Yvarra didn't even have time to dive for the ground when the ''Sword of Songs'' donged a warning. Before it had finished, she felt the dart thump into her thigh. Warmth flowed from the alicorn on her forehead as she plucked the weapon out.
Damn that cult! Chasing her everywhere. Throwing knives and darts at her at all times. Eli damn them to the Seven Hells! Couldn't they leave a poor unicorn alone?
Hmph! So much for resting in daylight.
She needed a plan, and she needed it yesterday. The cultists were winning, and she had no idea how to find them, or how to fight them. She needed time to think. Maybe in a crowd-
Not running, but walking briskly, she hurried through the gates and off towards the crowded commons. She could mingle, have some piece, and figure out what in Eli's name she could do!
Usually she liked festivals. Perfect grounds for some simple wealth acquisition. But now, now she was afraid to touch anything because she had no clue who was a damn cultist! Snorting, she adjusted her fedora. And she still needed to get a proper scabbard for the damn sword. Hopefully here-
The sword donged a warning.
Great, just great. At least this time there was no immediate dart. She looked around, getting a bit frantic, and then saw where the booths were, pushing her way through and blessing her height. Stopping, she stared. It was! It was that damn monster tiger from the Keep. The lack of attacks she'd suffer on the mountain suggested that the cult wasn't there, and that suggested he was safe. And, Kelpnos be thanked, he looked to be selling weapons. She pushed her way towards him.
It wasn't far, and she watched him watching her from the counter he sat behind. What was it with Metamorans and counters? What happened to the good old wagon and tent? Anyway, either he was a very poor merchant, or he'd been quite successful so far. Hopefully the latter. As long as he wasn't a cultist, she didn't really care anymore.
She relaxed a bit, though she could feel her ears still flicking, and she kept sniffing at the air. They were here. And they knew that she knew. And she knew that they knew that she knew. And- She shook her head to clear it. She needed sleep.
Why was she here again? Oh right, the scabbard.
The sword plucked a note of agreement.
She stopped in front of his- stall? Counter? "Hello, sorry, busy. I need a scabbard for this. There was an accident." She unbuckled the strap from over her shoulder and pulled the heavy thing off. "You got anything that'll do?"
He stared at her with a neutral expression. But then, did cats ever have anything else? At least his tail bent, unlike that bloody Brennar. The tiger's voice was deep and measured, full of barely restrained strength, and threat. "I might have something that would fit that weapon, but that would mean pulling apart an existing set of weapons in order to furnish you with the needed item."
She rolled her eyes. Damn smiths, always trying to raise the price. At least she only had to keep turning her head a little to see what was going on around her. "You have anything with throwing knives? I've been going through a lot recently." If only he knew.
She watched him frown. Of course, she could hear him thinking, warriors ''never'' used throwing knives! Well, she hadn't cared what others thought of her for a long time, and she didn't care now.
Still, he said nothing. Instead he asked, "Why are you carrying that large sword, ma'am? Even I can see that you don't really know how to use it, and I have seen a lot in my life."
Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! Of course a warrior would notice that kind of thing, just like she'd notice the same with knives or a sling. For a second, she through of playing the arrogant noble given a toy, but the ''Sword of Songs'' was just too distinctive. When in doubt, mix the truth with the lie. "It's kind of an heirloom. It-" The sword played the sound of a discordant cymbal. "She and I are still working things out. Learning to use it is on my list when I have the time." If I survive till the new year.
She watched him cock his head and wiggle an ear as the ''Sword of Songs'' commented. "I see," he said. He placed a hand on the hilt of one of his swords.
Great. Damn finicky warriors. What had she done wrong this time?
Thank Eli he just continued. "Can I please take a closer look at your weapon, so that I can get a good idea of what would fit it?"
Closer look? She clenched the hilt tightly. But then, what harm was he going to do? Especially here. She just prayed the cultists kept their distance. She could feel power here through her alicorn, hopefully the thing wasn't glowing. She needed more time! With an act of will, she loosened her grip. "Sure. I do apologize for the scabbard… it was what I had or nothing."
"It's a hack job if I ever saw one."
She snorted. If only he knew.
"You must've been in a hurry when you did it." He pulled the sword from the cut-off scabbard and examined it. It made a low tone, like the long draw of a bow on a string.
She watched him, heart pumping, as he examined it. Her ears were flicking all over the place, and she began feeling a bit light-headed from sucking air into her nostrils so fast. Clenching her fists, she forced herself to calm a little.
The hilt had an elegant downward-pointed cross-tree on it and there were subtle engravings on the cross-tree, the pommel, and the first two inches of the blade. Yvarra had never really taken the time to look at it. Swords were just tools. But this… When she stole stuff she looked for the ornate, the fancy. The Sword of Songs was different. No runes, no heavy detail, no sculpting, no gems. Just clean, smooth lines. In its own way, it was more beautiful than the gold and gem covered monstrosities she'd seen so many times.
He stepped back, and she stepped forward. Then he pulled one of his own swords from its scabbard and slid the ''Sword of Songs'' into it. It fit perfectly, and the two side thongs slipped over the cross-trees to reach their studs without a problem.
"How does this look?" he asked.
