Duke Thomas peered at the map of the Keep and its surrounding fortifications that lay spread out on his desk.
"Nicely done, Jack," he murmured, nodding approvingly. "Nicely done, indeed. From the looks of this, I'd say that Metamor has never been better protected."
"No one's going to be repeating Nasoj's Yule surprise, at any rate," the castellan agreed. "With the extra ring of walls and the new defences around Euper, any enemy that tries to reach the Inner Keep will have a damn hard time of it. I'll certainly sleep better at night now that this is finished."
"It needs no better recommendation than that, my friend," Thomas said, smiling. "I—"
A knock sounded at the door.
"Aye?"
A nervous-looking page stuck his head into the room. "Doctor Coe to see you, milord."
The duke nodded. "Very well. Send him in."
Coe must have heard his words, because he practically forced his way past the page as soon as Thomas had spoken. The physician nodded once to Jack as he approached the desk, then turned to face the horse-king.
"Milord, we have a very serious problem," Coe said.
Thomas motioned for him to continue.
"A patient was brought to the sickbay this morning from Euper. He has the plague."
Jack muttered a curse under his breath. Thomas slowly sank into his chair. "Plague?" he repeated softly, scarcely believing it. "Are you sure?"
"Very. The symptoms were clear, milord."
"The Flatlanders?" Jack asked. His voice was thick with suspicion.
"I don't believe they've been here long enough to have brought it," Coe said, shaking his head. "Plague generally takes a few days to incubate before it becomes visible. Clearly some trader brought it in with him, though. We haven't had a case of plague at Metamor in fifty years."
"How great is the danger, doctor?" Thomas asked.
" ‘Tis too soon to tell, milord. Bubonic plague, which Feldon has, is not very contagious, though it is still very deadly once you have caught it. If that is all we face, our greatest concerns are the fleas that carry the germ and the rats that carry the fleas — assuming that Lytherian's theory about the contagion is correct, of course."
"Do you believe it is?"
"Fortunately, I have never before had the opportunity to test it," Coe said dryly. "But I consider Lytherian a reliable source. Be warned, though, milord: Some strains of plague are far more contagious than the bubonic form. If an airborne strain has reached us, the situation is far more dire."
Thomas snorted once. "Bubonic plague is quite bad enough, I think," he said sourly. "What do you advise, doctor?"
"The clothes and linens of those who have contracted the disease will have to be thoroughly cleaned, somewhere far away from the city water supply. Victims will have to be isolated in sickbay, in case a more contagious strain is present. Someone should conduct a survey of the city to make sure that the rat population is under control — though it is probably best that our cat-morphs refrain from hunting them for now, to avoid picking up their fleas." Coe's face twisted into an unpleasant moue. "And, unfortunately, we are going to have to quarantine the city."
The duke leaned back in his chair and nodded wearily. "I was afraid of that," he said. "Very well. Make the necessary arrangements, doctor. And notify the Lightbringers of the situation — perhaps they can be of help."
"Aye, milord."
The coonish doctor sketched a quick bow, then turned and nearly ran out of the duke's office.
"It never ends, does it, Jack?" Thomas asked rhetorically, gazing up at the ceiling.
"Only in death, milord."
Despite himself, Thomas managed a wry smile at that — but only for a moment. "Go on, Jack," he said. "Notify the guard of the quarantine and prepare them to barricade the city gates. And tell Steward Thalberg to raise the yellow flag."
Another thought struck him and the horse lord sat up, alarm anew washing through his equine brow. "Jack... did... did my wife go out riding this morning?"
The mule began to nod and then his eyes widened too. "I will have somebody–"
He got no further than that as Thomas leaped from his seat and ran from the room. The quartet of guards standing wait outside collapsed over each other in their confusion. Jack shouted after him, the clatter of their hooves ringing in their ears.
Thomas did not care that he startled everyone in his galloping passage. All he could see was his Alberta laying in bed, sores festering in her hide as she slipped in exquisite agony from this life. He had to get to her himself, and no courier could be trusted to be as motivated as he. The horrifying thought that it may already be too late only made him drive his hooves into the carpeting and stone work of the castle all the more firmly.
The blistering cold that savaged him when he barrelled through the exterior door leading to the riding fields betwixt Keep and walls where Alberta liked to relax in the saddle almost slowed him, but that only to consider where he set his hooves. The days were warming but many stones were slick with ice. Behind him he heard Jack shout a curse as one of his hooves struck a slick patch. Thomas had no such trouble.
In the midst of the field filled with patches of snow and the first blades of Spring grass rode his grey-furred wife, mounted upon a mighty roan destrier whose prancing struts were hammer blows to crush skulls. Povunoth noticed him first, and turned mid-stride, slowing to a stately trot. Alberta's long ears lifted and her muzzle broke into a wide-lipped smile that faded into a moue when she saw how fast her husband was running toward them.
She nudged Povunoth into a canter and after a few seconds slowed them again when Thomas finally reached them. Jack still chased after him, swearing for him to get back inside. Alberta glanced between her out of breath husband and the castellan and asked, "Why hath thou run so, Thomas? What art Jack shouting o'er?"
Thomas gasped as Jack finally reached him and nearly put a hand to his shoulder. He waved his head and gestured back at the Keep. "You... you need to get back inside. There's... plague!"
Alberta's eyes widened in alarm. "Plague? In Metamor?"
Thomas and Jack both nodded. "You need to come back inside where it's safe. At least until we know how bad it is."
