Winter Assault

December 24th, 706 CR – 8 AM – Dawn

A small, glowing ball of light appeared in the darkness and the wick of the ceremonial candle flared to life. The summoned light faded slowly, the flame of the candle strengthening to take its place, and Merai hin'Dana leaned back on her heels with a small smile. Today was a very special day.

Rising to her feet and backing away nine short steps from the altar, Merai turned and walked to the small storeroom where the temples hand-lamps were kept. After she had lit all of the wall-lamps, bathing the room in soft, warm light, she returned the smaller hand-lamp to its resting place and moved quietly to apse at the back of the temple hall.

It was a cold winter's day, and a chill wind brushed at Merai's long brown hair as she sat down on the sill of the semicircular window. The window had no glass, and remained open year-round — but though the icy wind blew against Merai's face where she sat, the temple itself never grew cold. It was, she reflected, just another one of Kyia's special touches, one of the little things the spirit of Metamor did to make the Keep more comfortable for her human tenants.

Merai looked out at the snow blanketing the valley, its uniform coat of white mirroring the heavy gray clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon. The snow was still falling heavily — indeed, it seemed to be getting worse, and it was becoming hard to see more than a few miles in any direction. Somewhere above her the wind howled mournfully, as though warning of a fiercer storm to come.

In spite of the weather, though, Merai was in high spirits. The Patildor called this "Christmas Eve", the night before their religion's most holy day. For the Lothanasi of Metamor Keep, it was a time to honor and remember their most high god — a god whose name they did not even know.

They called him the Iluvatar, an old Elvish word meaning "All-Father". It was he, the legends said, who created the universe, including the gods, the dragons, the Elves, and of course the humans. Something had happened since then, though, and the Creator had fallen silent. No one knew why, but it seemed as though the Iluvatar had distanced himself from his creation. Lately, the Lightbringers of Metamor had made it their holy quest to restore contact with him.

The month of December had always been associated with the Creator, mostly because none of the other gods would claim it as their own. In truth, that was probably why the Patildor had decided to celebrate their lord's birth in December to begin with. Whatever the motivations, it had turned out that Raven would hold her ceremony for the Iluvatar on the same night that Father Hough held his Christmas Eve service in the cathedral. Since both ceremonies were open to the public, it seemed like half the Keep would be crowding into one holy place or the other this evening.

Merai let her mind wander for a while, thinking of gods and faith and religion, but her thoughts kept circling back to that unseen, mysterious, omnipotent figure. Iluvatar. Even the word sounded holy and enigmatic to her ears.

"Will you speak to us tonight, Iluvatar?" she asked softly, staring out at the whirling snow. "Will this be the year you break your silence?" It was the greatest dream of everyone at Metamor who had anything to do with the Order. Priestess, acolyte and commoner alike all longed for the Creator to reveal himself at last. It sometimes seemed a foolish hope, a desperate and impossible dream.

Still, Merai thought, it would be far more foolish for them to stop looking.

At last she rose from the window, turning back toward the hall and the preparations that still had to be made for the evening service. As she took the body of the sacrificed dove from the altar, its blood having finished draining into the basin, her eyes fell upon the twin cross before her. It was the symbol of the Lightbringers and their mission: Heaven Above, Earth Below, Meet in the Middle.

"Come to us, All-Father," Merai whispered. "Your children are listening."

---

December 24th, 706 CR – 11 AM

The main door to the courtyard opened briefly, disgorging a gale of wind-driven snow and five bundled forms. Two of them were quick to get it closed again, much to the appreciation of the equine castellean who stood at the room’s opposite end. As the group began to shake the snow from their garments, Jack hiked up the collar on his own overcoat and asked, “So how’s the weather?”

A head wrapped almost completely in a scarf tuned up at the mule’s question. All that was visible under the many layers of protective garments was the person’s black nose, the lopsided whiskers that protruded from that region, the roundish black ears which sat exposed in the tangle of scarf upon his head, and the long striped tail descending from under a heavy winter coat. The raccoon puffed some snow from where it sat upon the end of his muzzle, the sparse flakes joining their cousins already heaped and melting on the stone floor.

“Fucking cold!” Rickkter pronounced.

Jack’s braying laugh echoed about the large chamber. “Get used to it, Southerner. This has been a mild winter for Metamor so far. You’ll be looking at far worse to come in the next few months.”

“He’s right enough about that, Rick,” concurred a wolf that stood near the raccoon, brushing the flurries from the fur on his head. Bender then went to work on his tail. “I’ve seen storms like this last for several days without letting up. Whole houses buried. The way this one’s going, we’ll probably be up to chest deep or more by morning.”

“More in spots where the drifting’s bad,” said Moorly. The equine archer unwrapped the last of the scarf from his own head and shook out his mane. “I’m just thankful that we got in before it really started coming down. I feel sorry for those poor souls who got stuck with sentry duty out on the walls or at the sentry towers tonight.”

“It’s the holidays, Moorly,” said a squat, female shrew as she pushed her way past them and over to Jack. She was working on unbuckling her sword belt to entrust to the castellan. “You know that Duke Thomas has standing orders to keep those to a minimum. Though I could never make sense of the people that volunteered for that duty, myself.”

“Triple pay, that’s why,” responded their commander. Jione was an impressive woman, living up admirably to the term amazon. She pulled the long braid of brown hair from under her fur hat, allowing it to rest down the front of her right shoulder of her open coat. Grinning half-heartedly at the looks her team gave her, she explained. “I did it a few years myself. It helped dealing with having no one to really share Christmas with.”

The rest of the morphs all muttered their understanding, heading around to where they could stow their implements. “So what are all of you doing this year?” asked Rickkter.

“Family,” replied Bender. “My cousins and aunts and uncles, just about everyone, is coming in from further north in the valley. We’re all staying at my parent’s house in the town.” He gave his comrades a wolfish grin. “It’s insane for a few days, but what the hey? It’s tradition.”

“Almost like myself,” said Moorly. The horse had secured his bow and was in the process of returning his arrows. “I’m catching the last caravan out of here for the southern lip of the valley. Damn, I’d better get moving if I’m going to make it, actually.” With a final wave at his comrades, he departed Metamor’s central armory at a brisk trot.

“Well, that’s one down,” said Rick. “What about you, Kwanzaa?”

The shrew brushed at her snout some, delicately plucking at her whiskers to remove some of the irritating flakes. “Oh, I don’t have a lot planned. Probably just meet up with the usual group of friends, make merry and see what comes the dawn.” Rickkter laughed along with the others, his deep brown eye shining. “What about you?” Kwanzaa wanted to know.

“Well, I don’t know about the next few days, but today I have a personal invitation to Misha’s Christmas party. It should be a good one, and from what I’ve been told there’ll be plenty of room and plenty of people. He’s having it in the Long House itself, Long Hall to be exact.”

Bender smirked. “Descriptive name.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“Be sure to enjoy that party,” said Jione.

“Oh, I will. I’ve learned never to pass up free food and drink.”

“Well, that’s not all that’s in store for you. I’ve heard of those parties of Misha’s. No matter who’s in attendance, those parties are always renowned for their antics. That fox knows how to throw one hell of a bash! If you want an interesting story, ask him what happened, oh, three years ago with him and Laura Calamar and the bean dip.”