"It looks fine. Appearance isn't that big a thing compared to functionality. May I?" She reached to take it back-
"Wait a second miss! You are forgetting something. This costs money, and you did mention that you wanted throwing knives." He pulled down a baldric that contained four sheathes with throwing knives contained therein. "If you want both, that will cost fifty suns."
"No, I hadn't forgotten! Though I trust you, if I need this thing and my life is at stake, I have to know now how easily it draws. If you want, hold the scabbard whilst I draw my sword. Then we can talk."
He reversed the scabbard and undid the two peace thongs before pointing the hilt of her weapon towards her. He obviously had no intention of letting go of this scabbard until it was properly paid for. Merchant or warrior, she couldn't tell anymore. Not that it really mattered.
"Sorry. I've just learned the hard way that looks don't mean shit when somebody's trying to run you through." She reached up- she hadn't had to do that in a while- and the ''Sword of Songs'' easily slid out and into her grip. She slid it back in, and out and in. "Good." She nodded in satisfaction.
"Well now, do you want the scabbard and these four knives?" he asked her, and as he did, he flipped his cloak open a little to reveal the hilt of a monstrous sword and the heart shaped ruby set into its pommel.
She looked at the knives. They looked like good craftsmanship but looks were no way to tell. And he was touchy. Better safe than sorry. "May I handle one, and do you have a target?"
He pointed to a post that he'd dug in for that very purpose two days before. "You can throw it at that post there. I personally guarantee that they will never fail you in combat."
As if he knew! With all the gods that seemed to be crowding into her life recently, she didn't trust anything to perform as advertised anymore. She drew one of the daggers and held it by the hilt. Good grip. She balanced it vertically on her palm. Easy. Good balance.
"Looks like you know your way around a throwing knife Ma'am."
Grasping it by the handle, letting the leather warm to her touch, she squinted, cocked her head, and found a knothole in the post. That'll do for a start… A swift straight movement back, snap forward, and the dagger was wobbling by its blade, centred in the knothole. "Good balance. You need a smaller target," she continued dryly.
Chuckling, he reached behind his back and whipped out another knife at the target. It stuck into the wood right beside her own weapon, quivering slightly. "That's always what I tell the guys at the Deaf Mule."
"May I try a second one?" Without waiting for an answer, she threw it and it thunked between the two existing daggers, quivering not at all.
"At least you have some skill with knives, ma'am. That makes up for your lack of skill with that sword. Why do you carry it anyway if you can't even use it properly?"
"Like I said, she's kind of an heirloom." More nervous at the continuing lack of cultists, Yvarra looked around, licked her nose, and sniffed the air. Too damn many food odours. Some grain mush shoved its way up and she hurriedly chewed before swallowing again. "Fifty suns is enough to beggar my sick grandmother, make my poor lonely grandfather turn in his grave, and my eighteen children die of starvation. Thirty."
"Ma'am, I make the highest quality weapons this side of the Western Sea. If you want my stuff, you will have to be willing to pay my prices. But right now I can tell you that you will find no better hardware in all of the Midlands. My price stays unless you can make me a better offer."
Somebody was sure full of themselves, and no sense of humour. She'd been hoping to kill a few minutes. Crap. She had it in gold, barely, but then she'd have next to no coin left. "Fine. Rules are yours. I'd offer a knife game with winner gets their way, but that's liable to take us all day. How about an equivalent gem in trade?"
She hadn't wanted to dig into them so soon, but things rarely went as planned.
Reaching into the pouch, she felt around. She'd have been happier if they hadn't
been cut, or she'd had been able to find somebody she trusted to recut them.
She had no need to go to the Keep again, and anything that kept the ''Sword
of Songs'' happy, and thus kept her alive, was good in her book. She felt a
smaller one, felt the facets… should be. Pulling it out she saw it was
a brilliant star sapphire cut in twelve edges. Looked like it'd been pried out
of a setting… what to say? Heirloom? Bad family times? No sense showing
the rest of the wealth she'd taken from the cultists.
She put it on the counter. "Here. Should more than cover it, and your transaction
fee to sell it. Old family setting, ring was fake, no clue how that trick happened."
He picked up the gem and scratched at it with one of his claws before he held it up to his eye. "This is a very nice stone, ma'am, but it will more than pay for what you are purchasing. Then again, I do have to sell it."
"It's got bad memories. Ten gold from your end to cover the difference?"
He nodded, looking at the way she moved and her posture, her scent. Why did she always have to get the careful ones? For a long moment he just watched her, and then he pulled out five gold and dropped them on the counter. "Something isn't right about this, I can smell it. So I'm only going to give you half of what you want for it."
Damn! This was going to come back and bite her, she knew it. Be nonchalant… Where was some cud when she could use the distraction? "It's not worth the memories. Five is fine."
He shook his head at Yvarra and frowned. "Now you had best be on your way, ma'am, before you attract too much attention. I've been around long enough to know that something isn't quite right here."
If only he knew. She could scent his suspicion, but she had a choice. Either stay and try and reduce it, but that didn't' seem likely, or get the hell out. Of course, if the cultists did try for her here, he'd have far greater things to worry about than a bit of lost money. Of course, they'd strike by a poison dart in the eye, or a toxined sharpened coin slid against your palm. She didn't even want to think of how many times her alicorn had saved her so far.