"As do you, milord!" Jack added in exasperation. "I'll tend to Povunoth. Just the both of you get inside!" Even as he spoke, Thomas's guards came out of the Keep, hurrying as quickly as they could while being careful not to stab each other with their spears.
Alberta swung out of the saddle, patted her steed on the cheek, and then let Thomas take her by the arm and escort her back to the castle. Povunoth reared once and then followed the mule to the stables. Alberta trembled as the guards surrounded them. "Wilt Metamor survive? I hath heard terrible... terrible tales of plague."
Thomas shook his head. "I don't know. We're just going to have to trust in Coe and pray. I'll work with everyone here to try to beat it, but... first I need you safe, Alberta."
She rested her long head against his chest. "I shalt do whate'er thee asks of me, my sweet Thomas. Just thou shalt do as I ask too. I wilt not hath thee work thyself to twigs."
Thomas whickered softly. "Do I not always obey you, my Alberta?"
They held each other closely as they returned to the Keep.
Misha liked having Charles's children here at the Long House. They were exuberant, curious, eager to learn and play, and above all, they brought smiles to everyone who saw them. Kayla and Rickkter had been by that morning to return some things to Misha that he'd let them borrow while the raccoon was recovering, and even the Kankoran had chuckled while watching them play with the bear Meredith. It hadn't been much but it was a start.
The only thing better would be if Charles were here himself – to stay. After hearing Kimberly's complaint about Charles being assigned to a patrol down south, he'd made sure George knew how little he appreciated having his Longs assigned duties without being consulted. The jackal had not been impressed and growled about everyone walking on eggshells around the rat ever since he'd gotten back. He'd had a few weeks. It was time he started earning his pay again.
As far as Misha was concerned, Charles had earned an extra year's pay by journeying to Marzac and experiencing horrors beyond anything Nasoj had ever thrown at them. But some days George could be just like the mercenary he once was, and this was one of those occasions. Sometimes it was good that he could be so hard; it gave him a ruthlessness that Misha at his angriest couldn't convey. But the rest of the time it made Misha want to brain him with the flat of Whisper.
But for now at least, with his paperwork well in hand, Misha could enjoy a few moments to watch the Matthias children. Meredith, who had three children, was entertaining them by pretending to be a monster. Despite how much bigger he was, none of the little rats were afraid of the big bad bear. They had been given little practice swords, wooden sticks that vaguely resembled swords, but they were more likely to begin chewing on the ends than trying to stab the bear. They preferred to jump on him and hold on as he turned and twisted around; and if he moved too fast, they tended to bite. From the look in Meredith's eyes, Misha could tell that it stung!
Heart full of simple joy, he pondered if there might be such delights in his and Caroline's future.
He did not have time to ponder long as that jackal pushed through the doors to Long House with the fiercest scowl on his jowls that the fox had ever seen. George's eyes were dark and his faintly graying muzzle quivered as if it were worrying a particularly troublesome bone. His tail was stiff and jutting out from his back like a rudder. He turned toward Misha and actually ran to his side where he grabbed his arm and shoved his snout into the fox's one good ear. "Your office now!"
Misha almost tripped over his paws as he and the jackal rushed into his office. George shut the door firmly behind him and started swearing. Misha, feeling a trifle angry, straightened out his jerkin and crossed his arms. "Are you going to tell me what this is about or are you going to show off what you learned in your mercenary days?"
"Misha, shut up for a moment. I just learned this from Copernicus, and he leaned it from Jack. We've got plague in Metamor."
His anger froze into fear. "Plague?"
"That's right. Coe confirmed it this morning. I'm not sure how many victims there are yet, but we cannot be too careful. Copernicus and Jack are already mobilizing the Watch and what soldiers are stationed here at Metamor. They're going to be closing the city. Euper too. Nobody gets in or out. Birds and dragons too." George shook his head and swore again. "This is going to get very ugly."
Misha lowered his snout and then began to nod. "Did they say what the standing orders were for anyone trying to leave?"
The jackal snorted and shook his head. "They didn't have to. Anyone trying to leave has to be killed before they can escape."
Misha didn't like it, his heart rebelled against it with every fiber of his being, but he knew it to be true. "Aye, I'll mobilize the Longs. We can't keep the Long House isolated, but I'm sure going to try for all the families." Another horrible thought struck him like a hammer. "Oh Eli! Have you heard if Charles is inside the city walls yet?"
George shrugged. "I haven't heard anything. But if he isn't, he isn't getting in." His eyes hardened and fixed on Misha with the searing intensity of a forge. "You know that."
He had to take a deep breath, wondering how he could tell either Kimberly or Charles that they could not see each other for who knew how long. If ever. If this truly was a plague, there was no telling how many of them would survive. And Caroline; what if she succumbed?
"I'll never be able to convince Charles. You know how stubborn he is."
George shook his head. "You better. Or I won't hesitate in putting an arrow in him. If he's outside the walls, then we need him to stay out there."
And then, quite possibly the most vile thought entered into his mind. The fox felt more physically ill about this than anything else, but he knew it was the best thing he could do. He shuddered and wrapped his paws around himself and whispered a prayer for forgiveness. "I know who can convince the rat to stay away from Metamor. Pass the word to the rest of the Longs. I must take care of this by myself."
George nodded and stepped out of his way. Misha walked back to the main hall, stomach clenched tight, and turned toward where a mother watched her children. She turned at his approach and the inchoate smile faded into a troubled moue. "Is something wrong, Misha?" Kimberly asked as she rose from where she reclined.
