<HTML> Though he did not know how, he resolved to try anyway. "It was terrible, and what Nasoj is doing now is terrible, but our friends will stop him again.  And I swear he will be stopped once and for all.  I know there will be a day when we can walk through the woods without fear of being beset by his agents.  And I know that Nasoj will pay eternally for all the lives he's destroyed.  And we will live to see that day, I promise you that." Baerle lifted her head from his chest, and looked back at him.  He smiled reassuringly to her, a small smile, but a warm one.  She nodded, her muzzle splitting into a gentle grin, the tears drying in the fur of her cheeks. "I know it too, it is just…  just that we have lost so much already." "And everything we have lost we will regain." "Even my father?" she asked, her voice tinged with anger and bitterness, but Matthias knew it was not directed at him. "Yes, your father will regain his dignity and his honour, because you will do it for him." He ran one claw along the side of her muzzle, softly. "I know you will, I can see it every time I look into your eyes." Baerle looked away, pulling back from the bedside, giving the rat's chest quite a bit of relief. "I'm sorry, it has been a long time since I've let my feelings about that show." She favoured him with her more familiar grin, quirked at the corners with sadness, "Thank you, Charles.  You have been a true friend." Charles shrugged a bit, though he did smile, even as he shifted about in the bed. "I did what any decent being would have done in my place." "Thank you nevertheless," she insisted, and the rodent nodded.  Baerle smiled again, and looked at the door, drawing her composure back.  In a moment Charles could see that she was the same opossum that had journeyed with him to the bridge, and the same opossum that had stolen a kiss while on that ledge.  He still was not sure what to make of that, but he did suspect that Lady Kimberly would not find the story of it amusing. "I just hope that Metamor stands," he muttered. "I know many promenades, some of them more precious than stone." "And I know many here as well.  But no matter what happens we will make Nasoj pay for every stone he's toppled." "Not lying in bed I'm not," Charles remarked sourly, shifting his legs and tail about restlessly.  Baerle laughed at that, and nodded. "You're right, you should get a chance to get out of your bed today.  Let's wait until after I've had some breakfast though, okay?" But Charles had ignored the opossum's words.  As soon as he knew that he'd had her permission, he'd swung his foot paws out from underneath the quilts, and began to scoot himself off the mattress, his tail dragging along after him.  The cup of milk nearly tumbled from his grip as he finally felt the cold floor beneath his toe claws again, and as he looked down to check and make sure it had not spilled, he realized that he had forgotten one important fact.  Aside from the bandages over his chest, he was stark naked. >>>> 12/28 - 8am Dawn was nearly upon them by the time Metamor was in sight.  Jerome peered from out of the folds of his tightly drawn cloak and could see the familiar spires and towers reaching in the brightening sky.  Clouds still churned to the south, the last vestiges of the blizzard that had hammered the area and covered Nasoj's approach, leaving the sky over Metamor Keep clear, with only a few stars twinkling to remind them of the bitterly cold night.  At the thought of the chill, he drew his black cloak even tighter about his neck. After they had taken the watchtower they had proceeded towards the main road through the valley.  It had been a hard trek, with rocky terrain, and copious patches where ice underlay all the snow, or exposed in others.  Having been bred in the deserts around Sondeshara he was unused to it and so found himself, along with Zagrosek, slipping every now and then.  The Glenners found their inability to tread upon ice quite amusing, though they always showered them with disapproving stares whenever they did miss a step.  Once they made it to the road the travel became easier, as it had been traveled so heavily by the Lutins during the storm that most of the ice was cracked and navigable to his warmer upbringing.  It also made them more susceptible to the winds racing through the hills, however, and so he felt colder here than he had ever been before in his life.  He dreaded to imagine the incomparable frosts even farther North where the Lutin tribes roamed across the vast tundra of the Giantdowns.  Yet now that he could see Metamor, shrouded in a pallor of darkness as if to reinforce the undeniable fact that it was a castle under siege, he felt as if the chill had an end, and it was only a matter of time before he would feel the warmth of the air south of the Barrier Range.  Time was another matter that was of particular concern to him, as both he and Zagrosek had spent far longer in this cursed valley than they had expected to.  