She felt something nick her leg and felt a wash of heat pour down from her forehead.
And again.
"I'd better be going. You're going to think the wrong thing when I say this, but just forget I was ever here. Sword, scabbard, and daggers please?" She slipped the dart out, wiped the poison off on her pocket, and let it slip to the ground.
Taking her purchases, she pushed her way out into the crowd, chewing on the cud that finally chose to come up.
"Well, that salve should kick in any moment now," Drift said as the crowd started to break up.
"Heyh! By libs ah nub! Dbift!!! I knowb you'b behibd this sobehow!" Wolfram made his way through the laughing crowd, his expression a mix of annoyance, amusement, and impressed appreciation. "So hobb-" He grunted in annoyance and pressed two fingers to his lips to minimize their numb flapping. "Good job and HOW did you do it?"
"Numbing salve on that last mug you drank from," Drift said, smiling smugly with both face and tail.
"And a special ingredient baked into your pies as an added gift from me for nearly getting my new dress wet. It'll kick in later," Alexis added, an admission that startled Drift as much as anyone. "Or maybe I'm bluffing." She rubbed her hands together and smiled. "I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?"
Wolfram opened his mouth to reply, but was drowned out by a young boy in town crier garb, shouting, "Taur pull contest starting on the Lower Festival Grounds in 20 minutes!"
Drift's ears shot back in alarm. "Hells! That's me! Good luck at the dance tonight, Xavier!" he called over his shoulder as he ran. By his third step, he had shifted into full dog form, using its smaller size and higher speed to vanish quickly through the crowd.
Alexis shook her head in bemusement as her fiancée bolted from sight. "He should have taken the rooftops… it would have been faster."
"Not everyone thinks on the fly quite as easily as you do," Xavier replied, and savored the groans his pun drew.
"Ryuo-sama!" a female voice called, and the vulpine turned to see Rois trotting up to him.
"Rois-sama!" Ryuo replied, his face lighting up in a sudden smile. Ryuo still felt somewhat awkward amongst others since the events of the past summer, but the familiar sounds of another from his homeland were comforting. "It is good to see you," Ryuo said, continuing in their mutual native tongue, "How have you been, my friend?"
"Well enough," she replied with a grin, "I was hoping I could entice you to come watch me participate in a competition of strength."
Ryuo gave a questioning look. "For the Festival?"
"Of course," Rois laughed, and then went on to explain. "They call it a 'Taur Pull'—each contestant uses their taur form to pull a large weight on a sledge across the dirt. The one who can pull the most weight wins. It's the first time this event has been tried."
"Sounds like a typical Western game," Ryuo said with mock-arrogance, "Brawn over technique." He held his air of superiority only briefly before his face again broke out in a grin. "Sounds like fun."
"You're in rare form," Rois said. "Not so serious today?"
Ryuo hesitated briefly. "I have, perhaps, been a bit too serious of late," he said. "This past summer showed me I have more here than I thought."
"Yeah, and maybe after the contest you can explain about that a little more, especially that." She pointed to Ryuo's three tails.
All three tails froze in mid-air briefly, and then relaxed. "Perhaps," Ryuo agreed, "assuming you are purchasing the alcohol."
"Very well. Shall we head over to the Pull then?"
"After you," Ryuo said, holding back one sleeve as he gestured with his paw. Ryuo followed alongside the centauress, making small talk between them as they made their way to the event.
The shaggy white dog ran up to the entry table where a bored-looking young woman was sitting. She sat up and grinned as the dog shifted to a 'taurform Keeper. "If you want to enter, I'll need your name."
"Drift Snow," the canine replied.
She nodded and scrawled the name down on the parchment in front of her. "Head over to where the other contestants are waiting and get harnessed up." She pointed with her pen to where a centauress and a certain foxtaur were waiting.
Drift blinked a few times at his first glimpse of the centauress, but he'd certainly seen stranger things. The centauress noticed his staring and smiled at him, then poked Misha, who turned to look. A wide grin spread across his muzzle as he waved to Drift. Drift waved back and walked over to join those two.
Misha chuckled. "I almost thought you wouldn't make it, Drift. I was going to have to show up Rois here on my own."
The centauress Rois, laughed. "You? Show me up? In your dreams, Misha Brightleaf!"
Drift smiled and interjected, "Well, there's a first time for everything," which prompted another chuckle from Rois.
"Yes, this is true," replied the centauress with a smirk, "but there's no way I'm going to let a fox outpull me." While this exchange was going on, Drift was being harnessed up. Of the three contestants, Drift had the easiest time, actually helping the handlers with the harness with a practiced skill. Rois raised an eyebrow as she watched. "I take it you've done this a time or two before."
"A time or two," he said, his smile broadening into a grin. "Give or take about a hundred."
Rois laughed, "Well, you've got experience on me, at least."
Aisha sighed as she sat at her station beside the large patch of bare dirt where final preparations were being made for this event. With Drift's entry, that made three entries. Rois-sensei, Misha, and Drift. And given that it was almost time to start, she quickly weaved a few threads of air into an amplification spell. "Entries are-"
"Wait!" She was interrupted as a large, muscular equitaur galloped up, stopping in front of the table. He was breathing a bit heavily from his run, but not excessively so. "I'd like to enter the contest."