The fox swallowed heavily, paws rubbing one over another in nervous anxiety. His tongue felt thick like molasses. "Kimberly, I... I... I have to ask something... very, very difficult of you. Please forgive me."
It was a little past noon when Charles and Saulius rode up to the gates of Euper. They had already been moving at a quick trot, but as soon as Charles glimpsed the yellow flags flying in place of the usual issuant horse pinions, they sped into a gallop, arrested by the closed gates of Euper and the grim faces of soldiers looking down from the fully repaired battlements.
"What news, good sir?" Saulius shouted with one paw beside his muzzle to direct his voice. Charles fidgeted in his saddle as they waited before the gates. "Why are the gates shut?"
A young woman shook her head while several other soldiers pointed arrows at them. Charles reached for his sword in sudden alarm. "Nobody is to enter without permission from the Duke. And he hasn't given anybody permission yet. Turn around and go home."
"I dost live here, sir... ma'am," Saulius objected indignantly.
"Plague!" Charles stood in his saddle. "My wife and children are here! You have to let me in to be with them." His entire body shook with fear, his eyes wide and panicked.
The woman shook her head as the soldiers drew taut their bows. "I'm not allowed to let anyone in. I..." she turned at the sound of somebody forcing their way up to the top of the battlements. They could hear a very familiar growling voice.
The woman backed away, her face even more ashed white than before, and into view rose a familiar fox. Misha Brightleaf, haggard as if just coming from a year long siege, put his paws on the edge of the parapet and gazed down at Charles with profoundest agony. "Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry. But you cannot come inside. It's not safe at all here and I don't want to risk your life too."
Charles stood up in his saddle and shook his fist at the fox. "I will not be separated from my wife and children yet again! I will take the risk of the plague so long as I can be with them."
"I know," Misha sighed but still shook his head. "But we cannot do it. We don't know how serious the plague is, nor how far it will spread. We need everyone to stay away from Metamor. You are but one of five Long Scouts outside of Metamor right now, Charles. We need you out there. I... I hate doing this. I hate it horribly, but you know this has to be."
"You will not keep me from my family!"
"I'm not! The Plague is. It's nobody's fault, Charles."
"I will get to my wife one way or another!" Charles gestured at the walls. "You think those will keep me out." He swept his paw at the archers and his expression turned contemptuous. "Or them?"
Misha shook his head. "No. Don't be a fool, Charles. You've always been too stubborn for your own good. But you will see your wife. Kimberly?"
And then another figure tentatively stepped up to the parapet. A rodent head covered in light tan fur and framed in a warm woolen coat lined with a bear pelt appeared, her dark eyes brimming with tears. Charles's defiance shattered at the sight of her face and the plaintive cry of her voice. "Charles? Oh Charles, I'm so sorry."
"Kimberly!" Charles stood taller, extending his paws as if an invisible ladder would carry him across the span of twenty feet to reach her and hold her. "I'm here. I'm here my love!"
She nodded and placed her paws on the edge of the parapet to lean out as far as she could. Misha reached behind and held her steady so she could better see her husband. "I'm here too, my man. I... the children are all safe at the Long House. Misha's going to make sure nobody who's been near anyone infected goes there. We should all be safe until this passes."
"How could this be?" Charles asked, his voice catching in his throat. "Why can't we be a family?"
"I don't know," Kimberly sobbed a moment and then choked it all back. "Misha's right, Charles. You need to stay back at the Glen where you'll be safe, and where you can help Metamor stay safe. The plague will pass. I believe it. I have already said many prayers for it to pass. I love you and I know after this is over we will be a family again."
Charles ground his fists into his chest and closed his eyes tight, the black hand-print on the right side of his face clenching into a fell paw. His voice racked with spasms of frustration that defied his own ability to express in words. "Will I ever get to see my children grow? Will I ever get to be a father? Oh Eli!"
Kimberly cried again and reached out with a slender paw. "Oh Charles, do not despair! Do not. I can't bear to see it."
The rat stilled himself but did not open his eyes. The archers, who watched with at first grim reluctance, now softened and let the tension in their bows fade. After several interminable seconds, Charles lifted his face again and stared with undisguised longing at his wife. "I will not despair. Do you really want me to go?"
"Nay, but I know you must. And if you must, then I wish you to go. Be safe, protect us, and pray. Always pray. Oh Charles. I hate every word of this, but please do as Misha asks. The children and I will wait in the safety of Long House for this plague to end."
Charles steeled himself and slowly began to nod. The vine tightened around his chest but even its tender embrace could not console him. The words that came to his tongue were bitter as ash and wormwood. "I will go back to Glen Avery and wait for you. And pray. I love you, my Lady."
"And I love you, Charles."
He stretched out his right paw, fingers spread, as tears began to drip across his cheeks. "Good bye, and may Eli protect you and the children. Give them my love. Every day. Every day." He turned Malicon about and started back down the road away from Euper, unable to bear the sight any longer. His heart was crushed. With each sob of his wife in the retreating distance, the only thing he could hear, despite the hammering hooves of his steed, Charles felt himself go as empty and as cold as ice. If not for Malicon, his body would have hardened into stone and stayed that way.
