<HTML> 12/28  - 6pm Charles watched Metamor Keep draw near from his perch on the wagon.  His journey back from Glen Avery had flown past as if it had never occurred.  His thoughts were astir of the heavenly face he hoped to find still smiling, and of his last moments beneath the mountainside in Lars' brewery.    The messenger had arrived bearing the news just after noon, and the entire room had erupted into shouts and cheers for joy, and more ale.  He distinctly recalled Baerle's reaction, as he had been sitting with her at the time - having finally convinced her that he was well enough to be walking about.  Her face burst forth with joy, but also with a sense of longing that could not be swept away by mere victory. Of course, Charles had immediately demanded that he be allowed to return to Metamor, as it was now safe.  Their reactions had been what he'd expected though. "Absolutely not!" Baerle had shouted, poking him solidly in the chest with one claw.  Through sheer force of will he had only grunted at that, instead of wincing as he had so often done before. "Just because the Lutins have left the Keep, doesn't mean there aren't some still in the woods.  And you are in no condition to go out fighting if you happen to run across some." "She's right, young man," Mrs. Levins had told him, waging one of her short fingers in his direction. "If you just wait one day more, I am sure that the forests will be clear, and you won't need help walking about then either." >From her tone, he had known she was still upset with them both for allowing him out of his bed. Charles, however, was not going to be waiting this time.  He had to know as soon as possible whether Lady Kimberly was still alive.  So he had just shrugged and said, "Well, I'm going anyway.  The only way you are going to stop me is by holding me down and breaking my legs.  I think you will find that rather difficult to do." Baerle had then scowled, her long tail twirling about the chair leg she sat in. "You are going to be stubborn about this aren't you?"  Her whiskers had twitched in annoyance, and something else crossed her eyes that the rat was still not sure he understood. "Yes I am, so I suggest you allow me to do what I must.  I'll need a wagon and a horse, but that will be all." She had then crossed her arms, "Well, if you are going to be stubborn about this, then I am going with you." "No you are not," Charles said, slapping his paw on the table for emphasis. "Yes I am," Baerle retorted, much to the amusement of the other patrons.  She stood up and leaned over him, pressing her claw into his chest. "And I will hear no arguing out of you about it.  Either I go with you or I break your legs, and I think you will find it rather difficult to keep me from doing it!" Hearing his own words back at him the rat had grimaced, then reluctantly agreed to allow her to accompany him.  In retrospect, though, he was glad she had insisted, for it was nice to have company on the long ride from the Glen to Metamor.  Not that he noticed much of it, as he was so concerned with what would happen once they arrived.  Baerle often tried to get him to talk about it, but he refused to do so.  Even speaking it aloud made him fear it would become real. So, while she managed the horse, he rode in the back of the wagon, watching the towers of Metamor rise before them, bright in the afternoon sun, the clouds having long since vanished.  Bands of Keepers watched the roadside, and every now and then they would wave and greet each other, but it was quick, for the rat would not tolerate any delay that kept him from his Lady.  Yet, at the same time, should his Lady have been killed he wished never to know of it, to have such knowledge kept from him forever.  So when they drew up to the gates at last he felt his heart pound in both exultation and abject fear. They were allowed entry to Metamor by a small host of rather studiously jubilant guards, and what they found there was terrible, but joyful.  Beyond the gates the snow was stained red in so many places that it resembled one of Gregor's special frostings.  Where the bodies still lay strewn the stench of death was nearly overpowering for both of them.  Yet that paled in comparison with what had been done to the town.  Homes were in ruin from one end of the city to the other.  Roofs had holes burned in them, windows smashed, and foundations destroyed.  There were quite a few still standing, but the desolation was everywhere that they looked. The castle itself, though scarred, appeared to have been spared most of the strife that had crushed the rest of Metamor.  Walls were splattered with blood, but many diligent Keepers were already cleaning it up.  Even one section of the roof to the Deaf Mule had been caved in, but even walking close to it, the sounds of merriment and celebration could be heard within its walls. As they drew near they saw a vague shape step up to the door and cast out an armful of charred debris.  It took Charles a long moment to identify the remains as a chair. A heap of similar debris had already accumulated by a shattered window.  