Aisha quickly dismissed the weave, nodding. "Just under the wire there. I'll need your name, please."
"Richard Steadman," the equitaur replied.
Aisha quickly copied down the name. "Okay then, head over to the others," she replied, pointing as before, "and get harnessed up." She then wove up the amplification spell again, "Okay, sorry about that, folks. Now entries are closed for the 'taur-pulling contest, and we will be starting in about five minutes." She then dismissed the weave, leaning back in her seat.
She wished her brothers Drake and Colin were here to keep her company, but Drake was overhead, taking a shift patrolling from the sky. Colin was… well, she didn't know where he was at the moment. He better be back soon, as the two of them were to be the announcers for the event.
In the meantime, she sized up the new competitor. He was the tallest of the four, and appeared to be some kind of large draft horse. She watched his muscles ripple as he walked around in the harness, making sure it was fastened correctly and didn't restrict his movement, admiring his handsome physique. She must have been watching him for quite some time, as her inspection was interrupted by a voice next to her saying, "You know, if you keep staring like that, maybe he'll ask you out." She could feel the heat on her cheeks as she blushed, turning to the source of the voice, her brother Colin, who was sitting next to her with a stupid grin on his face.
"Sh-sh-shutup!" she stammered, realizing it was past the five minutes she'd given earlier, and glared at him. "You're late!"
Colin chuckled. "Nah, I'm right on time. It hasn't started yet, right?"
Aisha grumbled and sighed again, taking a few deep breaths to regain her composure before reweaving her amplification spell. "Welcome to the first annual Harvest Festival Taur Pull!" She announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. She continued, introducting herself, "I'm Aisha, one of your announcers for this event."
"And I'm Colin," the ARed boy interjected. "Today, we have a contest between four taurs to see who can pull the most."
"That's right, Colin," Aisha continued. "And now that we've introduced ourselves, let's introduce our contestants."
Colin nodded. "First up, we have the fox that rocks, the head of the Long Scouts, Misha Brightleaf!" A little ball of light hovered over Misha's head for the introduction.
The light ball then flew to over Rois' head. Aisha handled the next introduction, "Next is the elegant equine, the magnificent mage, Rois!"
The light moved yet again, and Colin continuing the introductions with, "And then have the determined dog, the talented tinsmith, Drift Snow!"
The light shifted one last time to settle over the equitaur's head, as Aisha finished the introductions with, "Finally, the stalwart stallion, the dark horse of this competition, Richard Steadman." The light then disappeared, and Aisha continued, "Competitors on your mark." She paused to make sure all the harnesses were hooked up to their loads and for the handlers to get clear. "Get set…. Go!" And the four taurs took off, pulling their loads across the wide field to the cheers of the crowd.
Aisha kicked off the play-by-play with, "Drift's off to an early lead against the other competitors. Look at him go!"
"Well," interjected Colin, "that's to be expected, given his previous pulling experience. However, that won't do him any good if he can't manage to pull more than the rest, even if he can do so faster."
"Good point, Colin. We'll have to see if he can turn that experience into enough of an advantage to win," Aisha replied, as the first load completed. The mages pulled the sledges back to their starting positions, and loaded them up with the next weight.
"Ready to give up yet, Misha?" Rois called out as the four taurs walked back to their starting points for the next load.
The foxtaur let out a barking laugh. "Hah! Hardly! That last load was nothing: bring it on!" Misha shot back as the four of them were hitched up for the second load. This verbal sparring continued for the next few loads.
"The competition is heating up out there, isn't it Colin?" Aisha commented.
"Definitely, as are the contestants, I'm sure." Colin smirked, then continued, "It looks like Misha has fallen behind the others, though. He's pulling, but it's not going much of anywhere fast." Indeed, the foxtaur was straining against his harness to pull the current load, which had barely moved from its starting position. Finally, it just stopped altogether, not moving an inch farther.
"It looks like Misha's hit his limit," Aisha said.
The judge raised a red flag and called out, "Misha Brightleaf has hit his limit. He is out."
"And the contest judge agrees," the female announcer continued.
Colin nodded, "Tough break for Misha, but he did well, and the other three seem to be nearing their limits as well." Indeed, by this time, the other three had slowed their pulls significantly, and Drift had actually fallen behind the two equines. They all three finished that weight, however, and continued on to the next one. "Looks like Drift is having some trouble with this one," the ARed boy noted as the three started that pull.
"Yes, it seems he can't get it moving out of the gate," Aisha replied. "And, it looks like he's done too," she continued, as the judge pulled him out like Misha previously. It was down to the two equines now, Rois and Richard, who both managed to finish that pull.
Colin grinned. "And it's down to the wire folks, the two equines against each other. Which one will be able to pull the most?" The two hitch up for another pull with yet more weight, and start dragging the sledges.
Two down, one to go, Rois thought as Drift dropped out, But I
don't know if I can continue… My muscles… feel like they're on fire.
Just hang in there! Rakurai encouraged.