The Priestess Merai hin'Dana, or what currently controlled her body, did not feel delight at the seeming ease with which its plans were coming to fruition. It hated too much to feel even the briefest most timorous sense of joy. Rather it reveled in loathing anew, a mortal body to infest and torment. A pleasure that brought only an increase in pain, an increase in rebellion, an increase in recompense, and a renewal of its own damnation. Every act of defiance was an act of its own accord. To that it would never break, no matter how much misery it brought upon itself.
For now, that self will was to ensure its ownership of Merai's body. The pathetic mewling of the woman inside was a sharing in misery, even if Merai's misery was nothing compared to its own. Every mote it shared was one more shout of hate it lifted to the Throne.
It had assured those closest to Raven that all was as well as can be and that it was studying a summoning to bring Akkala. That would not happen and would be apparent in time. But by then its allies would be in place and one of the strongest and most noble vanguards of the Lothanasi would be no more. But, knowing what Merai knew, or rather, learning it through Merai as the scrawny cat was treated more like a mouse in its grasp, there was one person in the temple who might recognize what had been done to Merai. That person could not be killed without risking their plans; but at least he could be put in a place where he would never risk seeing Merai.
A knock on the door brought a smile to Merai's feline jowls. It hid the smile and straightened, tail swaying with each step as it came to the door in Raven's study and opened it to see the head acolyte, Celine. The child had her hands clasped before her and her face dutiful. "You wished to see me, Sister?"
Merai nodded but did not bid her enter. "I have been studying the summoning, but I'm afraid I need more time. And more information. Send Elvmere to the archives and bid him stay there. He is to do research. Have another acolyte stay with him to bring anything he finds to you. He is not to leave without my permission."
Celine frowned. "Elvmere? Can he be trusted with this?"
"He is a scholar in his own right. It is only fitting he should begin to learn our ways." The words were bitter irony, but the reason was sound enough that it would be accepted. And it kept the former Ecclesia Bishop from seeing Merai and recognizing it. "See to it. I will let you know if I find anything more. Tend to our people." This last she said with a suggestion of empathy. Celine nodded, still uncertain but obedient. It shut the door and resumed contemplating its own plans and how much it would gorge on the agonized cries of the dying as the plague ravaged Metamor.
Darkness fell as Charles and Saulius neared Lake Barnhardt, and with unspoken agreement they turned to the city by the lake. Neither spoke during the long ride, and it took all of Charles's frayed will to keep from losing himself in the unfeeling sanctuary of stone. They were admitted through the gates which clanged shut behind them without fanfare, and welcomed back by a bewildered giraffe.
"I thought you were going to Metamor. Weyden saw you heading there this morning," Larrsen said as strode beside them on their tired ponies. Even with them mounted, the giraffe was still a few feet taller than they.
"Then thou hast not heard the news," Saulius said grimly as he bit the end off his chewstick with a sharp crack. "Metamor doth fly the yellow flag. 'Tis forbidden to us all for a time."
"Yellow flag?" Larrsen asked in alarm, a shivering thrum echoing along his xanthous spotted hide. "A sickness?"
"Plague we were told. Struck this morning ere we arrived."
Larrsen ground his teeth together and lowered his head. "We were due to return there in a few days." Some silent pain passed through his eyes and then he looked back to them. "How long?"
"None can say," Saulius replied with sour exhaustion. "'Tis plague. 'Twill end when it ends. Until then we can do aught but protect our lands."
Larrsen nodded, expression still shocked. "I had better tell Captain Naomi. And Captain Dallar. I... come, let me take you to the barracks. You both look like you've ridden those ponies and yourselves to death."
Larrsen brought them first to the stables. Saulius bade Charles go on ahead to the barracks. He made no objection, but allowed Larrsen to guide him through the torchlit streets of Lake Barnhadt. The giraffe tried asking a few more questions, but at seeing the rat's complete and gloomy introspection, kept to silence himself.
It wasn't until they found Jessica who was busying herself over her notes that the rat finally uttered a word. "Jessica!" He shouted, and ran into the black hawk's surprised embrace. He held to her, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pressed his head into her feathered chest. Jessica could only wrap her wings about the rat.
Larrsen left them with a wordless grunt, and with a flick of her beak Jessica shut the door. She had never seen Charles like this and her heart ached to do something. He was bawling like a child. Perhaps if she made him a child for a time it would be easier for him. She could do it, but she dismissed it after only a few seconds. Charles might not appreciate the help.
But the mind of a child would.
Jessica admitted that there was truth to that and was about to craft the spell in her mind when the rat pushed his head back and began wiping the tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it's happened again! They've taken them away from me!"
Jessica let the spell unravel but did not take her wings off his back. "What happened, Charles? Did something happen to Kimberly and your children?"
He nodded. "They went to Metamor yesterday to celebrate a friend's wedding. I received word too late. By the time we arrived at Metamor, the whole city was under quarantine! The plague, Jessica!"
Her heart stopped for a moment as that single horrible word struck her. "Oh no!"
"And they're trapped inside and I out! They might catch the plague and die and there's nothing I can do! Nothing!"
"I'm sure Master Coe and Lothanasa Raven are doing all they can to stop the spread of the plague. Akkala will help in this."
Charles's face flashed with vicious anger. "Don't say her name to me! She wouldn't save my Ladero! She can rot in Hell for all I care!"
Jessica squawked in sudden outrage. "Don't you ever speak such blasphemy to me again! I have never said aught about your Eli!"
Charles's eyes narrowed, the anger still there. "You don't know what she said to Kimberly after Ladero died. She let him die, Jessica. She could have done something but she did nothing! Nothing!"