The remains of chairs and tables littered the muddy snow like the burnt bones of some holiday feast.  The face of the once revelrous place was stained black around the door and windows, testament to the final moments of the venerable Mule.  The building itself seemed sound, the stones undamaged from the fires within.  Even the roof, heavily laden as it had been with snow, was relatively intact, with only a few gaping wounds open to the sky. As they passed by it, two figures very familiar to the rat stepped out from the main door, muttering imprecations as they struggled to drag a massive construct of charred wood through the door.  In a moment of shocked horror Charles identified the pool table, its legs and felt gone entirely, the filigreed carvings burnt and smashed.  All that remained of the heavy wooden table was the body, too damaged by fire to recover.  Charles stopped Baerle, and then called out to them, "Nahum!  Tallis!  You're alive!" They both turned their snouts at the sound of his voice and cheered. "Charles!  Good to see you too!  Where were you in all of this mess?"  The remains of the pool table fell with a weighty crash into the snow to one side of the door, instantly forgotten. "I was at Glen Avery, but that's a story for another time.  Where's Lady Kimberly?" "She's at the Chapel," Nahum said. "At the Chapel?" Charles asked, a sudden fear coming into his voice.  No, it couldn't be true- "Not like that," Tallis interjected quickly, running one paw through the curly hair atop his head. Soiling the already soot-stained fur even further. "She's there praying for your safety.  She's quite alive, and unharmed." Charles breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, offering a quick prayer of thanks, one that he was sure he would be repeating many times over before the day was done. "And where are you two off to?" "The Writer's Guild once we help Donny get the taproom cleared out here.  We're going to survey the damage this evening before we continue celebrating.  I suppose you are going to be too busy elsewhere to join us, eh?" Nahum asked, winking at him as his lush tail twitched happily behind him. "Indeed," Charles exulted, feeling as if he could float into the air. "I'm glad to see that both of you are still alive.  We shall talk again!" "Take care, Charles.  You must tell us your story of how you ended up at the Glen sometime!" Tallis suggested, even as he turned and disappeared into the shadowed interior of the Mule.  The muffled sound of breaking wood and rapping of hammers drifted from within, revealing that there were many others there lending their hands and paws to the resurrection of Metamor's most famous tavern. "I shall, have no fear of that!" Charles shouted after them, his face a buzz with wiggling whiskers and elated grins. That was when he noticed Baerle's half-formed scowl. "Who is Lady Kimberly?" Completely oblivious, he blurted out, "Why, she's my fianc�e." Baerle's mouth fell open a bit at that, and then closed, her eyes showing shock, regret, and then anger.  And in another moment that anger had developed into fury.  Before he could even react, her paw came across his face, slapping along his cheek with such force that it rocked the rat backwards a few paces.  She then turned, crying, and ran back the way they had came, towards the gate. "Baerle!" Charles cried out, completely taken aback by her reaction, one paw coming reflexively to his assaulted cheek.  He started to run after her, but his chest began to cringe at that.  The truth was, he could only just barely walk.  Running was simply not an option, even at this point.  Gasping, he watched her form dwindle among the wreckage of Metamor, totally unsure of what had just happened, or why.  Hurting Baerle was one of the last things he had ever wanted to do, and yet somehow he had managed just that. "Oh, you're still alive." a voice from behind him said, half in mocking disappointment, the other half still too delighted at victory to truly care. Charles grimaced and tried to bite back the snarl that wanted to escape his throat.  Turning around, he saw Rickkter standing just outside the entrance to the Mule, his arms hanging down by his sides.  A part of the rat wanted to just walk away from the contemptible raccoon, to find Kimberly, and forget about everything else.  Yet another part told him that to do so would be foolish and dishonourable.  The words that Zagrosek had levelled at him before the attack came back to him, and he knew what he had to do. "If you would care to listen, Rickkter, I would like to apologize for stealing this from you." He reached into his tunic and pulled out the compact Sondeshike.  With a bit of reluctance, he held it out before him, offering it to the Kankoran. "It is yours to keep, it was never mine, and I would like to amend the wrong I committed in taking it from you." Rickkter stared at him as if he were offering him a poisonous viper. "Is this some sort of sick joke on your part?" "No joke," Charles said, holding the Sondeshike out. "But to show you that I mean what I say--" and the rat kneeled somewhat painfully before Rickkter, bowing his head low, and held the weapon of his clan out to an enemy of his clan.  