Rois watched as Richard pulled ahead of her, completing the pull. I've got to keep going! I can't let him beat me! she thought, but her muscles screamed at her that they were at their limits. Her vision narrowed to the end of the track ahead of her as she focused all her energy on pulling and keeping the sledge going to the end. But it still wasn't enough, as her front legs started to collapse under her. Sorry, Rakurai, I tried… Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong arms around her torso, holding her up. She looked up to see Richard's equine face looking down at her, a concerned look in his large eyes.
"Are you all right, my lady?" He asked her.
She blushed, "Y-yes, thank you. I'll just need a bit of a rest…" She regained her footing with Richard's help while the handlers unhooked the harness from her sledge.
From the start of this pull, it was obvious that both taurs were showing signs of fatigue, but Rois appeared to be struggling more than her competitor to drag this weight the required distance. Richard managed to pull it to the end, while Rois' fatigue finally got the better of her, and she collapsed, panting and drenched in sweat.
"Ooo! And Rois is down!" Aisha calls out, "She didn't finish the pull. So that makes Richard Steadman our winner! Truly a dark horse in this competition." Cheers and clapping erupt from the crowd.
"And look at him helping her back onto her hooves," Colin added. "Truly a gentleman, as well."
The sun had fallen behind the edge of the Dragon Mountains, bathing Metamor Valley in a warm scarlet twilight. As the light began to fade, lamplighters walked the streets to keep the city illuminated throughout the night. The Autumnal Festival was in full swing, and revellers would spend many hours yet celebrating a bountiful harvest. For one horse-like man, the celebrations had not yet begun.
Duke Thomas stood upon a balcony in one of the towers overlooking the city. At his side was the Lady Alberta Artelanoth. She was dressed in a radiant gown of lavender. Against her grey donkey-like hide it made her seem to glow like a Spring flower ¬ a bit of life in the midst of death. But what truly made her glow was the look of delight on her face, her eyes bright with heady excitement from a long day of festival, songs, dancing, and games.
The Duke's eyes fell upon her sublime grace, noting the way her long ears turned from side to side to capture the raucous singing of Keepers below. His nose drank in the sweet scent of equine musk laced with delicate perfume. His hoof-like fingers reached out for the back of her gown, feeling the powerful yet feminine muscles beneath. His tail flicked nervously from side to side, his nervous heart pounding in his chest Thomas could have stayed the rest of his life in that one moment.
In his younger days when his only responsibility was learning the ways of statecraft from his mother ¬ his father had passed on before he was old enough to have known him ¬ he had often wondered what it was like to love another so fully that life without them was empty. Many times he had caught his mother crying quietly when she thought none could see her. But all throughout his youth he had always known that he would marry who his mother and Thalberg chose for him.
He had met several girls that they hoped he would be interested in; boorish ladies from southern lands who had shown more interest in pleasing mother than in him. Thomas turned from them all back to his studies. It was not until after he became Duke and Metamor was cast under the yoke of the curses that this foolishness came to an end. Who would want to marry a man who looked like a horse? Even a prostitute would be loath to sleep with a beast like him.
But now, as everything that was Alberta filled his senses, he knew what love was, and was grateful that it had finally come to him too. She leaned forward, her hoof-like hands gripping the marble railing tightly as she tried to see some detail below. The railing pulled at her dress, drawing taut the lace across her bodice. Thomas felt his heart skip a beat as he saw soft grey-hide flesh slip free.
Swallowing quickly, the horse lord gestured to the city. "My Lady Alberta, I can see that you have been enjoying the festival."
"Aye, Thomas. 'Tis a marvellous wonder thy people hath made. The songs! The dancing! The shows of skill and the silly plays! Oh, 'tis like a dream that ne'er ends!" Her voice was filed with the wonder of all that she tried to describe. She smiled to him, and Thomas stood taller. Though he resembled a horse and she a donkey, she was nearly as tall as he. She was more a Steppelands donkey called an Assingh, and they were just as large as horses. They were found in no other land. By the gods, she was beautiful.
"And dinner?" Thomas asked.
They had not eaten in private as they often did. Instead, Thomas hosted a banquet, with Alberta at his side. Jugglers and jongleurs had provided entertainment to the assembled Lords and Ladies of the Metamor Valley. A few of the Keep's younger mages even performed a few tricks of their trade, making various lights and illusions appear. While it 'rained' on them in the hall, Thomas had given the caster, a familiar lad named Kindle, high compliments for his work. Alberta had joined him in the toast, and her words of praise were even more efficacious in securing the applause of all assembled. The poor boy had been thoroughly embarrassed.
But what had most impressed Thomas was the look in his Steward's eye. The alligator Thalberg had always been suspicious of Alberta, a fact that pained Thomas. But over the last few months, some of that suspicion was being allayed. And for the first time, Thomas could see genuine affection and admiration in his yellow eyes when he looked upon Lady Alberta. No other of his counsellors had she left to win over now. And finally Thomas felt he could do what he had yearned to do for some time now.
"Dinner wast lovely," Alberta replied as she stood upright. "I wish the festival would ne'er end. 'Tis silly though. I wilt one day want to go riding again."
"And I with you," Thomas replied, unable to do anything but smile anxiously. He fumbled one hand into his breast pocket while she looked away. He held its contents tightly and put his hand behind his back. Nervously, he tapped his wrist against the root of his tail.
"My Lady," Thomas began , edging closer to her, "I love you."