"How did... I did not know. But do not speak evil of her again in my presence. I will make you a child if you act so childish again!"
He blinked and pushed back through her wings. "You, what?"
Jessica shook her head to dispel the notion of her giving a childish Charles a lashing. "I'm sorry. Just, Charles, come here. You need someone to talk to. You need a friend. Please let me be that friend tonight."
But the rat was dubious. "What do you mean you can turn me into a child?"
"Later. I'll tell you later. Show you if you wish. Just come. Your heart is far too heavy. Share it with me. Please, Charles. We cannot face these things alone. That's what we learned with Lindsey and Kayla."
His whiskers twitched and ears lowered as the words finally penetrated. A slow nod overcame his head, and he rubbed the fur on his face for more tears one last time. "I'm sorry. I almost forgot I wasn't alone in this."
"Never alone," she draped a wing over his shoulder, heart heavy but lightened some by his presence. Weyden would understand when he learned. Charles needed her right now. "Now, share with me. We have seen too much together, Charles, for you to hold back now. Just this one time, please."
The rat swallowed and nodded, his long tail curling around his legs as his eye began to rove for a place to sit. "I'll try. And I'll try not to get angry again."
"Thank you." She guided him to a place to sit and listened to her friend and his anguish until all the candles were ready to go out.
March 5, 708 CR
The return to Glen Avery was done next morning. Already the news of the plague had reached them and the town was preparing for the worst. Jo was swamped with scouts curious if their slight maladies were a sign of plague, and Angus was busy making sure that the perimeter of town was safe. He wasn't eager to let the two rats back until they'd been examined by Jo, Burris, and Lady Avery herself. Nor was he that happy with any of the news they brought.
"If Metamor is shut up, that means the defense of the Valley falls to us." The badger's scowl revealed a plethora of yellowed, sharp teeth. He guided them past scrambling scouts trying to erect physical defenses and other busily cleaning up the effects of a slight snowfall the previous evening. "I was afraid of that."
"What of Hareford to the northeast?" Saulius asked as he noted all the activity with twitching nose and whisker.
"What of them?" Angus snorted derisively. "They hide in their castle if there's a hand of snow on the ground."
The rat knight regarded the badger with a curious eye and disapproving moue. "I dost not believe thou hast made a fair characterization, Master Badger."
Angus growled. "I have more important things to do than bandy words with you, oh knight! If you are going to stay in the Glen, then you've just been recruited into our army. I need every paw for our defense that I can. And yours are very capable or so I'm told."
Saulius's snout twitched at the injury to his pride, but he quelled it with a noble bow. "My sword is thine."
James was fast upon Angus's paws and he greeted Charles with a worried frown. "We weren't sure if you made it to Metamor on time."
"No," the rat replied. He'd shed more tears in talking with Jessica, but he was not going to share any with the donkey. The time for weeping had passed. "No, we did not. We'll be staying here until it is over."
The donkey looked aghast, with wide eyes and upraised ears. "But Kimberly and the children!"
Charles cut him off with a swipe of his paw. "There's nothing I can do! For them at least. I can help here and that's what both Kimberly and Misha want me to do. So that's what I'm going to do."
The donkey had nothing more to say and meekly backed away as they walked toward his home. Angus gave orders that he would see them both in an hour's time to discuss their roles in the Glen's defense and then returned to seeing to it. Saulius shook his head briefly, looked to the donkey and asked, "And where hath the good Lord Avery gone?"
James, still with a stunned expression on his countenance, gestured toward the far side of the Glen with one arm. "At Lars's place discussing plans with the others I think. Word arrived late last night and this place has been crazy ever since." He glanced at Charles and after a few seconds of lip quivering, said, "I had hoped you would have made it to Metamor."
Charles sighed. "I do too."
Baerle was there waiting for them when they reached Charles's home. The opossum was dressed in scouting gear and looked to have been up quite some time. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and she wept anew at seeing the rat return. She didn't say anything, and neither did Charles, but embraced almost as soon as they saw each other. They held each other for several long moments while James watched, rolling the bell distractedly about in his hands and flecking his lips. Saulius took the reins from Charles's distracted paw and led the two ponies toward the stables.
When rat and opossum parted the donkey was gone.
James waved to Jurmas as he passed through the common room of the inn and up the stairs. The mood was sombre and the only smiles that were had were those of the women who'd come to see Jurmas's new daughters. The donkey's hooves clopped heavily on the wooded stairs and down the hall. He tried not to slam the door behind him but it still resounded with a thunderous clap.
He pressed the iron bell to his head and took a long deep breath. His chance. His hope. All gone now.
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight! -
He rang the bell and stilled the thoughts where they were. The image of his friend Charles holding Baerle so close... it infuriated him in a way he could not describe. Why did it upset him so much? Charles was the one real friend he had in the world. He owed everything to him.
So why did he, for a single moment, hate him with a passionate gorge he'd never felt for anything or anyone else? Shouldn't he feel pity for his friend whose wife and children were trapped in a castle under the threat of plague? He did. He did feel sorry for him. But...
James hunched over his bed for a moment, long tail whipping back and forth. The resonance of the bell had faded at last and he let it drop to his lumpy mattress. The clapper bounced dully off the inside of the bell but no note sounded. He lifted his hand to his neck and ran both fingers through his spiky mane and over the powerful equine muscles. His stomach turned and twisted.