Raccoons had the oddest chuckle, reflected Kwanzaa. “How about you, Jack?” she called out.

The question took the mule by some surprise. “Me? Well, I have nothing special in mind. Probably go to the Mule, have an entire bowl of Jack’s famous eggnog to myself.”

“Sounds like a good evening,” commented Jione. All the animal morphs turned to look at the amazon. “It also sounds like a lot for one man, even one of your stature. Would you mind if I accompanied you?”

Jack’s tail swished back and forth as he pondered, his eyes roving over the fellow soldier. “‘Tis the season of giving and joy. If you’ve no one else to spend it with, than I welcome your company.” Jione just smiled and nodded in return.

With the equipment stowed away, the small team bid each other farewell, departing with handshakes for their respective destinations. Unlike the others, Rickkter took his time and enjoyed the scenery as he walked along. The halls all over the keep were decked with the usual festive decorations; there were many wreaths and pine bough arrangements, which lent a wonderful scent to the air. Stepping nimbly around a ladder where a pair of servants were hanging some holly decorations, Rickkter did a quick pirouette, his hands clasped behind his back. Of course the most notable sensation as he swung around was his heavy tail. It wasn’t an unpleasant effect, the tail lagging behind him like that, so when he noticed the little girl in the dress smiling up at him from the other side of the hall, he gave it a few more whirls. For the next several steps he took he and the girl spun in a quick, pseudo dance, the raccoon on one side of the hall, her mirroring his movements on the other. He was all striped tail and long coat, she was pigtails and sky blue dress. Rickkter gave the child a simple smile before continuing on his way, his stride unbroken.

The thought of what other people might have thought, a warrior-mage of Rickkter’s reputation acting like a child, briefly passed though his head but was just as quickly dismissed. He had enjoyed the simple sensation of doing it, and the gap-tooth smile of the young child was an additional reward. Besides, it was the festive season! It was a time for good cheer and happiness and all that. And for the first time in a god awful long time, he had reason to be really, truly, happy about this time of year.

So what if it was colder than the ninth hell out there? He was in here. And he had absolutely no intention of leaving the nice warm interior of the Keep for the next several days. That was in fact why he and his team had done that last short patrol; they wanted there to be no reason for being called out last minute. Rickkter’s hearing caught the howling and roar of the wind as he passed a nearby window, but that was almost immediately drowned out by a small, impromptu choir that had set up along one wall of the foyer, a half dozen keepers of various ages and manifestations of the curse lending an oddly rich depth to their mingled voices.

Hither, page, and stand by me.
If thou know it telling:
yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good league hence,
underneath the mountain,
right against the forest fence
by Saint Agnes fountain.

Bring me flesh, and bring me wine.
Bring me pine logs hither.
Thou and I will see him dine
when we bear the thither.
Page and monarch, forth they went,
forth they went together
through the rude wind's wild lament
and the bitter weather

Rickkter stopped to listen to the singing. The smile on his face slowly became larger, eventually resembling something of a snarl. On an animal morph with a muzzle such as his, a reaction like that could not be helped. Nor could the swaying of the tip of his tail in time to the music. Great maker, it was good to see some things were the same almost the world over.

Sire, the night is darker now,
and the wind blows stronger.
Fails my heart, I know not how.
I can go no longer.
Ark my footsteps my good page,
tread thou in them boldly:
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
freeze thy blood less coldly.

In his master's step he trod,
where the snow lay dented.
Heat was in the very sod
which the saint had printed.
Therefore, true Followers, be sure,
wealth or rank possessing,
ye who now will bless the poor
shall yourselves find blessing.

---

"...So, that night, Alexander of the Northlands loaded up his snow carriage with his Goods and the Goods of his passengers to be; all the young children of the village of Northlanders," Jono was saying. "But then!" he Leaps onto a table and stares up at the ceiling, spreading his paws wide, as if encompassing the world, "the dark and terrifying FOG did come down from the sky! And Nobody Could See! None of the children would make it to their parents for the December holidays!"

A collective Gasp! of shock and horror, and a few small whimpers emanate from the small crowd of children in front of the panther, their eyes riveted on him.

The storyteller's temporary mount is towards the front of the room; he's been using it as a prop fairly often during the story. There's certainly enough torches around so that he doesn't have to put any extra effort into making himself visible to his audience — they being the two score-odd children mostly sprawled on the floor watching him with undivided attention — but the room is a small one, and its construction does not suit storytelling. Jonothan Hand, traveling tavern bard, would have to project his voice a great deal if he were trying to do one of his usual performances for the common people in this room. But he doesn't have to here; the children are enthralled by the story, and don't need the extra persuasion he would have to give adults sipping at their beers. A small room, but a cozy one; kept very well warmed by the heating spells set up over the Keep, unlike the outside.

Jono does not get to tell stories to children often. The only thing he does often with children is wish he had them as an audience. Though it can't easily be discovered from his usual means of business, and you wouldn't know it given his nomadic past lifestyle, Jono has a passion for young ones greater than most mothers.

He loves this to death.

"But why couldn't they see?" one child blurts out, clearly unfamiliar with the concept of fog.

"Ah," Jono says, one paw going back up with a finger extended, so as to show that now we are telling a lesson. "Fog is like blowing dust, or mist, all throughout the air!" - waving his paws through same air - "...and when the fog combines with the snows that get as bad as they are Outside now, you can't see but a few feet in front of your face! And you must see further than that if you wish to know where you're going!" he says, smiling. "If Alexander pushed on ahead, he the children could fall into a hole in the ice, and be," he lowers his voice to just barely above a whisper; this is a Very Serious Thing, "...frozen to death."

Some of the children give little shivers of fear. Others just smirk, clearly thinking Yeah, they say it's all dangerous, but I know that I would never be caught in that.

"But!" Jono quickly says, so they don't have to dwell on freezing. "But, that was when Alexander remembered Randolph, the Magic Reindeer!" He spreads his paws out in awe. "Randolph, who could make his nose Glow with the brightest of lights, penetrating even the Deepest fog, and thus take Alexander and the children back home safely!"

"What's a reindeer?" asks one puzzled child amid a sea of beaming, hopeful faces.

"A reindeer? Why, a reindeer is a horse of the Northlands; they are the ones who pull along the Northlander's snow carriages for them!" Jono says, smiling all the while. He was asked this question before, when he first mentioned them. He doesn't mind, though; better to answer the question so that the children can keep enjoying the story.

"Oh!" says the now enlightened child, now looking hopeful along with the rest.

"But as you remember, Randolph was not treated well by the other reindeer; he was the only one who knew Magic, and thus was feared by all the other reindeer," Jono says, his voice now dropping low, as if maybe our new hope may not hold out; the children's faces follow. "And yet! Alexander did recognize Randolph's talent as being Necessary and Useful in this desperate time, and so he went over to Randolph, and he asked him a question..." Jono drops his paws to his sides briefly, then brings them back up again. "Now, I need some help for this. Who wants to play Randolph?"

He always does this; it keeps the children involved in the story. Plus, it makes a good indicator of how much they're identifying with the characters, as gets evidenced when nearly every child raises their hand. "Okay... hmmm... You three have gone before," he says to three boys who raise their hands every time; the hands lower in slight disappointment, but only slight - everyone Must get a turn, after all. "And you four, also... you did before... and you... Have you gone before?" he asks one bright-faced young boy who is waving his hand energetically.