Alberta's ears folded back and she blushed demurely. "I love thee too, my Thomas."
"Not as Duke. Not as a Hassan? Not even as a horse, but as a man? As just Thomas?"
She lifted her hands and laid them against his chest. Her snout lifted to his and he felt her warm breath tickling the hairs of his nose. Thick, supple lips opened and she smiled, her broad flat teeth still freshly white from her transformation only four months ago. "I love thee as Thomas, as my man. Thou art nothing else to me."
Thomas breathed an anxious sigh and smiled as well. "I will always love thee, my Alberta. My lass. My Lady. You have stolen my heart, and there is only one way I could ever have it back."
"Tell me," her ears folded back even more, and her eyes brightened. "My ears art thine."
Thomas nodded and stepped back slowly, letting her hands remain upon his chest. He shifted the ceremonial buckler and blade that he had worn that day with one hand while he knelt. His knees were no longer quite the same as when he'd been a man, but for this he would manage. His hooves scrapped against the stone, but he could barely hear it over the beating of his heart.
He lifted up his hand and held out a large golden ring with a brilliant yellow diamond and several topaz jewels in pavé. Alberta stared at it in shock, her chestnut eyes so wide that the whites nearly showed. With tender voice, he said, "This ring has been in my family for generations. My mother wore it, and my grandmother before her. It has always been worn by the Duchess of Metamor Keep. And now I present it to you, My Lady Alberta Artelanoth. I present it you as I seek your hand in marriage. Will you be my wife, Alberta? I would have no other stand at my side the remainder of my days. I could bear to have no other than you."
Alberta reached down and cradled the ring gingerly between her thick fingers. He'd had the ring resized in secret so that she could wear it. One of the drawbacks to being equine was their thick clumsy fingers and hoof-like nails. Over the years Thomas had overcome that difficulty, and already Ablerta was showing some facility with them. But she could not manage to grasp the ring effectively then, even though she dearly tried.
"Oh, my Thomas!" she cried, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. Her ears stood upright, and her long ropy tail flicked energetically from side to side. "I wilt be thy wife! There art no other man for my husband than thee!"
Thomas smiled broadly and gripped the ring carefully between his hard black nails. He then lifted his other hand and slid it beneath her wrist, feeling the short fetlocks that sprouted from her frilled cuff. She held her hand still and he slid the ring carefully past her nail and over her knuckle. It settled at the base of her finger, and glimmered in the evening twilight like a bright yellow star.
Alberta brayed a short joyous laugh as she admired the ring gracing her finger. It fit snugly, but not too tight. Thomas smiled and rose to his hooves, his hands framing her arm between them. "My love, my sweet Alberta. I cannot tell you how happy I am right now. I love you and will always be here with you."
"And I with thee, my love, My Thomas." Alberta leaned into his chest, her hands clasped tight between them. Thomas held her, wrapping his arms around her back. The frills of her dress rubbed between his shins, and it was all he could do to keep from crying out in joy so that all of Metamor could hear. They would hear soon enough. And then…
Thomas nuzzled her ears and lipped at them gently. "You know, that tomorrow
there will be a celebration unlike any other in recent memory here at Metamor.
Perhaps ever before. I will announce our engagement tomorrow morning. There
will be trumpets blown, banners waved, voices raised in cheers and song like
you have never heard before." He stared up at the sky for a moment, his
eyes wild with imagination. "It will be, something I have never seen before
either."
Alberta lifted her muzzle and gently lipped his cheek. "'Tis for tomorrow.
Tonight, I want thee. All I want be thee, my love."
Thomas felt his heart jump in his chest. "And the ball? We'll be late if we don't hurry."
Alberta didn't stop. "They wilt understand."
A loud neigh escaped his throat at last. He swept her into his arms and in a flight of fancy he carried her back inside. She brayed in merriment the whole way, her eyes never leaving his equine face.
Together, the engaged couple celebrated their newfound joy. And tomorrow, all of Metamor would celebrate with them. It truly was a happy day.
That night at the Duke's Ball, Xavier leaned against the railing of the balcony just off the ballroom. His night-black fur and dark gray suit all but vanished into the evening sky, and only his silver hair let Tessa find him. "Hey, handsome," the leopardess said as she slipped up beside him, offering him a glass of wine to match her own. Her sky blue gown counterbalanced her yellow fur fetchingly, and the white lace trim softened her predator's lines. "So… 'The Honorable Xavier Marcus', hmm? I always knew you were upper-class, but an actual nobleman? You don't act like it."
"A nobleman of Lorland, Tessa," Xavier replied after a long drink. "It's not exactly the most prestigious place for a noble to be from. And the Marcus family name hasn't commanded a great deal of respect anyway, not in generations." He sighed and slipped her hand into his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be this gloomy when I asked you to come with me. It's just…" He looked away.
"What is it?" she asked, concerned. He sounded more bitter than she had ever heard him before. "What's bothering you?"
"Once, long ago, the Marcus family owned most of what is now Lorland. But my great-grandfather, he was a dissolute, drunken fool who gambled away most of our land… and all of our prestige. Even after three generations of hard work, we're still barons with barely enough land to qualify for a baronetcy." He downed the last of his wine in a single gulp. "We're more known for our merchant network now, something they think is 'low' work."