He could still see them holding each other. Why should that bother him so? They were friends and she wanted to comfort him.
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
Yes, he had heard it in their voices, suspected it in the dark of night when he lay in his bed listening to the rattle of his windows, or even on their journey to Marzac when the rat muttered indecipherable words in his sleep. He heard it in the way Baerle spoke to the children, to Kimberly, and especially to Charles. And he didn't hear it at all when she spoke to a poor donkey whom the rat had shown pity on.
James ground his flat teeth together and stomped one hoof. If it was one thing James was good at it was listening. The Curses had given him very good ears; ears that were laughed at and seen as foolish. But good ears. He had heard. And they knew.
What a horror they outpour
Indeed. James lowered his hand and stroked the edge of the bell, noting its warm sheen and sonorous energy. Somehow, there would come a time, a way, a means, for that note to be meant for him. Now was not the time. Let Charles be comforted. A time would come soon enough.
He sat down on his bed, and eased the bell into his lap. He brought the crack to his supple lips and kissed. "At least I have you," he murmured gazing into his own distorted reflection.
Forevermore!
Charles stroked his furless paw across the top of the half-size beds tucked away in one of the upstairs rooms. Neatly pressed quilts decorated with stylized trees and pine cones covered the soft feather mattresses. The fabric had been cut in several places and sewn over a sign of a Keeper not being careful of their claws. Charles had similarly destroying his linens many times in the past.
There were four of these small beds, each hastily made when the children had outgrown their cribs a month past. After returning to the Glen once Kayla had been freed from the evil dragon, he'd spent a few days shaping the wood with James and Garigan; asking Burris would have been simpler and cheating in a strange way. Together they'd gathered the wood and built the frames, doing most of the work out in the stables Saulius and the other knights had built a couple of months before.
These new beds would be good for a year or two he hoped. By the time they needed real beds he hoped that his carpentry skills would be good enough to fashion something finer, though he knew he'd likely have to hire help from the local carpenter. Burris would have gladly done the work, and as much as he liked the Woodpecker, he didn't want his children growing up relying on magic to solve all of their problems.
If they did grow up.
Charles felt his grip stiffen on the footboard and he repressed the shudder that echoed through his muscles from his long toes, along his tail, and up to his scalloped ears. The wood began to crunch beneath his fingers and, startled, he managed to let go and take a step back. "I will see them again," he said softly, almost whistling the words through his incisors. His paws yanked a chewstick from his belt and he stood there staring at the empty beds as he concentration on his gnawing.
The small room in which his children slept had only a few other decorations. A small cabinet at the back stored their clothes and their toys, while a yew was hung from the wall over each of their beds. The walls were warmed by the magic used in the shaping of their tree home. A long green and blue rug stretched from the cabinet to the oaken door with the beds on either side. It was marred by many threads pulled loose by careless claws. Charles bent down and snipped one between his narrow claws. He felt the vine pull taut around his chest as he did so.
"I'm just fixing it," he said softly as if the vine could hear him. Maybe it could.
Charles snipped a few more loose threads before standing back up and sighing heavily. Behind him he could hear Baerle's gentle paws climbing the steps up from the main room. He lowered his long snout and waited for her to come and find him.
The opossum ducked her head into the room still dressed in her scouting gear. She folded her paws before her, white and black fingers rubbing over one another anxiously. "They will be safe," she offered quietly. "They will be."
"The Long House is a good place," Charles admitted with another sigh. "Probably the safest place they could be inside the Keep walls now. But... plague... it finds ways, Baerle. It finds ways through walls and closed doors and windows. It comes down chimneys, it comes up cellars. It finds ways! And it can last months."
Though he did not turn his snout to gaze at her slender and well-proportioned form, he did watch her with one eye. One paw lifted to the end of her snout, and in a very timorous voice she added, "Years?"
He snorted and felt a sudden urge to smash his fist into something. "No. Plague kills all of its available victims before it can last that long." He turned fully away from her and balled his paws into fists against his chest. The need to destroy something, to see something shatter into a million pieces and scatter into the air before him was almost impossible to ignore.
She stepped closer and put a paw on his shoulder. "Please have hope, Charles. It won't be forever. They'll be back in your arms..."
"Alive," he added through gritted teeth. "They better be." He tilted back his head and glared up at the ceiling. "What are you doing here, Baerle?"
Her voice was gentle and her whiskers brushed against the tips of his ears. "Angus wanted us to come to Lars's to discuss assignments in an hour. Well, it's been an hour."
"An hour?" Charles asked as he shut his eyes tight. The scarred flesh pulled taut until it stung. "I've been here an hour?" It had only felt like minutes since he'd stepped into his home and moved from room to room and seeing their emptiness. Everything he'd seen had felt fresh and recently touched, but there was no one but himself to touch them.
"Aye," she replied as her paws ever so slightly tightened around his shoulders. He could feel her legs with his tail. "Please come with me, Charles. There's nothing you can do right now. You're only making yourself feel worse."
Charles lowered his paws to his sides to grab his chewstick, but he held it so tightly that it snapped in three places before reaching his snout. He shuddered and took a few steps forward to get away from her. "Maybe... maybe you're right."
He could hear her bend over to pick up the pieces of his chewstick. "Do you need some time to find your Calm?"
"Nay," he said with a long sigh. "I'll be fine."