The boy shakes his head vigorously. Clearly, he's quite qualified for the role. "Okay, you can come up and be Randolph," Jono tells him, and with that every remaining hand drops down.

The young boy who was picked jumps up to his feet and starts to charge up, then remembers what the kids were told the Last time someone ran, and very slowly walks up to the front of the room, beaming as though he'd just been awarded the riches of the whole of the valley. Jono grins back at him; this is the part he loves the most.

He kneels down to face his now fellow actor. "Now, what's your name?"

"Randolph!" the kid says cheerily.

Jono chuckles. "No, no, what's your real name? The other kids need to know who's being Randolph this time," he says, nodding sagely.

The boy ponders for a moment, then, resuming his cheery demeanor, cries out "Josh!"

Jono grins, turning to the audience. "Okay... Everyone, this is Josh, and he's being Randolph for me for this next dialogue."

There are assorted waves from the children, and a collective "Hi, Josh." Josh beams proudly - he gets to be Randolph! Then Jono says "Okay, it's time," and with this Josh - now Randolph - assumes a serious expression.

Jono - now Alexander - knees down in front of Josh/Randolph and places his hands on Josh/Randolph's shoulders. "Now, Randolph," he begins in an understanding tone. "I know that you haven't had a very good time with the other reindeer; that they don't understand your ability to do Magic, and that they get very scared and jealous of your being able to do so. But," he continues, "I need your help to get the children to their parents tonight, or else we'll be stuck here when the Big Blizzard comes, and nobody will be able to be with family for the December holidays! So," he says pleadingly, "I need to know. Will you use your magic light to guide our way through the Fog and the Snow? PLEASE, will you help us?"

"I will! I will! I will!" Josh/Randolph says, almost bouncing up and down in his excitement to play the part.

"Ha HA! I knew I could count on you!" Jono/Alexander says, lifting Josh/Randolph up by his sides and helping him to Fly through the air! "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Josh, meanwhile, is having the time of his life, putting out his arms and Flying, like the birds and bird morphs! And all the kids are cheering and clapping! The children will be able to make it home! The December Holidays will be celebrated with all the Mommies and Daddies! Everyone is Saved!

Unfortunately, the flight has to end sometime so that Jon can tell the story, and so after one swing he sets Josh - now just Josh - back down, and Josh goes back to his seat. The story is now one of a foregone conclusion, but it has to be told anyways, just to make sure that nothing else happens before Randolph can save the day.

Jono looks up, about to resume this course, then notes that between his thanking Randolph profusely for his assistance and his setting Josh down, he's acquired someone new in the audience. She's leaning against the door and smiling broadly.

There has never been any question whether or not she loves kids as well; Joanne Hunter, traveling herbalist/alchemist and healer visiting from Glen Avery, gray vixen, and longtime companion of Jono, has always had a fondness for the youth of the world. But she's never been as expressive about it as Jono. Of course, he's the showman of the duo; she usually just keeps the operation going. But for her, to see Jono performing for the audience of youngsters, to see the smiles on the faces of All the kids - the one doing the storytelling as well as the ones in the audience - and to know that everyone involved is having the time of their lives; this is what makes it worth all to her. She doesn't need to do any storytelling herself; Jono does more than enough for her.

Jono merely answers her smile with a quick wink - storytelling here, Jo, can't interrupt - and goes back to the story.

"And so, with Randolph at the head of the snow carriage, Alexander did go Forth into the snow and the fog! And it was a Long and Hard journey, even with the magic of Randolph's light, but the children were comforted knowing that Alexander would never let them go to harm."

He pauses briefly, then gives the smile of All Has Just Become Well. "And when they got to the village, their parents Raced out to greet them, to hold them and hug them close, because Mommy and Daddy always care for their kids. And Alexander and Randolph were praised as Heroes of the village for bringing the children home safely, and everyone Cheered at their triumph!" he says, bringing his hands High in joyous celebration! And all the kids cheer once more; the children have made it home finally!

Jono brings his hands back down, gives a simple smile, and gives his traditional story-end. "And thus did it come to pass that Alexander and Randolph saved the December Holidays for the Northlands village, and here this story ends." His paws drop completely to his sides, to end.

Applause emerges from the doorway. Not just Joanne, but several of the parents have also come by to witness the end of the story. Jono smiles, nods in acknowledgment to them, then turns back to his soon to be dispersed audience. "Okay, everybody, parents are here, so everyone has to Get Up and start helping out around the house for December Holidays! Have a great day, everyone; I'll see you all again tonight!"

The children for the most part leap up and start heading out the door, chattering excitedly about brave Alexander and talented Randolph, waving good-byes to each other as parents whisk them away to the day's chores, and then it's just Jono and Jo in the room. She walks forward, smiling. "Another successful production, Jono?"

Jono grins, nods almost as enthusiastically as his earlier volunteer. "Certainly. They loved every moment of it."

"One could easily tell," she replies, still smiling. "I take it you've been waiting a long time for the chance to do this again..."

"Ahem, excuse me?" The voice comes not from Jono or Jo, but from someone in the door. A quick glance by Jono identifies him as one of the parents earlier; he's a mouse morph, and clearly a little nervous about this meeting but wanting to get it done. "I just wanted to thank you for looking after Jeremy for us; he can be a perfect terror in the mornings, and we really appreciate your help."

"Glad to be of service," Jono tells him, smiling, and extending a paw. "And you would be?"

"Kevin," the mouse replies, taking the paw after a brief hesitation.

"Good to meet you, Kevin," responds the panther, shaking the paw slowly. "I'm Jonothan, but I go by Jono; this is Joanne, a longtime traveling partner of mine."

"Ahh, nice to meet you both," Kevin says, offering his paw to the vixen, who takes it briefly. "Well, I have to be going now; lots of preparations for the day and all. Again, thank you." He bows his head briefly, then turns and heads off.

The two watch him go, then turn back to each other, both smiling. "So," Jono asks, "what plans did you have for the afternoon...?"

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― noon

The one thing that really struck Rickkter when he opened the door to his apartment was the heat. As there had been no fire going when he had left the day before, the place should have been freezing cold. Instead it was pleasantly warm and there was a modest fire going in the hearth. And there was a particular scent in the air that made him smile slightly. “Hello, Kayla?”

A black and white head poked its way over the top of the couch, the skunk’s whiskers and round, black ears perking up as she smiled. “Welcome back, love.”

Rickkter just shook his head as he began to remove his heavy winter outerwear. He had moved a chair next to the door where he dumped all of the items he used often. “So how long have you been here?” he asked, disposing of his long coat.

“Oh, almost since you left. I spent my time digging through the drawers in your bedroom and the other rooms; I found some fascinating things in the bottom of that large dresser you have.”

Rickkter’s head slowly turned towards her and he was glaring at her from under his brow. Kayla, on the other hand, had raised herself up on her arms and her bushy monochromatic tail was waving behind her. “Oh, don’t worry, Rick, I was only pulling your tail. I just got here a few hours ago and figured you might like some warmth when you arrived back.”