Tessa took the glass away from him when he wound up to throw it, torchlight reflecting like forked lightning off the metal threads in his sleeves. "You're drunk, Xavier," she said, her voice saddened.
He growled and pushed at her. "Don't look at me like that. I don't need your pity," he said, and then gestured back into the ballroom, "any more than I need their condescension. It was a mistake to come here. These are the same people who turned away when Altera Loriod was blackmailing my father into keeping my sister and me from mage training. I should have been here years ago, and my sister should have been enrolled in the Mage Guild in Marigund even longer." He scoffed. "Some friends. We had better support from our peasants than from our peers."
"Is that why you're such close friends with Drift and Wolfram?"
"Yes. Either one of them would lie down in market day traffic for his friends. Especially Drift. He's lost so much." The leopard-man sighed and held his hand out to Tessa. When she took it, he drew her nearer and reached out to stroke her cheek. " I'm sorry. I was wrong to push you. "
Tessa eyed him, not entirely mollified. "Do you want to leave here and go somewhere less stressful? I'm sure we can find another balcony to watch the dragons' airshow from."
Xavier opened his mouth to correct her grammar, and then shut it again. It wasn't worth it. "Yes. That sounds like a good idea," he rumbled, and gestured toward the crowd of nobles with the back of his hand and the glint of extended claws. "I've definitely had enough of their company."
As they walked arm in arm after leaving the ball, Tessa asked, "If you really despise the nobility so much, why do you keep your title? Why not abandon it?"
"Abandon my birthright?" Xavier replied, ears back in shock, and then shook his head sharply. "Out of the question. The Duke may have blocked the Marcus family from resuming its rightful place in Lorland, but that may change in time. Until that occurs, I will use what power the gods have seen fit to entrust in me to watch over those few that still remain under my care."
Tessa frowned slightly, but decided not to inquire about exactly who he felt was under his care. Instead, she changed the subject. "You know, I've always wondered something… how did you manage to get silver hair?" She reached up and ran her fingertips through his bound ponytail. "And of such a strange texture, too."
They rounded a corner, stepping out onto a high wall between towers and sitting down on a bench Kyia had thoughtfully provided. The view was spectacular, even at night: the bright stars above, the blackness of the mountains, with the torches and fires of the Festival making a gleaming island of light amidst it all. "I can answer both of those at once, my dear," he said. "It's metal."
"Metal?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "How?"
Xavier chuckled. "A jealous older sister and a potion from Pascal."
"Two very dangerous things to combine," Tessa said once she stopped laughing. "Still… it's very pretty."
Xavier leaned over, slipping his hand onto her knee. "Not as pretty as you," he said, and leaned in for a kiss…
BOOM! Both of the leopards jumped as a detonation resounded over the festival grounds.
The crowds started gathering long before nightfall. The prime viewing spots on the Keep's tall towers and walls and on rooftops all over the town had been filled long before darkness finally settled over the valley. The moon was still hours from rising, so only the stars above and the torchlight below dimmed the night's purity.
All the waiting people fell silent when a bright light appeared on the top of the highest tower of the keep and rocketed skyward. It arced up and over the houses below, and exploded with a bang above the festival grounds into a thousand sparks of multicolored light. Those sparks slowly drifted downward, glittering like fireflies before winking out of existence just above the curtain wall towers.
It began slowly. Small sparkles of light winked into existence all over town, on the tops of tents and poles and even along the entire length of the curtain wall. They glittered and shimmered and began to move. People gasped in delight and surprise as the sparks of light danced and weaved through the crowds. A dozen lights, each a different color swooped down on a group of children, dancing and flittering like glowing dragonflies among the laughing little ones before darting off to play with another group.
The entire fairgrounds and town was aglow with the lights as they raced and swerved and danced about, outshining all the torches and festival bonfires. People danced and played along with them and the sound of regret when the lights danced up and away was universal. The lights danced and swirled and gathered together, building expectations as they all returned to a single bright light. What would it become?
That question was answered as a blazing horse dashed through it from the north, scattering it in a shower of sparks as it passed. The fiery horse galloped through the air, leaving flaming hoof prints that lingered in the air before fading away. The flaming horse galloped across the sky and circled beyond the curtain wall, snorting and squealing in thunderous power before wheeling to a halt at the gatehouse of Metamor, facing the Keep. The fiery stallion reared up on its hind legs, pawing wildly at the air with flaming hooves, saluting the Keep. Then the stallion dropped back down to all fours and exploded into a thousand points of light. In its place stood a small reedy sapling. This sapling grew quickly, growing taller and stronger by the second until it became a mighty oak with thick broad branches that reached high into the sky.
Hundreds of sparkling butterflies burst from the tree's limbs and scattered all over the sky, filling it with glittering pinpoints of light that glowed in a thousand different colors. Then, from the top of the tree came a glowing golden light: a beautiful egg in its topmost branches, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow. It hatched, and from it burst a phoenix who scattered the tree and the butterflies to sparks with a single downbeat of its massive wings. Drawing those sparks back into itself on the upbeat, it hovered overhead for a moment as all below watched in awe. Smoothly, grandly it swept around the high towers of the Keep, banking in great circles as it rose before landing atop the highest tower and spreading its plumage to proclaim Metamor's return from the ashes of the past and its promise to the brightness of the future. Only then did it fade, leaving the valley to the darkness of the night… and the echoing thunder of applause.