Yet he didn't move. His tail drooped until it brushed the rug and the splinters. The vine pressed closer to his chest and back, soft tendrils and new leaves resting against his furred flesh like a hundred comforting hands. His ears turned slightly as he heard Baerle the opossum stand back up, her scouting vest tightening against her chest. He breathed, absorbing the scent of his children, sweet and subtle with its gentleness, mixed now with the earthy flavor of his wife's wetnurse.
"Charles?" Her voice cut through all his other senses so quickly that his whiskers fluttered in near surprise. "Charles, are you sure?"
"Sure?"
"That you are fine."
He almost squeaked in bitter amusement at the question. "I am not fine. My wife and children are... I'm not fine. But I will be fine enough. I will... be." He slowly made himself turn around and look up into her concerned snout. "I will be."
Baerle stared into his face, dark eyes slowly moving across his sloped brow before settling on the black and twisted scar around his right eye. The opossum's whiskers twitched anxiously and compassionately, and yet also, diffidently. Slowly, her thin, dark lips opened to reveal the many pointed fangs hiding behind them. "Then we should go. They're waiting for us."
She held out a paw to him which he stared at for a moment before taking. His paw slid into hers, soft flesh meeting soft flesh. Their fingers curled around one another and the edges of her jowls twitched into a faint but reassuring smile. Charles could not return it, but he did step toward her, and then, alongside her as they walked out the door and then down the stairs.
They only let go when they stepped out his front door and walked past the tree roots and into the snow drifts of the Glen Avery commons.
There were only a few empty seats in Lars's brewery when they arrived. Angus was waiting for them by the doorway, arms crossed over his heavy-set chest, a bit of leather caught between his teeth that he chewed between his molars. The badger nodded to them both as the rat stared in shock at the press of flesh inside the bruin's establishment. For Charles, it was like the day he and his fellow Sondeckis had come while Nasoj's forces were assaulting Metamor in the dead of a winter storm. The only Glenner's not present were those on patrol and those tending their families.
"Good," Angus said to them both. "You haven't missed anything you don't already know. Let's get you both a seat."
"Thank you," Charles said to the badger while trying to smile and failing.
Angus led them into the midst of the crowd which had gathered around one of the center long row tables just in front of the main bar. There the gray squirrel Lord Brian Avery stood with a well-used map clustered about by his advisers. Charles recognized Alldis the deer hunter and Berchem the skunk archer, as well as Burris the woodpecker woodmage. When Angus approached several of the scouts he knew parted before the badger to let him through. Lord Avery lifted his head and nodded to the master of the Glen soldiers but he did not smile.
The squirrel's eyes noted Charles, and his nose and whiskers twitched, his tail nearly pushing the deer aside in its anxious whipping. "Charles, I am glad you're here, even if I wish you weren't. We may need your special skills in the days and weeks ahead."
"I'll help anyway I can," Charles replied. He felt a few paws pat him on the shoulder, and he nodded to the other Glenners, each of which was a friend in one way or another. He was surprised that he didn't see James nearby, but he did spy Sir Saulius. The knight rat expertly slipped through the throng to wind his way to his squire's side. Charles felt a brief flash of irritation at seeing his fellow rat and his superior in the knightly ways, but the moment passed quickly. No matter what had come to pass, it had not been Saulius's fault.
"Good," Lord Avery continued. "Now until the quarantine is lifted, we have to keep watch over the roads and woods nearby. Tarrelton and Barnhardt will make sure that nobody escapes the quarantine heading north, so we shouldn't have to worry about that." There was a mass sigh of relief; none wanted to have to kill fellow Metamorians. "But we do have to worry about the Lutin tribes and other enemies to the north. Word will spread, and when it does, they may try to take advantage of Metamor's weakness. It is up to us to put a stop to that."
Snouts bobbed up and down in agreement.
"The Long Scouts are coordinating the defense of the Giant's Dike at Hareford. They have more than enough troops there to keep adventurous Lutins from causing any more than the usual mischief."
"And when they slip past Hareford's troops," Angus added, the last word almost dripping with disdain, "we'll be here to stop them."
"I have heard good things about their new commander," Alldis the deer offered with a slight tilt to his head. Velveted antlers were just beginning to grow beside his ears. "They say Sir Dupré is not one to be underestimated."
"I'll believe it when I see him in battle," Angus retorted.
"Enough of that," Lord Avery chided with a sharp chitter. "Angus, I need you to organize patrol schedules for everyone for the next two weeks. We'll also need some horsemen along the road. Sir Saulius, can we count on you for that?"
The rat knight placed one paw on Charles's shoulder and nodded firmly. "My squire and I shalt not fail thee, Lord Avery."
Charles bristled at being so volunteered again, but said nothing. But the squirrel lord narrowed his gaze and fixed the two rats a commanding stare. It was strange coming from a squirrel, but like all else in Metamor, they had grown used to such incongruities. "For now, that is fine. But I have in mind another task for Charles in the coming days. One where no horse is going to be going."
Saulius's paw slipped. "Oh?"
Avery gestured at the map, drawing is finger across a line of mountains flanking the valley. Charles recognized Glen Avery and its forest adjacent to the mountains. "After the odious Baron Calephas tried to attack us two years ago, Burris created several talismans to be placed within the mountains that would warn us if the Lutins or anyone else should choose those dangerous paths; only those who seek us harm would risk the mountain road. We don't know how long the quarantine will last, so we'll want these talisman's fully charged. Charles, you have mountain climbing experience and the equipment. Once Burris has readied the supplies you'll need to fully restore magical force to the talismans, will you be willing to venture into the mountains for us?"