The sight of Metamor only reminded him of this, that they had barely two days more before the curse would claim them and reshape their bodies in some alien fashion. Glancing to his side he could see that Zagrosek was thinking much the same thing, his brow creased in anxious concern.  They were walking amidst the infantry columns, surrounded mostly by Lord Barnhardt's troops, they in turn flanked by the archers from the Glen.  Whatever uneasiness Lord Avery may have alluded to between Lord Barnhardt and himself, the Sondeckis could not see it in the faces of the men and women at his side.  Of course, as many of those faces were snouts and muzzles, he was not sure he could have seen any such animosity, for while he found himself fairly competent at judging Charles's mood by his face, that was only because he had known him most of his life. The thought that in another week he, too, could share such a face was rather disconcerting.  When Charles had sent him the letter requesting his presence at the ceremony to raise Garigan to the green he had assumed that it would only be a matter of a few days - a day's walk to Metamor from beyond the range of the curse, a day or two spent with Charles and his student, and then the walk back; a perfectly safe venture.  Nasoj's invasion had made that impossible, for although he did not want to become a woman, a child, or an animal, he could not have lived with himself had he abandoned his firmest friend. And so he kept marching, watching the topmost spires of Metamor rise above the snow-topped trees. Somewhere far above the three avians were flying, scouting on ahead in shifts, and reporting back to Lord Avery, who was just a few columns behind the Sondeckis.  Whenever news would come to the squirrel it would filter up through whispers along the lines.  Whether they were official orders or just word the soldiers shared Jerome did not know, but he passed it along anyway, knowing it would be appreciated. Thus, when he saw Burris flying overhead, he did not give it much thought.  Yet as his feet crunched the hard earth and packed snow he could feel some excitement build behind him as the whispered voices were even more boisterous and frantic than usual.  The news finally reached him just as he was topping a rise, noting the darkened profile of the Keep as it sat alone amidst the icy mountain peaks.  A bobcat behind him tapped his shoulder eagerly and grinned a sharp toothed feline grin as Jerome turned his head to the side. "What is it?" the Sondeckis asked, his heart already beating stronger just from the joyous expression on the man's face. "There is a group of Lutins running down the road from the Keep towards us," the cat growled in a delighted, raspy whisper. "Are they breaking?" Jerome asked, hope that neither he nor Krenek would have to suffer this curse filling him. "They don't know yet, but Lord Avery wants us to keep on marching for now." "Did he say why?" Even though he asked, Jerome felt he knew why.  Basic tactics were required learning at Sondeshara after all. "Something about making a gauntlet," the bobcat added, shrugging and shifting the spear he held from one hand to the other.  Even as he said that Jerome saw the badger Angus jog along side the lines, up to the front of the column.  "I think we will see blood shortly." Jerome muttered, to which he received a feral, predatory grin from the feline in return. "We'll rout those little monsters yet!" "That we will," Jerome grinned and turned to pass on the message.  He shared a quick smile with Zagrosek then gazed at the turrets of Metamor Keep.  For some reason, they appeared to be brighter than when he'd first seen them. >>>> 12/28 - 8am Baron Calephas scuffed his boot heel over the stiff remnants of a Lutin's arm lying in the snow.  The watchtower stood above him, silent and empty, so stricken with arrows that it resembled a pincushion.  Grimacing, he pushed the arm aside and found a broken bottle of whiskey beneath it, the drink frozen into the ground alongside the streaks of red.  Were it possible he would discipline the commanding officer of the regiment for allowing such lax behaviour.  Unfortunately that officer's head was lying just a few feet away from where the Baron stood, demonstrating the needlessness of such a lesson. After he had stumbled bitter and frozen back into his camp at the Dike he had amassed what forces he could and started on his relentless march Southwards to stop the army of Glenners.  Ideally he hoped to pin them against the walls of Metamor and slaughter them, but he doubted that he could reach the castle in time to catch them at its gates.  So instead he would settle for cutting off their escape when they would flee from the forces already occupying Metamor. He kicked the frozen arm in annoyance, then winced and grunted at the sudden pain that lanced through his foot and leg.  Though he had survived the horrible chill of his run through the snows, he had not come through it unscathed.  Three of the toes on his right foot had been frozen so completely that they had to be sawed off while his lieutenants organized the troops at the Dike.  He could still feel the emptiness in his boots where they had once been.  