryonoth," Egland called. "Ts'amut!  It is I, sir Yacoub Egland.  Please come back to me, Ts'amut."  He knew that the Flatlander word for friend/brother had caused Bryonoth to stir before.  He hoped that it would do so again now, but even more strongly.  There was a part of Bryonoth in there that he wished to summon, a part that he knew so well.  He refused to believe that his friend of so many years had been completely corrupted by this evil notion. "No!" Bryonoth cried then, shaking his head vividly. "Thou cannot be him, for thou art a monster, whereas he was a man, a man who should have been of the Steppe!" "I am that man!" Egland declared, striding forward, interposing himself between Saulius and the crazed knight. "I am even more that man now that I am an elk, for I am still a knight, and I serve something higher than myself.  I serve all the people of this continent.  I serve them by standing here at Metamor to stop the hordes of Nasoj's forces from sweeping through this valley.  And that horse that you have taken is my liege, who I have sworn to serve." "No, he is my steed, my stallion, my honour!" Bryonoth cried, cringing back, the grip on his sword weakening.  It appeared that he had to struggle just to stand there and face down the massive elk before him.  His face twisted between fear, hope, and fierce rage, all within moments of each other. "He is my liege, and by our friendship and by your honour, I ask you to let him go." Egland stood tall, though naked, he was no longer afraid of what twisted Bryonoth. "Come with me, Ts'amut.  Come with us to Metamor.  Povunoth is waiting for you, for his rider." Bryonoth held up his hand to his face, as if to rip the skin free, even as he turned a terrible eye to Egland, one that yearned to both throw down his weapon, and skewer him mercilessly. "No, he is mine!  Leave or I shall kill thee, vile imposter!" Egland stood there watching, and felt something bubble up and out of him, the one thing he knew could be done to convince this man.  He opened wide his mouth and began to sing notes and words that had not graced his throat in months, and all of it, in the archaic language of the Flatlanders. "Have a day of sun strewn grass, Fields abound endless in expanse, Watering holes that will last, And with good steeds for thy lad and lass." Bryonoth had stopped his shaking as he heard the song, so familiar to his Steppe born ears.  Sir Saulius's ears and whiskers had stood up at the sound of his old tongue, and he even joined in the song at the refrain, doubling Egland an octave above. "Rise with the sun and set with the night, Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight. No home in which to dwell, No land to tie thee down, Ride thy horse through the swell, And every field shalt thee own. Each day, a new sight to see; A new hill, new hollow, new valley. Ride with thy whole family, And taste what it means to be free. Rise with the sun and set with the night, Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight. No home in which to dwell, No land to tie thee down, Ride thy horse through the swell, And every field shalt thee own. Sing the song and dance the dance, Of Steppe born men free to pomp and prance. Drink of joy, drink to a trance, And drink to honour those gone to lance. Rise with the sun and set with the night, Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight. No home in which to dwell, No land to tie thee down, Ride thy horse through the swell, And every field shalt thee own. Born upon the horse's back, A Steppe born man who shall nothing lack. Mare's milk to sup, nipples black While one hand already holds the tack. Rise with the sun and set with the night, Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight. No home in which to dwell, No land to tie thee down, Ride thy horse through the swell, And every field shalt thee own. Before Egland could continue with the next stanza, he saw Bryonoth shudder visibly, and stare at him with sudden recognition, and terrible fear. "Egland?  Help me!" He managed to force past quivering lips before he gave a violent twitch, the furious rage that they had seen before bubbling over and spilling out as his words lashed out at the elk, expectorating vile obscenities.  Egland fell back a step, startled by the terrible vehemence in his old friend's exclamations, his ears flattening back as the most painful words of all poured forth.  The truth, each painful secret the once-man had tried to keep quietly to himself and his closest confidants, one of which had been the man who now assailed him with his own innermost secrets, peppering them liberally with the most vile epithets that Egland could ever recall hearing uttered by a human mouth.   Abruptly Bryonoth's tirade stopped, his harsh vocalizations ending with a pained grunt, and he collapsed limply to the hay-strewn floor as Saulius brought the hilt of his sword across the back of his head, having snuck behind him during the course of the song. Egland glanced up and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you, Sir Saulius.   