The scarf from around Rickkter’s neck was unwrapped and tossed atop the mound of clothing. “Skipped out early on work just to be here, eh?”

“No, not exactly. The entire office was paid a visit by Phil and his wife, Clover, today. He took her around, introduced everyone, and then kicked the lot of us out. He said that if he didn’t have to work during the holidays, which he was spending with Clover out in Lorland, then he didn’t want any of us being forced to do the same. So now the whole department has until next week off.”

“Well, that was certainly nice of his Highness,” said Rickkter as he took his weapons over to his own personal locker to be stowed. Pressing his palm to the flat plate on the locker door, he opened the iron doors on the vast array of weapons therein. “It means we’ll have a little more time together, at least.”

“Definitely an enjoyable bonus. Of course, we’re probably going to spend the next two days or so recovering from Misha’s Christmas party.”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that; when is it?”

“If I remember right, we can start arriving any time after three. It ends when it ends, though from past experience, it’ll probably be close to dawn tomorrow before the die-hards finally stagger off to sleep.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ve heard a few of the horror stories from Kwanzaa and the others already.” He grinned devilishly at her. “Sounds to be a very good way for one to spend the holidays; partying themselves into oblivion.”

“And from what I’ve seen of how you party, you’re not going to be in the best of shape tomorrow when we’re supposed to exchange gifts. So what I was thinking is that in some parts of the world, like where I come from, it’s traditional to exchange gifts the night before so that the next day is free for celebration; religious and otherwise. So how about we do it now?”

“Oh? And then what else would we have to unwrap later?”

Kayla leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes half closed and slowly twitching her bushy tail back and forth behind her head in a most alluring fashion. She stroked her palm back and forth along her lower jaw. “Um, I can think of a few things,” she said in a silky burr.

Rickkter’s eye ridges and ears perked up and his tail took on a very pronounced swishing motion. Before he leaned over, reaching into the lower portion of his weapons locker, Kayla could clearly hear the loud murr of interest that came from deep within his throat. In return Kayla’s smile grew and her tail lashed around faster behind her when she saw the plainly wrapped brown package he withdrew. Walking up to the skunk, the gift stowed behind his back, Rickkter placed a paw on the wonderfully soft white fur at her throat and held her head steady as he leaned down and kissed her. A soft pirr spread up Rick’s paw as their tongues played over the sharp teeth in each other’s mouth. Rickkter eventually broke it off, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. “Um, well. That was definitely worth the wait.” He ran his hand up and around and away as he walked around the couch before plopping down next to the lovely skunk. “So is that all of my present?”

“Not entirely.” Kayla leaned over and withdrew a thick, wrapped package from under the couch. “I managed to pick up a little something for you as well. Let’s hope you don’t have this one.” Rickkter could immediately tell from the weight and size that it was a book and said so. “And as you know, it’s not the fact that you know what a package contains that’s important, it’s the nature of those contents.”

“Very true,” Rickkter snickered, his dexterous fingers working at the string wrapping. He made quick work of it, revealing a modest tome bound in smooth, black leather. He carefully lifted it from the wrapping and turned to the title page. A very, very pleased smile slowly spread on his face. “Where did you get this? I’ve been after a new copy of Urgundum for some time now.”

“Believe it or not, Zhypar.”

Rickkter gave her an incredulous look before throwing his head back and barking a laugh. He shook his head, his eyes rolled back.

“I encountered him in the little shop in town,” Kayla continued to explain, “and he offered his help with selecting something. He said he knew you were looking for that tome, that he even volunteered to make you a copy, but you never came to see him over it. So he gave it to me at a modest cost.”

Rickkter’s gaze was suspicious. “How much?”

“Ten coppers.”

Rickkter threw his head back in laughter once more, albeit this time it seemed he was highly amused as opposed to his previous disdain. Bringing his head down, he gazed upon the book once more and muttered something about devious kangaroos. Then he leaned over and imparted a quick lick on Kayla’s forehead, swiping the length of the white strip there. “Thank you, love. Don’t think I could have asked for anything more.”

“Well, that’s good. I’ve never bought anything for a mage before.” She straightened up and patted the parcel on her lap. “Now let’s see what you bought me.”

“Well, I hope you like it,” said Rickkter as he slid up close next to her. “I’ve never purchased anything for a skunk before. So difficult to buy for, you know.”

Kayla just giggled as she managed to get the bow off and cover open. She paused when she saw what was inside. “Oh, Rickkter. What is this?”

“Something I thought the two of us could use together,” he whispered. Rickkter had leaned an arm over the back of the couch and had his head cocked back in preparation for a sensitive attack on Kayla’s neck. “I remember how much you like me brushing that long fur of yours, so what better gift than this?”

The grooming kit was quite complete, Kayla reflected, the brushes and combs it contained being some of the finest she’d ever seen; their handles were made of what appeared to be silver, the pig’s hair was tightly secured and was as varied in grain as the different brushes. Some were wide and flat for areas such as backs and tails, others were smaller and of softer grain for regions of shorter fur such as face and arms. By this time Rickkter was nipping and nuzzling at her neck, making a few deep murrs and other sounds of raccoon enjoyment. Kayla leaned into the nuzzling, purring herself a little, fighting valiantly to keep her waning concentration focused on the contents of the box. “My god, Rick, these are too much. I don’t think I’ve ever received something this extravagant in a long time. Or this... personal.”

“Like I said, you deserve it,” Rickkter reiterated, momentarily breaking off. “I figure that we can try them out tonight.” He started placing small kisses and licks on her neck once more, working his way slowly down and around to her front. “I want to take you, get you out of this dress, lay you down on that bed in there, and spend about an hour massaging every inch of your body. Those brushes weren’t the only things I picked up; I have a small stash of massage oils that are supposed to be good for both our species. After that,” he stopped his little advances and looked her right in the face, “then we’ll find out how well those brushes work. I intend to brush that lovely fur of yours until it shines. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

Kayla reached up, her fingers running through the thick fur at his cheeks, and pulled him into a passionate kiss. “Somehow, I don’t think so,” she admitted after backing off. “You were out on that patrol for over a day now; I’d hate to think of the condition your fur is in under that tunic after all that.” She pulled away from his embrace and walked around behind him, though his head turned to follow her movements.

“What are you doing?”

“Just something special for the man I love. These are mine now, after all, and I can use them any way I want to. And I want to do this for you.”

Rickkter’s hand snaked up and caught hers, holding it gently by the wrist. “I would rather you didn’t. I’ve wanted to use those on you for almost two weeks now. I just want to try and show you how special you really are to me.”

The skunk gazed down at the raccoon on the couch where his paw gently held hers, the man who meant so much to her. Reaching out with her free hand, she drew it over his head and circled one ear, rubbing it gently as she knew he loved so much. “Oh, okay, love. You don’t want me to, I won’t. But you still do look a fright. Sure you don’t want some brushing?”

“Never said I didn’t. You know where I keep my own brushes.”

“What am I now? Your slave?”

“No, you’re just the one standing up.”