Though he was grateful that it was not worse, as it very easily could have been, the loss still grated at him. As he peered up at the watchtower he saw the sky begin to brighten a bit.  No longer was the oppressive dark of night overhead, only the last twinkling of a few solitary stars.  To the east the mountains glowed with the reflected sunlight from the glaciers even further eastward.  It would not be long before they would shine with the first rays of sunlight themselves. Turning his eyes to the ladder as a single Lutin descended slowly and carefully, the bars still slick with ice.  He hated to be surrounded by the green-skinned barbarians, but his choice of allies left him little room to complain.  The Lutin waddled up to him in the thick furs it had about its shoulders, and saluted. "Baron, the light has been destroyed in the Watchtower." Calephas nodded thoughtfully. "I thought as much.  Very intelligent of them.  How long ago do you believe this happened?" "Two hours at least, sir." He nodded yet again, having made similar estimate.  The Lutin, Captain Skolem, was one of the few that Calephas found useful, for he was both deferential and inventive, a combination that the Baron did not find often in the green-skinned monsters.  "Organize the men and return to the road.  We continue on to Metamor immediately.  With luck we may catch them yet." "Of course, sir," Skolem nodded, bowing slightly.  From the sceptical tone of his voice, Calephas knew that the Lutin doubted very much that this venture would gain them anything.    He wondered if there was any way that he could incorporate this Captain into his own retinue, for it was clear that he would be very useful. Turning, he took one last look at the abandoned watchtower, then began the walk back to the road.  He kicked the severed head of the Lutin officer on his way, and grunted as he did so. >>>> 12/28 - 9am 12/28 - 9am The road to Metamor from the North consisted of rolling hills abutted by the thick forests and rocky outcroppings that cast wide portions in shaded darkness for most of any given day.  It was at the base of one such that Angus called the columns to a stop and quickly began giving orders, pointing men towards one side or the other.  Jerome and Zagrosek both walked behind a thick jut of granite that was surmounted by clusters of aspen and pine.  The road between the two hillocks was narrow, but long, leaving little room for an army to manoeuvre. For Jerome the point of the badger's orders was quite clear.  They would lie in wait behind the rocks amidst the trees until the Lutin army came through the pass, then the infantry would box them in on either side while the archers pelted them from above.  It was indeed a gauntlet that no Lutin would survive through unless they were able to climb the sides of the walls and fight past the archers lining the ridges or their army was far larger than the birds had reported.  The three avians had been making regular rounds between Lord Avery and the Lutin forces, however, and the estimate clear at a good two hundred heading up the road in a ragged mob.  That would surely be a force small enough to be easily slaughtered. Kneeling in the snow, Jerome rubbed a bit between his fingers, his warmth melting the white powder in moments.  Turning to his side he saw Zagrosek pressing his palm hard upon the cold surface of the rock, indenting the lines and contours of his hand into the ice that covered the huge boulders in a glossy white sheen.  With his other he held his retracted Sondeshike, fingering the release idly.  His dark eyes caught the glance, returning it speculatively. "You know we have been in Metamor Valley for five days now." Jerome said softly, so as not to be overheard by the archers who were arraying themselves just behind the rocks, occasionally peeking over into the gully to gauge their bearings.  "I know." Zagrosek turned back to consider the road, crouching even lower behind the jagged, ice-covered granite.  His lips were chapped and, in places, bleeding.  Jerome's own were no better of and he licked them constantly to put feeling back into them.  The black-haired man then shuffled even lower, nearly burying his legs in the windswept piles of snow against the back of the rocks. "I wish that we could have said goodbye to Charles after the battle had been won.  It must be trying for him to wait behind, never knowing if he will see either of us again, or we him." Jerome nodded, abashed that he had not given his friend the rat much thought on their trek from the Glen because he had been lost in his own personal frigid misery.  Numbly, he nodded. "I do hope that this is the all that remains of the Lutins.  I would hate to think that Metamor has fallen forever.  It would destroy him more than any injury could, I fear." "Yes, it would," Zagrosek murmured quietly, pressing his lips together, and snuffling. "If it has fallen, we cannot abandon him or his friends, you know that." Again Jerome nodded, crouching closer, the snow soaking into his black cloak. "I'm willing to risk the curse for that, I always have been.  