Thank you for sparing him." "He is my friend as well," Saulius murmured, leaning forward, inspecting the wound. "He shalt have a terrible headache when he arises." The rat glanced up at the much taller elk standing beside him, his whiskers twitching for a few moments.  "I shalt place what I hast heard here in mine confidence, friend." The rat offered at length, turning his attention back toward the supine human. Egland nodded quietly, and then turned towards the stall in which still stood the horse that was Duke Thomas of Metamor. Opening the stall door, he saw that the legs were secured by crossed, wooden hobbles.  No wonder Thomas had done nothing, if he dared move, he'd break his own legs.  Reaching down, he clumsily undid the clasps, and pulled the poles out from underneath him. Almost instantly, the form began to shudder, as it shrank in size.  Hands emerged from what had once been the forehooves, and the chest flattened somewhat, taking on a human cast.  Soon, the figure standing naked before them was that of a morphic horse, one that looked quite relieved. "Thank you both for coming to my rescue, I had just about given up hope that any would come.  How did you arrive so quickly?" "Well, much the way you got here, I carried him just as you carried Bryonoth.  There is an advantage to being fleet of hoof when you have four of them," Egland mused drily.  He then kneeled before the Duke, doing his best to ignore his nakedness. "I am so relieved to see that you are safe, my liege." Saulius was also at bent knee, and made his own genuflecting remarks, but Thomas waved them to their feet. "Again, I thank you.  Your effort will not be forgotten.  But we must return to the Keep quickly to help co-ordinate the defence.  Your talents are being missed there, I assure you." "What of Bryonoth?" Egland asked. "What should we do with him?" "I do not know," Thomas muttered, as he gently kicked the prone body with one hoof. "He was controlling me with this." He pointed one thick stubby hoof-like finger at the halter that hung on the hook outside his stall. "I saw him cast a rune into it as he slipped it on me.  We ought to take this back so that Wessex can analyse it.  Well, once we repel Nasoj at least." "If we wish to return as quickly as possible, I am afraid we must use our full animal forms," Egland interposed, glancing briefly at the leather halter. Thomas nodded. "I think I'm up to such a run, I just had a rather relaxing massage.  He may have wanted to make me into a horse, but he treated me well for a horse, I suppose." "Even maligned, he was born of the Steppe.  He could do no less," Saulius proudly declared. "We ought to bring him back as well.  It is possible we could discern from him clues to solidify our evidence concerning the Patriarch's murderer," Thomas added, stretching his newly restored limbs. "We will have to tie him down to your back then, I'm afraid," Egland pointed out. Thomas shrugged. "I've been carrying him on my back for the last few hours already, what is a few more?" He then turned and glanced at the saddle and saddlebags resting on the rack. "Bring the saddle bags as well, but I don't think I want to wear that saddle ever again." "Of course," Egland said, as he turned and shoved the halter into one of the bags, and then draped them over his shoulder.  He watched as Thomas shifted back into his stallion form, the newly regained humanity disappearing beneath the body of the equine.  Saulius tossed the blankets over his back, and the elk then strapped the saddle bags into place over his flanks.  The two of them, while Thomas watched curiously, lifted Bryonoth by his arms and legs, and pulled him across Thomas's back on top of the blankets. "I am curious, where did thou learn that song?" Saulius asked as he helped tie Bryonoth firmly onto Thomas's back. Egland smiled a bit, as much s his cervine face was capable. "Bryonoth taught it to me.  I must confess I can't remember what every stanza means." Saulius let out a small chuckle then, as he tightened the last strap.  He then patted Thomas's cheek. "Thy freight is secure.  As soon as Sir Egland and I are ready, thou can begin." Thomas nodded back, whickering softly, and stamping his hooves a bit impatiently.  While Egland put the fire out, Saulius then began to knot the straps that had held him in place on the elk's back.  He kept them sufficiently loose, but not too loose.  Then, the two knights stood together, the rat gripping the deer's back, while the straps were wrapped about them.   Egland let his full animal form flow out of him.  Quickly, mass began to fill the empty spaces the straps offered, until they pulled the rat tightly to the proud elk's back. Egland snorted to Thomas, and stamped one hoof.  Thomas did so in return, and gestured to the door with a toss of his head.  The elk nodded submissively, his massive rack of antlers, spread out before him, and then started to trot through the permanently opened doorway.  The horse followed after, the jingling of the rat and knight's armours on their backs the only sound that cascaded through the snow-filled night air as they started on the road back to Metamor. End part 5</HTML>