Kayla whacked him lightly with the flat of the silver brush, but she complied anyway. Within a few minutes, Rickkter’s tunic was thrown to the side and he was relaxing under the tender ministrations of the female skunk standing behind him. Upon her return, Rick had managed to convince her to add a massage to what she was doing. She did complain when she first heard the idea, but then he reminded her of what was to come. While grudgingly at first, Kayla did come around. Rickkter had known her annoyed attitude and exaggerated huffing were all an act and was now sitting there enjoying himself.

“I can’t believe the knots in these,” complained Kayla as she worked her thumbs around the muscles just below his shoulders. “How do you keep doing this?”

Rickkter groaned deeply, his head tilting back until it was resting on his shoulders. “I have no idea. I’m just glad you’re here to help with that. Those have been aching all day.”

“Yes, you should be glad. Not many people I know would want to handle a raccoon like this,” said Kayla as she shifted her hands higher, kneading the excess skin around his scruff and enjoying the wonderful feel of the soft fur there.

“Why wouldn’t I be glad?” he murmured. “I love you.”

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 1:30 PM

It was nearing one-thirty, according to the clock on Rickkter’s mantle, by the time they were ready to go. Kayla had spent the better part of an hour and a half loosening his muscles and straightening his fur. She had then spent over forty minutes fussing over his wardrobe. She could honestly never understand how some men could care so little about how they looked. But while he complained and bitched and moaned, Rickkter eventually did concede to letting her pick his attire for the evening.

Now he was dressed in a black surcoat over a deep purple doublet. The surcoat had runes and magical symbols sewn onto the cuffs and collar with a golden-copper thread. While Kayla had asked about their relevance, Rickkter had just smiled and said they were for decoration. Of course the mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes told it otherwise. The rest of his outfit was a white shirt under the doublet, ruffled at the neck, and black pants. It was simple, elegant, with as few adornments as possible. Just how Rick liked it.

Currently the two were heading for a stair well. The tower that Rick resided in was not the same as the one closest to where the Long House was adjacent to, so they needed to cross over on a connecting causeway to it. True they could have gone down and through the lower parts of the Keep, but both agreed this was more... scenic.

It was also a little louder. As they were ascending along one of the wide, central staircases, loud, clear laughter drifted up from below them. Rickkter recognized it immediately and left Kayla’s side to lean over the side. “Hey Cope! How’s it going?”

“Arg, Rickkter! What are you doing up there, you masked bandit, you?”

“Just off to one of Misha’s parties at the Long House right now.”

“Long house?” the lizard’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “You’re going the wrong way then!”

“This is Metamor Keep!” Rickkter shot back. “You can stand in one spot and get to where you want to eventually. And as for you, why aren’t you busy at the pool hall hustling all the new visitors?”

The response made Kayla blush and Rickkter laugh. While Copernicus and the raccoon traded barbs over the railing, Kayla wandered up a few steps to the next level part of the stairwell and over to an unshuttered window to admire the snow. Apparently they had moved to a side facing south, away from the brunt of the storm. Folding her arms over her chest, she lost herself in the cold beauty of the world beyond. From their current height, perhaps a third of the way up the central tower of Metamor, the blizzard did have some beauty to it. They way the snow swirled about beyond the glass, the light scraping it made when it blew against the window, did have a enchanting quality to it. If one looked hard enough, she reflected, they could almost pick out patterns in the random flurries.

The echo of Rickkter’s harsh, barking laugh broke her revere. Grinning out of one side of her muzzle, she shook both her head and her tail. Over the last few months she’d grown to know that sound to mean that Rickkter was finished whatever little contest he was involved in and would soon be coming so they could continue to Misha’s. Lowering her hands so that they were clasped at her waist, Kayla fluffed her tail out behind her and turned half around to wait for him.

“Ha ha, I’ll see you around sometime, you old handbag,” crowed the mage down to the lizard a story below. He laughed some more at whatever Cope did in response then waved him off and turned to face Kayla. The smile that had been on his face abruptly slid off and he almost stopped dead in his tracks. Kayla cocked her head to one side and tilted one of her ears over in puzzlement.

He walked up to her slowly, his tail slowly brushing the backs of his legs as it swayed. When he was a step below her, he reached out, gathering both is paws in hers. Using his thumbs, he rubbed her knuckles in gentle circles, feeling the skin moving under its covering of fur.

“You know,” he began, his eyes never leaving her paws, “I just realized that I haven’t told you how beautiful you look today. And for that I must humbly ask your forgiveness.”

Kayla’s muzzle rose slightly in an embarrassed smile and her tail tried to work its way between her legs. “Oh, Rick. It’s not that serious,” she said, giving his paws a squeeze.

Rickkter brought her paws to his lips, planting a small kiss upon her black knuckles. Like almost all animal morphs, the pads on her palms were dry and slightly rough, but the fur on the other side was wonderfully soft to his touch. “It is to me, love,” he responded, shifting his grasp so that his paws enclosed hers and bringing both sets upwards as he moved to stand on the same level as the skunk. “In all the time I’ve known you, I can’t say when I’ve seen you look more beautiful than now.” Leaning forward, he gave her muzzle a small lick of his tongue. She quickly angled her head and turned it into a kiss.

The outfit that she had on was indeed striking. She was attired in a dress of deep blue, the material thick and warm in the cold weather. Outlines of white brocade were stitched at her wrists and around the bust and neckline. Kayla’s breasts were not large, but the dress worked to accentuate them. The run of white fur from her chin downwards could be clearly seen, as well as the black fur just at the edges of the dress. The back was also cut low, running down to just below her shoulders to reveal the dual white stripes that cascaded over jet black. Around her neck, visible as a thin, shining yellow line against the ivory and jet of her fur, was the gold chain of the pendant Rickkter had crafted for her many months earlier. The only other jewelry she had on was the leather bracelet with its metal disk and sunburst pattern she had received from Rickkter during the summer solstice festival. But the way the dim sun had hit her from behind, illuminating her shining white fur and deep, seductive black, Rickkter had been right: It was inexcusable for him not to have made mention before. Especially considering his feelings.

“Thank you, my love,” Kayla said in a soft tone after they had broken the kiss. She freed one paw for the tangle and brought it up to gently rub the cheek of the raccoon she loved. “I really don’t know of anything else to say to that.”

Rubbing and sliding his head along his fingers, Rickkter smiled down at her. “That first part contained all that is important to me.” He smiled along with her, leaving his head in her tender grasp several moments longer before withdrawing it. “Now come on. We’ve still got to find that crazy fox and his wild party before it’s all over.”

Kayla chuckled; the sound heavily tinged with a skunk’s burr, as she slid an arm around his waist and felt his own do likewise. “In that case I hope the food there is good. We’d die of starvation before having wandered around long enough to miss one of Misha’s parties.”

Rickkter just laughed and playfully batted the end of his tail against the hem of her dress as they started off once more. It was several levels until they reached one that was on the causeway to the next tower, the one that would lead them to the Long Hall. It was a sort of round about way to get there, but they were not in any great hurry and took pleasure in the other’s company. Coming off a set of stairs into a main corridor, the couple was almost trampled by a pair of rambunctious kids; yelling, screaming, and running down the halls totally heedless of anyone else but themselves.

“You know, I don’t think I can recall the Keep being this crowded in a very long time,” Kayla said as she settled her tail after the initial fright caused by the kids. “Of course what with the weather out there, most people would be intent on staying inside.”