I'd rather that we did not though." "You and me both, I think," Zagrosek smiled then before turning his gaze back to the road.  It was simply a matter of waiting, they both knew.  And when the time came they knew what they would have to do.  How long had they been awake this day?  It felt like forever.  Jerome leaned against the rock, blinking to keep the exhaustion from him.  It would have to come soon, or too many of the Glenners would be asleep! He did not have long to wait before the burly badger passed along by, his face covered in so much chalk dust that one could not even see the white diamond on his forehead.  In a gruff voice he accosted them both, pointing towards the mouth of the gully with one thick claw. "They will be coming over the rise in a few minutes.  I want you two to be at the head of the infantry by my side.  Don't start out until they are halfway through the gauntlet." "Of course." Jerome said, offering the badger a fond smile.  In some ways he reminded the Sondeckis of one of their trainers from many years ago.  He had been a man of some bulk too, but a good sense of humour that tended only to show when he was not drilling them. Zagrosek twirled the Sondeshike between his fingers and favoured him with a lopsided grin. "Don't worry, they will not live long enough to know they were in a fight." Angus snorted, but did return the grin as he passed them by to dole out a few more orders.  The two Sondeckis looked to each other, then laughed beneath their breath.  Jerome had no trouble keeping his eyes open now, the taste of battle already filling his mouth. **** Gaerwog was not limping as badly as he had the day they had made their run across the bridge with Baron Calephas between them while being chased by a mob of battle-hungry Lutins.  In fact it felt as if that day had been some remote distance in the past, separated from the now by scores of years uncounted.  Andrig could almost envision it as a dream of some sort that had only been witnessed from the outside, like a phantasm that curdles at the back of one's consciousness.  Yet when he saw his burly friend favour that injured leg he had to confess to himself that the events were only two days old. Yet as he pressed himself against the snow bank on the ridge overlooking the Metamoran side of the gully he could not help but leave their betrayal of Calephas in some distant era, a thing for historians to debate and to discuss, for bards to embellish and exaggerate.  With a bit of whimsy, the young Northerner could imagine what some of those tales might indeed be like, where the heroes Andrig and Gaerwog fought bravely with the mighty Calephas; a man standing ten feet high who could breathe fire from his mouth, and whose manhood was a sword that could slice through the hardest rock.  And then, victorious, they carried his body upon their shoulders across a bridge, beset upon by thousands of Lutins while the bridge collapsed beneath them.  With a mighty throw, they flung the titan's body across the ravine then jumped across themselves as the bridge fell with a colossal crash, sending the thousand or so Lutins to their deaths. When he laughed at the images he had conjured, Gaerwog peered at him in confusion.  Andrig drew his lips together, silencing the abrasive laugh, even as the Glenners and the infantry from Lord Barnhardt's lands peered at him strangely and with a bit of annoyance.  They were on the Metamoran side of the gully, and so the Lutins would rush past them first.  It was very important that the green-skinned monsters not discover them until they were already in the depression, being assailed from all four sides.  What was worse was that Andrig and Gaerwog were being placed at the very front of the assault at the Lutin's back.  They both chalked it up to the idea that the Keepers were not entirely certain they could be trusted. Though Andrig knew he should not blame them, he did anyway, for they had risked not only their lives, but the lives of their families as well, to deliver Calephas over to them.  Should the unthinkable happen and the Baron escape and then return to Arabarb, vengeance upon their parents and siblings would be swift and unrelenting.  In Andrig's case this was not as much of a concern, as his parents thought him dead and his only sibling was here at Metamor, an older sister he had not seen in ten years.  Gaerwog had lived just on the outskirts of Arabarb, so his face and relatives would be well known. Life with his family seemed so distant though, even more remote than the incident on the bridge.  The old mill alongside the river, amidst the sprawling rocks and thick trees, with smoke coming from the chimney, only came to him in his dreams anymore.  At times he found flashes of his childhood returning, of playing in the stream during summer, helping his father and sister tan bear hides in early Autumn, and then, wrapped in those hides, capering about in the snow while herds of elk and moose thundered past.  They had been happy days, and at times he wished he could return to them. End part 84</HTML>