<HTML> ~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</HTML>