“This is a time of families as well,” Rick remarked to her as they watched the retreating form of the two kids. His walk held a bit of a swagger, but it only gave him an excuse for Kayla to hold on tighter. “It seems like almost everyone is spending it with their families. Bender and Moorly are gone with theirs; the lighthouse up on the hill is where basically all the Hipoccians are; even Saroth, Electra, and Sean are off at Magdalain Island. Or they should be by now, as it’s been almost a week since I saw them leave.”

“And where does that leave us?” asked Kayla, giving Rickkter’s waist a quick squeeze.

Leaning over, the raccoon imparted a quick nuzzle. She leaned into it, smiling at the deep murr that her love made as she did so. “We have each other and we have our friends,” said Rickkter. “What more do we need, really?”

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded in a contented burr.

“Whoop, hold on there,” said Rick as he came to a stop, jerking Kayla back with him. The skunk murrfled at her raccoon love before leaning across him to see what he was looking at.

“YYEEAAGGGHH!!!” came the bellow of the rhinoceros as he stampeded by the couple and heaved a small body onto an expanse of thickly packed straw. The smaller body cried out as well, as it was propelled through the air.

“Dwarf tossing, Shamgar?” Rick asked.

The rhino looked back and panted. “Aye! Though more like AR tossing. I’m hoping to retain my title!” The judge called out the distance the now slightly dazed Keeper had flew and Shamgar smiled. “Looks like I’m dong a good job of it so far!”

Both Rickkter and Kayla politely chuckled and continued on their way to the party. “Ah, Christmas. Some things never seem to change, no matter where you go.” Kayla churred at him in a tone he had learned was one way of her asking a question. “I saw that in the town of Ingersoll several years back. It always amazed me that they considered it festive.”

The signs of the season kept greeting the pair of well-dressed animal morphs as they continued to walk the halls. Kayla often had them stop for a few moments to admire some of the pine bough and holly arrangements as well as listen to the singing of the small choirs, often poorer families from the town, that traveled around the Keep itself in the days before Christmas singing carols in the hope of a few coins as the wind howled impotently outside the windows. Rick was often kind enough to oblige them with a bronze or two and the occasional silver. It took longer than either expected to reach their final destination, though neither one really complained, not after all the festive sights they had seen.

For once Rickkter was not forced to explain his presence to the Long House guard. There was only one guard, and it was quite apparent he was a simple youth who had the bad luck of the draw when it came to duty assignments. He had on chain mail armor and a tunic bearing the red stallion on black field that was Lord Thomas’ personal emblem, the edge of which he was fidgeting with. There was a short sword at his hip and a shield leaning against the wall. The llama looked up at Rick and Kayla when they walked by.

“Pardon me, do you have the time?” the young soldier asked.

“Um, should be about quarter after three by now,” Rickkter told him, stopping a moment.

The llama nodded before thanking him and returning to his fidgeting.

“Waiting for your duty to end so you can join your friends in the celebrating, aren’t you?” Rickkter guessed with a wry smile.

Snorting, the llama lowered his head in embarrassment. “Aye, sir. First Christmas as a soldier, and this time the other guys in my squad all planned a celebration at the Mule. And I was the only one with bad enough luck to get called to guard duty.”

“Well, at least you’re in here, where it’s warm, and not outside freezing your ears off on the walls,” Kayla offered.

The guard smiled at the mephit and nodded. “I suppose, ma’am, but I’d much rather be guarding this place from the inside,” he said, inclining his head towards the open doors of the Long House. The two party guests chuckled before bidding the young soldier well and heading on inside.

Upon emerging from the anteroom of the Long House’s single entrance, both were struck by the spectacular transformation the place had undergone. Where before it was open with rather austere décor it was now awash in color and gaiety. The uncluttered flagstone flooring was crowded with celebrating Keepers of every sort, the walls clustered with chairs, stools, benches, and whatever else that could be procured for the throngs. There were the ever-present pine boughs and holly clusters flanking the old tapestries. Decorative candles were in abundance, adding a certain air and unique fragrance to the otherwise torch lit interior of the Long House. At one end there was a band of four keepers playing for others on a makeshift dance floor. Along one entire wall there were tables bedecked with all manner of food and desserts, flanked by a pair of bars, one for non-alcoholic and the other for alcoholic beverages. Rick could guess which was the latter due to its far larger size. The rest of the free space was filled with milling keepers, all laughing, dancing, or engaged in loud and boisterous conversation.

“Now all we have to do is find that crazy fox who invited us here in the first place.”

The pair soon found their host and hostess at one of the dessert tables, the fox holding and feeding some pasty dusted with icing sugar to the female otter before him, teasingly holding the treat almost higher than her bite could reach. “Not very nice, is that?” commented Rick as he strode up to the pair.

Misha and Caroline looked over at the new arrival, smiles coming to their muzzles immediately. “Rick, Kayla, I’m so glad you two made it,” Misha beamed, the otter echoing his sentiments around the rest of her hard won treat.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Rick told him as he stuck out his paw and the fox gave it a strong shake. Misha’s dress did credit to his personality and position, being of fine weave and earthen colors. His doublet was a rich, dark ruby red with a good deal of gold threading in the trim, the shirt under that the color of emeralds and appeared to be made of silk. His pants went with the doublet, though they were of a lighter red. The soft leather shoes on his paws and a very ornate gold dagger on a belt of gold and silver clenched at his waist finished his ensemble.

Caroline, on the other hand, was a figure of striking beauty. She was in a dress that looked to have come from one of the finest tailors in the valley and was bedecked in a multitude of fine jewelry. The dress was a deep, rich blue; not quite navy, but a really deep, sky blue, it had a long hem and long flowing sleeves trimmed with lace. Her small otter ears held a pair of gold hoop earrings and her fingers held a handful of rings, all most likely crafted by her father. The last piece of jewelry was a golden broach around her neck, held there by entwining chains of gold and silver. As a couple, her and Misha seemed to radiate beauty and wealth.

“I see I wasn’t the only one who was forced to get dressed up for this fiasco.” Rickkter commented as he flicked at the lapel of Misha’s doublet.

“Well, we ladies can’t have ourselves be led around here by a bunch of disheveled slobs, now can we, Kayla?” Caroline murred humorously. Kayla nodded in agreement, smiling over at her raccoon.

“Oh, it’s not that bad, love,” said Misha as he gave Carol a hug.

“The food sure looked good,” Rick mused. “Is it as fetching as it first appeared?”

“More so,” Caroline informed him. She turned to Misha. “I’m going to get you back for that pastry, you know.”

He only chuckled. “Somehow I don’t doubt it, honey.”

Rickkter echoed his friend’s chuckle and guided his mephit love over to the other side of the first couple.

There was jelly rolls, apple cobbler, peach cobbler, honey cakes, small custard filled pastries lightly sprinkled in icing sugar, various fresh fruits such as apples, pears, peaches, and cherries. For the herbivores there were several varieties of salads and other greens. Kayla clapped her hands before her and gave a little squeak of delight at all the food. The other three had a quick chuckle at that before moving up and starting to pick over the sumptuous selection.

They were spread out in a line — Caroline, Misha, Kayla, and Rickkter pulling up the rear — when they were brought up by Rickkter’s laughter. They all turned around to see him holding one of the baked chips from a bowl of them, its end holding a small amount of brownish paste.