Drift and Alexis watched the lightshow from the same rooftop that they had watched the stars so many times before. "Are you sure you didn't want to go to the Duke's ball?" the fox-bat asked, snuggled into Drift's side, her head pillowed on his arm, one wing draped across his belly. "I'm sure I could have finagled you an invitation."
The samoyed shook his head. "No, that's all right. Let Xavier have his fun with the 'upper crust'. I'm happy right where I am." He smiled and kissed Alexis on the bridge of the nose. "I love you."
Alexis smiled. "I know."
Beneath them both, a trapdoor rattled on its hinges. A shrill female voice sounded from below. "You vagabonds get off my roof right now! I mean it! Get off the door, I say! Get-"
"Mama, mama, look what a courier just brought!" a child's voice called, sounding muffled through the roof tiles.
Drift thumped the roof twice. "Payment for using your roof, ma'am," he said. "Four garrets for four hours. Now please leave us be so we can watch the show."
A long silence followed, while Alexis buried her face in Drift's side to muffle her laughter. "Alright," the owner of the house finally replied, sounding thoroughly baffled. "Just as long as you're off with no funny business when you're done."
Alexis patted Drift on the belly once things settled down. "You learn quick," she said, her admiration plain.
Drift kissed her again. "I had a good teacher," he said, and then both settled back to watch the show.
In a damp cellar, two friends sat and reminisced. Outside, though, it was still quite dark, and most of the revellers had taken to bed. Through a small grated window the scrape-scrape of a broom could be heard as some industrious soul worked to clean up the exuberance of the weekend.
"And now, my feline friend, as I did promise thee…" Rose carefully selected a cask from the wall behind her and began to unbung the small wooden barrel. It was only, perhaps, a gallon or two, but she handled it with almost a sacred reverence. The sweet sound of liquid sloshing inside gave way to a hoppy, alcoholic aroma.
Gil closed his eyes as he took a deep sniff, nostrils flared wide. "Is that really…"
"Tis," Rose laughed, taking out two pint-sized flagons. "I have requested it special of a good acquaintance in Avonne." She poured the dark amber liquid and handed it to her leonine companion.
"Eli's mercy!" Gil exclaimed, after he had taken a gulp. "Tis…
Tis.."
"Iago's Elixir," confirmed Rose. "From Kemp's Bells. They hath
sent it straight on, and I have endeavored to maintain it properly. And as for
my promise to thee?"
"I am well satisfied and thus well paid."
"And did we not both see and hear as much as any may expect?" Rose
asked, refilling Gil's mug and then her own.
"Aye, though the sight and sound hold little to the doing. I did, however,
happen to hear-"
"Soft," Rose said putting a finger to her lips, "Let's not ruin fine, good ale with the telling of a dreary tale, but as our old traditions bid, we shall relate with a round of Bard!"
Gil looked abashed, and he fidgeted, looking into his drink, "Nay, prithee, 'tis been too long—I have no longer the head for it I once did."
"Thou speak'st false!" Rose declared in an imperious tone, "I have heard thee upon the parapets, though perhaps thou thought'st thyself alone. I shall hear none of it, but begin anon, knowing thou wilt follow:
"Now our day is at an end,
Feelings hurt, good beer shall mend
So drink with me and I with thee,
Shall share collected memory."
Gil looked around and thought for a moment:
"Thus in alcoholic daze,
Let us turn our bleary gaze,
On these days past, of fun and feast,
By high and low- By most and least!"
"I told thee thou couldst!" And with that, they began to alternate verses in the old rhyming game of their youth:
"Rabbit, painted head to feet.
Rhinos, Bears- or Bagels- beat.
Dear Dimalya danced and hummed
Whilst Dimba's djembe, dragon drummed,"
"Weaving flames in circles bold,
Snow produced a ring of gold.
Whilst, too, great cat with circle bright,
Fell beneath Velena's might."
"Upon the field of Taurian brawn,
Was seen the light of Chivalry's dawn,
And two more, of courage true,
By vulpine's paw were welcomed, too."
"Tripping steps on dressed stone,
The galliard, as it is known,
Did follow on pavanne and bransles
Inside the Keep's mercurial halls."
"When night had come and day had fled-
Heaven lit, blue, green and red-
A transitory tapestry
Of weaver's thaumaturgy."
"Our labours now come to an end,
Let none trouble to offend
But break the bread and merry be,
And may good Harvest come to thee."
"And may good Harvest to thee." Both sat there for a moment in silence.
Finally, Gil rose to his feet, "I thank you for this, thou hast made my night."
"'Li gi' god'den," Rose replied with a traditional Avonney salutation, rising herself. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, but then she added, "and I shall see thee upon the morrow." With that, Rose carefully poured a last round and then bunged up the cask once more, replacing it reverently upon the cellar shelf as Gil carefully climbed the stairs back up to the main house.
As Rose took up the lantern and checked the cellar one last time before ascending the stairs herself, she could still hear the echo of that last refrain:
"Our labours now come to an end,
Let none trouble to offend
But break the bread and merry be,
And may good Harvest come to thee."