His heart trembled with concealed rage, but another part of him felt vindicated by this, as if he were taking part in confession and penance. After a moment he felt the raccoon grasp it from his paw, his claws momentarily biting at the rat's flesh, but drew no blood.  He then heard the weapon extended, the cool tip of it coming to touch lightly just below one of his ears.  Looking up at the raccoon, he offered a conciliatory mask, desperate not to show the least vestiges of his rage. "I ought to just kill you and end this feud now." Rickkter growled, glaring meaningfully down the length of the shaft at him.  Charles had no doubt that the Kankoran had every intention of doing just that. "Oh, I don't recommend that.  You see, I'm heading over to see my Lady Kimberly.  She would be quite wroth with you, and there is nothing more fearsome than the wrath of a woman scorned." Even as he said the words, he remembered the look on Baerle's face just a moment before she slapped him and ran away crying.  Had she really felt that way towards him, and had he really been so blind as not to see it? Rickkter appeared for a moment bound to laugh at such an audacious statement, for clearly Kimberly could do nothing to hurt him.  Yet the laugh died on his muzzle and the expression of contempt was replaced by one of curiosity mixed with uncertainty.  He retracted the Sondeshike and slipped it within his cloak. "Go to your Lady.  I could deny no man that, not now, and not even you." Charles stood then, and bowed his head in a show of respect, though his mind rebelled against the very notion of showing respect to a Kankoran. "Thank you, Rickkter." The raccoon scowled at him. "Know that this does not mean an end to our disagreements." "Perhaps a tempering of them?" Rickkter stared at him, his muzzle contorted into a most unpleasant scowl.  Finally, he crossed his arms and nodded his head, "Perhaps." He then turned and stalked off into the ruins, his long striped tail flitting behind him. Charles breathed a sigh of relief before turning himself and heading towards the nearest entrance to the Keep.  He was walking as fast as he could, desperate to reach the chapel while he forced the complaints of his pained chest into abeyance for the moment.  The Keep showed favour upon him by making his travel short, for barely a minute after he had entered her walls the Keep brought him to the double doors at the entrance to the Chapel. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the doors and stepped into the mostly empty chapel.  There were a few petitioners still in the pews, but only three figures caught his eyes.  The first was another raccoon that was quite familiar.  He was near the double doors, wiping up some blood that had lain spilled upon the tiles.  Had the battle come so far, he thought fleetingly, that there would be blood upon the very stones of the chapel itself?  The second and third were sitting together, both with their heads bowed and praying - Father Hough and his Lady Kimberly. Before he had a chance to cross the aisles to greet her, however, the raccoon looked up and accosted him. "Oh, you've been expected, Sir Matthias." His whiskers wiggled slightly at the appellation. "Elvmere, isn't it?" he asked, remembering the raccoon from the Deaf Mule that one evening. The raccoon winced at the name. "Ah, no, I'm afraid that was a bit of deception on my part, one that I will ask your forgiveness.  You have seen me before, but I was human then." "Then who are you?" Charles asked, a bit impatiently.  It was obvious that neither Lady Kimberly nor Father Hough heard them speaking, as their heads continued to point towards the altar. "I am Vinsah, the Bishop of Abaef, and one time aide to the late Patriarch Akabaieth.  I imagine you are rather surprised." Charles blinked a few times, and then laughed softly. "Wonders will never cease.  Now if you will excuse me, I must go see to my Lady." Vinsah nodded, and then returned to his scrubbing, his striped tail flicking from side to side, much like Rickkter's had done.  Charles stepped past him and walked steadily up the aisle, his eyes never leaving her heavenly frame, perched there against the pew, kneeling before the altar and praying.  He could barely contain his joy, and tears began to flow from his eyes, wetting his muzzle again, even as his heart threatened to burst from his chest. Finally, standing at her side, he leaned down and rested his paws on her shoulders and spoke softly into her ear, "I love you." She turned slowly, as if his words had not immediately registered, and stared back into his face, her own stained by salty tears, and blinked.  She swallowed a sudden breath as she suddenly realized that it was no apparition that stood so close at hand, then she cried out in abundant joy and wrapped her arms about his neck and hugged him tight, reunited at last.  Father Hough just looked at them with a smile before he returned his attention toward the altar and nodded his head as he offered up a quiet prayer of thanks. *** End part 86</HTML>