“Beeeaann dip,” pronounced the raccoon before snapping off the paste covered end. He had a wide grin upon his face as he chewed, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“What about it?” asked Misha, one ear flicking about.

“Oh, nothing. Just that I heard that you and Laura Calamar were... connoisseurs of this stuff, and that I should ask you if I wanted an interesting tale about it, I’d ask you.”

The look on the red fox’s face was one of almost pure murder. “Don’t even go there Rick.”

The raccoon, on the other hand, was still smiling and nibbling on various snacks and swished his long tail about. “Oh, come on, Misha! You can consider that my gift for the year. How about that?”

Misha continued to glare. He lifted one finger, pointed it right at his friend and said, plainly and simply, “No.” Then he turned around and started off.

“Oh, come on, Misha!”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“No!”

“Come on. Please?”

“NO!”

“Well, are you positive about that?”

Until that time, Rickkter didn’t know foxes could growl that loud.

“Okay, was only making sure.”

They found a good spot next to one of the larger hearths that kept the fierce winter chill from the room, each couple taking a place close to their respective mates. Fortunately the food, wine and conversation soon had Misha back in good spirits. Rickkter finished first of the four of them. Picking up his cup of wine from where he had set it on the mantle, he lounged back against the wall and looked out over the hall full of people, children, and animals, all of them having a very loud and probably very good time, feeling the wine warm his belly.

“You know, I love this,” said Rickkter as he leaned over a little and draped an arm around Kayla. She was licking a little errant filling from her fingers. “I have everything I could want. Good food, good drink, good friends,” he said gesturing with his stein at Misha and Carol, “and most important of all,” he said, his gaze meeting that of the skunk under his arm, “warmth,” he concluded, turning away and pointing with his drink at the fire place.

Needless to say, everyone within earshot burst out laughing.

“Oh, warmth, is it now?” burred Kayla as she slipped out from under his arm and around to his front, grasping the lapels of his doublet. “Well, you just wait until we get back to your place, then I’ll show you some real warmth.”

The crowd roared with lusty approval as she leaned up to give him a kiss.

“I apologize, but I must take my leave of you, Rick,” commented Misha as he looked across the Long Hall in the direction they had come. “Carol, honey, shall we get ourselves some more desserts before some of the other guests start to notice them?”

Carol saw where he was looking, and the rat there. She knew, too, his reason for wanting to return to the table. “Sounds good to me, love. I remember seeing a few things I couldn’t carry myself last time.”

“Then we’ll catch you two later,” said Rickkter as he gave Kayla’s shoulder a squeeze. “I want to mingle a little, see who else is here yet.”

The two waved off the other couple then looked around and surveyed the room, Kayla following his gaze. “Looking for anyone in particular, love?” she asked.

“Just a friend or two,” Rick commented as he finished his drink. “How about you? Who are you going off to see?”

Kayla cocked an ear back. “Oh? Getting tired of me already, are you?”

Rickkter turned back to her with a smirk then ran the side of his muzzle across the top of her head in a quick nuzzle. “No, I don’t think I ever could, especially not that easily. I just want to see my friends, and what we would talk about would probably bore you to death. Same that you and your friends would do for me.”

“Rather, I believe you want to talk about women, and all the nasty things you do with them.” Before he could object, Kayla reached up and tapped his nose. “I know how you soldier types are. Since today is special, I’ll let you have your little fun,” she said with a smirk as she headed off into the crowd, her lush tail swinging around her legs.

Rickkter laughed, shaking his head as he watched her go. Gods, he loved everything about her, from her personality and sense of humor right down to her looks. So what if some stopped when they saw her mephit nature? He had looked beyond that and found something far more beautiful. When he turned around, Rick was brought up short, looking into a deep, auburn red visage of himself.

“Great Maker, Kershaw! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. You’ll frighten them to death.”

“Hey, I’m a Long and that’s what I do,” the red panda explained. He extended one of his two full mazers to Rick. “For you, my friend.”

Rickkter accepted, toasting his friend before drinking. The ale was of excellent quality, chilled to just the right temperature. The raccoon paused to savor it before taking a second long draught.

“I see you came with someone quite lovely today,” Kershaw observed.

Rickkter murriffed then lifted his gaze from the ale to look where the red panda was. He immediately saw Kayla talking with Jenn, the wife of Misha’s friend Andre. “You’re right and I’m glad you think so. Though you should really tell her that, might do her some good.”

“Oh, I probably will,” said Kershaw, and flicked his tail. “Assuming that would be fine with you.”

Lowering his mazer from his lips, Rickkter nodded and wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw. “Sure, of course. I want her to have a good time here. This is her first real party in ages, and I know she’s been looking forward to it.” His whiskers on one side of his muzzle rose as he smirked. “Despite some of the more... colorful things we’ve heard about Misha’s parties.”

“Such as?”

A large smile came to Rickkter’s face as he said, “Bean dip.”

Kershaw groaned loudly, looking away and rolling his eyes back. “Don’t even go there, Rick.”

“What? You’re not going to tell me either?”

“No, I’m not.” He drank deeply of his ale. “Misha has standing orders; no Long is to divulge what happened then. You want to know about it, you ask him.”

The raccoon was still smiling. “Sure about that, Kershaw? Come on.”

“Rick, no. I mean it.”

“Oh, okay,” conceded the mage with a deep chuckle. He looked at his friend, seeing that the red panda was wearing a deep black surcoat, gold stitching, and semiprecious stones on the cuffs and buttons along the front. To his waist was belted a six inch dagger with gold hilt and an eight sided ruby the size of an eyeball on the top. Rick could see that his fur had been thoroughly brushed and cleaned, lending Kershaw an appearance more affluent than even Misha’s. “So who did you come with that you had to get so dressed up?”

Kershaw turned and pointed to a gray furred Persian cat who was the center of a gaggle of other females. She clearly stood out amongst her peers, bedecked in a wealth of fine gold necklaces and bracelets. Her white dress had pearls sewn onto its design, the soft white a striking contrast to Kershaw’s darker hues. The trim was white dusted with garnet and black and the entire gown was of superior cut to Caroline’s. The feline stood out in the crowd of Keepers quite starkly. “That is Elizabeth Pudelick, daughter of one of the wealthier money lenders in town.”

Rickkter ah’ed knowingly, smiling as he nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. She’s a very lovely one, there. But tell me, how did you come to be with a noble?”

“By being the youngest son of one of the aristocratic families near Ellingham.”

“Really!” Rick exclaimed, his eye ridges going up. “Why are you not with them now?”

“There is a mutual understanding amongst us; as long as we don’t see each other, things are kept happy.” He drank a mouthful of ale. “It’s a very long story.”

Rickkter nodded as he looked over the crowd. The sight of a particular someone caused him to stop his scanning and grin with a most malicious intent. He turned back to the Long and clasped Kershaw on the shoulder. “Well, my friend, I must be off now. I just saw someone I must say hello to. Wish your lovely companion well for me, and thanks again for the ale.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The two clasped paws, nodding and smiling to each other before heading off into the crowd.

“Arag Shuawen!”