The rat frowned at the suggestion but nodded. "I can do as you ask; but would it not be better to wait until the mountain passes have opened? They must be choked with snow and ice now."
"They are," Alldis admitted, even as Avery, Berchem, and Angus nodded as one. Only Burris kept his head still, and that was more from long practice to keep from his hurting his beak than from disagreement. The deer continued, placing a thick hoof-like nail atop the map where the mountains framed the northwestern edge of the Valley. "And they might be until Summer."
"They should be fine," Burris said with a chirp. The woodpecker kept his wings close to his back as he tried to keep any of the other Glenner's from touching him and putting any of his feathers out of place. "But they might not be. I was hoping to do this myself this Summer but now it shouldn't wait."
"I agree," Lord Avery said with a quick nod. "How long will it take you to prepare what is needed?"
"Three or four days, maybe five." Burris opened his beak to say something more than closed it and appeared to brood.
"I also have some experience in the mountains," Baerle offered. The opossum stood just behind Charles, the tip of her snout framed by his scalloped ears. "Nobody should go alone."
Lord Avery nodded in approval. "I was hoping you would volunteer. I wish that Garigan could go with you, but he's stuck at Metamor for now. But there is one more with us here at the Glen who has mountain experience like Charles that I want to have go." He lifted his head and scanned the gathered crowd pressing on all sides. "James? Are you here?"
From the back of the room the donkey's half-bray sounded. "Aye, I'm here." Glenners stood out of the way so that they could see across the cavern hall. Lit by a nearby brazier, the donkey's gray hide seemed orange in the warm light. He sat upon a stool against the wall, one hoof resting on a cross-beam, while the other dangled an inch above the wooden planks. Resting in his lap was the broken bell, glistening in the light like a still beating heart in the chest of a slain elk. His ears stuck out from either side of his head casting shadows across his face so that his dark eyes seemed sunken.
"I would like you to join Charles and Baerle on the journey into the mountains," Lord Avery said with a slight nod toward the donkey.
"Of course," James replied. "I'll be happy to go."
"And I'll go," Angus added, "since I know where the talismans are!"
"Then that's settled," Lord Avery said with a flick of his tail. "Burris, let me know when your supplies are ready. Now, there's much more to do before we are finished. What is next in our defenses?"
March 6, 708 CR
James reported to the brewery as soon as he rose the next morning. The donkey had not slept well the night before, strange dreams of vaulted ceilings occluded by thick, oppressive shadow waking him several times during the middle of the night. Still, his anxiety was born not of the nightmares, but of the mountains they would traverse; and most especially who he would be traversing them with.
Charles was one of the few people he knew cared about him and in the year they had known each other, James felt that their friendship was more than just comrades in arms, or from shared interest. They were brothers in a way that defied lineage.
But, to James's continual frustration, he was the younger brother. As much as he admired and cared for Charles, whenever the two of them were placed together, everyone preferred to be with the rat.
And then there was Angus. The badger was a good teacher and had convinced James that he could actually swing a sword. Yet, he always felt like a student in his presence, as if the badger were always evaluating him and pondering what next he needed to learn. James would always be his inferior.
These misgivings gnawed at his heart and darkened his dreams like banners blackened with soot flying low to the ground. Yet it was the opossum Baerle that twisted him and drove him mad. Every time he awoke with her face in his eyes he frantically searched for his bell, hands trembling until thick fingers wrapped about its handle and gave it a swing. The sweet note would sooth his nerves and allow to return to sleep.
He wanted to have a chance for Baerle to see what he was capable of. But with Angus schooling him, and Charles outshining him, there would never be a chance for the opossum to notice a foolish donkey like him.
But, as he rushed into the brewery to volunteer himself for scouting duty, he had a few days before the trek into the mountains with which to approach her. To his surprise, he found that there were only a dozen or so people in the brewery waiting. Amongst them was Angus who was busy discussing assignments with the others assembled. The collected miasma of animal scents from last night blended with the ever present wine and ale that permeated the bear's establishment made James's nostrils twitch, but of those that were fresh, he did not smell the opossum.
"Ah, James," Angus said as he approached, "We've got something easy for you today. Just a simple scouting patrol south of the Glen. Berchem here will be guiding you through the forests." The badger gestured to a stocky skunk standing to his left conversing with a pair of shorter Keepers, a vole and arctic fox that James recognized.
His heart tightened and his hand wound about the handle of his bell. "I was hoping to join Baerle on her rounds today." He couldn't believe he'd said it, but there it was out for all of the others in the Glen to know. The skunk's eyes narrowed a moment and then he shook his head and turned back to the other two to whisper something James couldn't hear.
Angus shook his head. "She's up in the trees the next few days. Now I know you have mountain experience, but trees are different. Hooves do not belong in trees. Don't worry, she's one of our most experienced, she'll be fine. And so will you. Now, we hope that plague doesn't get up here, and to make sure it doesn't, the southern borders need to be watched carefully. Anybody trying to slip through, well." The badger folded his paws under his chin and narrowed his small, dark eyes. "I don't need to explain, do I?"
James's long tail fell still between his legs and his ears lowered in disappointment. Glumly, he began to shake his head. "I understand. I'm ready to go as soon as everyone else is."
The badger half-grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "Good. I'm glad we've got you with us again, James."
But as his hoof-like fingers stroked the silent surface of the bell, the imagined tolling that he could hear drowned out the compliment.