<HTML>      Evening had arrived, though in the darkness of the storm little difference could be noticed in the flickering torch light of the Lightbringers' temple. An acolyte made her way through the flickering shadows, turning towards the food stores to gather some supplies for the evening meal. Heads turned in the sanctuary as the creaking of the door opening was followed by a startled yell.           A small crowd quickly gathered around the opened portal, some brandishing weapons, some peering into the store room with curiosity. Standing in the middle of the room was the acolyte, a dropped sack of flour lying by her feet, a surprised look on her face. Across the room from her stood a conspicuously naked mouse morph, strange in the coat of blue, white and orange feathers covering his body, smiling a little embarrassedly as he looked upon his discoverers.           "Uh, could someone get me a robe? It is a might chill in here, even with the feathers," he said with a weak chuckle, reaching down to pick up the forgotten flour. "Now, I don't suppose that you need any help in the kitchens?"      **********************************    The hall was a shambles. When they had first been brought through on the way to Long Hall it had been a large empty room, now it was a battlefield. At least it had been one. Dead bodies lay scattered everywhere, amidst wreckage and debris. Most of the dead were Lutins but a few were Keepers.    Along with a score of other people the two mercenaries sorted the dead. The bodies of Keepers were carefully removed and taken away to be buried. The Lutins were piled onto a cart. When the cart was full it was taken to an outside courtyard and the contents burned.    Ferwig searched the body of lutin most of whose stomach had been ripped open. He found a dozen coins of a different sorts, and a gold candlestick. He casually tossed them into a pile with the other items they had found. The lutin also had a dagger and a short sword. Both weapons were of good quality and obviously not made by the Lutins. He removed the scabbard for the dagger from the Lutins belt and calmly attached it to his own.    "Stealing from the dead?" Teria asked.    "It's a fine blade, no sense it going to waste."    "Why bother with a lutin weapon?" the mage asked. "The keep has plenty of better ones."    "This wasn't made by any of those green skins. And neither was this sword," the fighter explained as he picked up the short sword. "I wonder where it came from?"    "Hard to tell," Teria said. "Probably looted from somewhere."    A figure walked up to them. Ferwig recognized the feline morph instantly. Janet was dressed in her armor but it was open at the throat revealing that it was bandaged. She placed a silver ring on the floor in front of him. Then she hugged the fighter tightly. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for saving my life."    Ferwig smiled. "No problem. The magic in that ring has saved me more times then I care to think about. I'm just glad you realized what I was doing."    "Your death scene almost fooled me too," Teria said. "You're an excellent actress."    "Thank you," Janet replied and then fell silent for a moment. "I don't want to sound ungrateful but why did you do it? Why change sides?"    Ferwig shrugged. "I guess we couldn't stand the idea of fighting an old friend like George."    "Is that all?" Misha said walking up to stand next to Janet.    "Well, it didn't take much to see who would win this battle," Teria commented. "And it pays to be on the winning side."    The fox nodded. "I'm flattered by your faith in our abilities, but it was a close thing. What's your real reason?"    "Does it really matter?" Teria answered enigmatically.    "I guess it doesn't, "the fox answered, surprising Ferwig.    Any comments the fighter had, were cut off by the loud squeaking of cart wheels. All turned to see a two wheeled cart piled high with lutin corpses moving across the hall floor. Pulled by a pony it slowly creaked through a large double sized doorway to an outside courtyard.    "Where did that door come from?" Teria asked quietly.    "Last night we were several stories above ground, now we're at ground level," the fighter asked.    Janet laughed. "Kyia is just helping us clean up."    "Kyia?" Ferwig asked. "She controls the keep?"    "She IS the Keep," Misha explained.    "What? Teria said, surprised. "Then the old legends have some basis in truth."    "All the halls and rooms in the Keep move about," Janet explained.    Ferwig shook his head slowly. "No wonder we had so much trouble finding George's room. The Keep itself was working against us."    "We don't even have to repair the damage done in the battle," Janet said and suddenly a sad look crossed her face. "All we have to do is bury our dead."    "Any idea how many Keepers were killed?" the fighter asked.    "Too many," Misha said in a whisper. "And many more are wounded. Out of fourteen Long scouts, two are crippled, ten are wounded, one is dead." The fox closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "And one was a traitor."          "I'm sorry about the condor," Ferwig said quietly. "He must have been a friend."    Misha shook his head and then looked at one of the windows though which sunlight was shining. "I thought he was a friend, but he wasn't."    "Shame," Teria commented. "The young fool only wanted power and riches. He had a good thing going here already and he threw it away because of greed."    "A moral lesson from a mercenary?" Janet commented. "That's an oddity."    "Why?" Teria asked. "Who better to know greed then a mercenary."    "Good point," the feline agreed.    "When did you first arrive in the pass?" the fox asked changing the subject.    "Two full days before the attack," the mage answered. "Why do you ask?"    "That means you've been in Metamor for six days. We need to get you on your way and out of the valley by tomorrow morning," Misha commented. "I have a small cache of gold that should pay you well enough."    Teria coughed lightly and Ferwig shifted nervously in his seat. "We were hoping for some permanent employment here at Metamor," the mage said softly.    "You realize that the curse will change you?" Janet said, surprised.    "We know that," Ferwig countered, smiling. "As long as we get paid." ***********************      Misha found the jackal in his office slumped in a chair eating a meal. The canines armor lay piled neatly on a nearby table. The fox noted the dents and cuts in the metal. All he could see of George was from the waist up but he had little doubt that his old friend had stripped completely and was wearing only his natural fur as a covering. He also noticed a few new wounds and countless bruises amidst that tawny fur. The plate in front of George was piled full of all manner of food, mostly meat. A large mug of ale sat on the table next to the plate. George looked up at the fox with eyes that were scarcely slits and returned to his food without comment or greeting. He was eating with a slowness of motion that bespoke great weariness - both mental and physical. Each forkful of meat was chewed slowly and with great care as if the fate of the world depended on each bite.    The fox sat down next to his friend and took a swallow of ale. The jackal reached behind him and when he turned back around he held a plate covered with a towel. George placed it in front of the fox.    Misha knew what it was even before he pulled off the towel. The platter full of meat and vegetables looked good and smelled even better. Misha dug into the food with surprising gusto. He didn't realize how hungry he had been.    Neither spoke until the food was gone as was the ale.    "How did things go?" George asked as Misha finished the last of the beef.    "Bad," Misha replied. "All the Longs are down."    "Any dead besides Llyn and the other one?"    "No, thankfully. But Lisa lost her arm, Arla, Kershaw, Allart, and Meredith are all badly hurt. Everyone else has a wound of some sort. Except for Caroline and Padraic. What about here?"    "Not too bad," the jackal said and paused. "Except for HIM. You hear all the details yet?"    "Yes. Diane filled me in." The fox shook his head in shame. "How many did we loose to that bastard's treachery?"    "Eighteen died in the fighting, but it could have been a lot worse if the two mercenaries hadn't helped."    "Amazing," the fox said shaking his head. "Complete strangers save us all from own of our own. You find his body?" Misha asked.    George nodded. "About an hour ago while we were clearing debris. What do you want me to do with it?"    "We'll give him a proper burial later on, after Llyn's."    "Bury him?" the jackal asked, surprised. "Why? He was a traitor."    "He was a Long Scout," the vulpine responded. "And no matter what, the Longs take care of their own." **********************************    The day was as bright as it was cold out. It was the first one of this year that I had seen with my own eyes. Usually I see the first days through my window, the streaming sun having crossed my face after being tinted by coloured glass, and rising me from my sleep.    At a touch, a large drop of cold water falls from the broken piece of glass.    The window is gone now. So is most of the wall. And the bed. The house that I grew up in, everything that I or my parents ever owned reduced to ash.    But, perhaps not, I think, stepping over some of the debris, the snow crunching under my paws. When the house next to mine went, a fair sized pile of debris fell into mine. I start pulling at the cheap, blackened lumber, tossing it off to the sides. There's part of the small pantry cupboard that I used to own. That's smashed. Damn, there in the snow is part of mother's favourite tea cup.    I have to grunt and strain, trying to get the largest section of the burned wall up and off. Perhaps if Rickkter or one of those rats were here, then it would be easier. But no, I'll do this on my own. Getting a good grip with my paws and lifting from the knees, I finally manage to slide it off the desk and clothing chest underneath. My heart sinks as I see what's left of it. What the fire didn't consume, the wall pretty much smashed. Almost all my clothes are gone, the rest are in rags torn to bits. But none of this is why I came back. Getting down on my knees before the ruins of my writing desk, I begin to paw through it.    The bottom shelf... the bottom shelf doesn't look all that damaged. I tug at the handle. No, not damaged, just buried. I scrape frantically at the dirt, ash, and snow. Finally it comes clear. Inside, is my prize.    I give it one brief look over before clutching it to my chest and laughing joyously. It's still here!! It's still here and it's still intact! A little singed around the edges, but not destroyed. Falling back on my ass in the snow and ruins, I hug the manuscript to my chest as through it were a lost child. My writing is about the only thing that means anything to me  in this world, something  that I don't know what I'd do if it were destroyed. But it was not!    Wiping at my eyes, I realize I've been crying. Slowly, I rose up and saw the town's charred ruins and I realize that we must rebuild. So much to rebuild, where would we ever begin? ********************************** End part 87</HTML>