Charles cringed at the voice that called his name out across the large hall. The greeting was followed up with a traditional southern blessing of holiday well being. He turned to see Rickkter swaggering over towards him, noting that the Kankoran already had a half-finished drink in hand.

“Arag Shuawen, sir Charles” reiterated Rickkter as he reached the rat.

“Ah, Rick. I suppose ‘tis no real surprise to see you here.”

“Nor I you. You are a Long after all, so it’s to be expected. But enough idle banter,” said Rickkter as he clasped his mazer, his bushy, striped tail wagging behind him. “I have something to offer you. A gift.”

“And what would that be?” said Charles. The rat was glaring up at the raccoon, his feelings of hate for Rickkter as strong as ever.

“A simple pledge, nothing more. I simply promise that I won’t kill you for the duration of this party. It would put an awful damper on the festivities.”

Charles just glared up at the raccoon, his own contempt clearly written on his features. “Gee. I’m so... flattered by your generosity.”

The raccoon’s cackling laughter caused the rat’s ears to go flat. “Glad you are. And if you’re looking to return the favor, I have just the thing.” He held up his paws, still maintaining a hold on his drink, positioning them so the index fingers were about six inches apart. “It’s a metal tube yea long, and when you press the correct spot, it expands to about six feet. I think you know what I’m talking about. You don’t even have to decorate it, I’ll take it as is. Yes? No?”

Charles had his arms crossed before his chest and was giving Rick a look that could almost kill a man.

“No? Okay, have it your way. I tried to be amiable, don’t forget. Enjoy the holidays then.” With a quick, casual salute of greeting, Rickkter melted back into the crowd, but kept close enough to observe the rat’s behavior.

He had the pleasure of seeing Charles stand there for a few moments fuming, almost shaking in anger, before turning and stalking off. It was most likely to find his betrothed, which was all well and good; she would probably be able to calm him. But to the raccoon, the whole incident was just another small, yet immeasurably pleasurable event in a day that had been going perfect almost from the moment he arrived back. With a satisfied “ah,” he went off to meet more of the other guests attending.

---

Watching Rickkter from across the hall, Kayla smiled and sipped at a diminutive crystal glass of some fine liquor, the sweet, almost syrupy drink had a distinctive bite that warmed her throat and belly without the burn of more highly distilled liquors. She never realized until that point how much she missed the luxuries she had been accustomed to when she was moneyed. The fine drink, for example, was a treat she had not indulged upon in almost six years.

Lost in her ruminations she did not sense the quiet form standing at her side, likewise watching the crowd. Slightly shorter and more animalistic in his appearance, the young mage Murikeer said nothing for several minutes as he stood nearby, his hands clasped at the small of his back, thick tail swaying lazily behind him. A smile pulled at one corner of his angular muzzle, long white whiskers twitching as he nodded to a passer by.

The equine’s return nod caught her attention as it was directed close by and she turned her head to see whom had captured the reveler’s attention.

“Muri!” She gasped in sudden recognition, mildly startled at his proximity. That her own swaying tail had not touched him was only due to his avoiding it. He chuckled softly and smiled to her, inclining his head slightly in greeting.

“I’m jealous.” He commented as he bowed deeply, flourishing his well groomed tail and one hand before her.

“Jealous, Murikeer?” She asked, her voice light as she offered a curtsy in return. “That’s not something I would have expected you to say. Of whom?”

Muri stood, a smile revealing the white of his teeth as he raised an arm and pointed, “Of him.” He said, his finger picking out Rickkter across the hall as he shared a few comments with Charles. “You look absolutely radiant.”

Kayla beamed brightly, her ears backing as her whiskers flattened against her muzzle with the sudden heat that raced across her face. She felt her tail fluff as it pressed against the back of her dress and she consciously forced it to relax as she looked away for a moment, her eyes settling on Rickkter almost by instinct. She noted that the rat, she knew that they did not get along but not why to any great degree, seemed positively livid. Thinking of angry people she blinked and looked around hastily.

“Where’s Llyn?” she asked quietly, then quaffed the last of her liquor in one swift swallow, gagging momentarily at the sharp, sweet burn that surged down her throat.

Muri’s arm swung lazily around to wave an open hand toward a small cluster of Keepers at the beverage table. She spotted the mink, in rather simple appearing attire, speaking with a tall, Amazonian redhead. “I feel as if I came underdressed.” He chuckled, “She told me that Misha’s parties sometimes got, well, boisterous.”

Kayla tilted her head as she looked back at him, eyebrows arching at his wardrobe. Far from underdressed, his clothing appeared to have cost nearly as much as Misha’s by cut alone, despite being entirely black. He bowed slightly and smiled, the expensive silk shimmering as he held his arms out to either side slightly, “I fear you see an illusion, beautiful. Hidden is far more mundane garb.” The skunk explained as he stood from his bow. As if to illustrate his artifice the black suddenly faded into white, swirling away like a single drop of ink in a bucket of whitewash. Kayla blinked at the sudden change as a cloak fluttered from his shoulders and pooled around his bare feet.

“Very nice, but what if someone touches it?”

“They’ll feel simple cotton, unfortunately. I’ve been working on the touch, but that’s not important here, now.” He smiled, tail waving lazily, causing the illusory cloak to shift and sway as it split over the root of his tail. “I would like to see you later this evening, after the meal. Llyn and I are going to be attending Father Hough’s ceremonies, so she will be changing into her gown once the actual party here has begun.” His gaze wandered over to the small group of scouts conversing with Llyn. She was not dressed out of keeping with the festivities, wearing a long burgundy dress that complimented her soft mahogany fur, but she informed him it was a dress several years old, worn for the first time in almost as much time. It was striking, he had to admit, though appeared rather plain compared to the vibrant wardrobe sported by a gray feline in their midst. The cat was definitely a noble, to be sure, as was the red raccoon that stood at her side.

“Where?” Kayla asked, interrupting his momentarily wandering thoughts.

“In the library. Fox Cutter is hosting a somewhat more subdued celebration for the children, so the library will be open.”

Kayla tittered and nodded, “The library, of course. Would you be anywhere else, hmmm?”

Muri grinned, “Well, there, or in Rickkter’s lab, and I think he might not understand why I’ve hidden things on his shelves.”

Kayla’s eyebrows climbed upon her brow as she cocked her head, “Oh?”

“Most certainly, which is why I’d like to see you there.” He looked up suddenly and smiled, his eyes drawn once again toward Llyn, who was looking about the hall. He stepped back and swirled away rather abruptly, the white of his cloak fanning out behind him and becoming suddenly a rich, shimmering blue, like a fanciful waterfall from one of the tapestries hanging about the walls. He cast a bright smile over his shoulder as he melted into a nearby knot of dancers with a flick of his lushly groomed tail tip.

Kayla shook her head slowly as she saw him emerge from the other side of the dancers and smoothly intercepted Llyn as she stopped to converse with a slender, thickly furred canine of some sort. “Okay,” she mouthed as she turned her attention back toward Rick, only to find Caroline moving toward her with a group of other Keepers, intending to make introductions.

---

Excerpted from the journal entries of Jacob T Fox
January 27th, 708 CR

It was cold, glorious winter. All around was a thick covering of snow and ice, the wind howled like a dire wolf in the noon time, and above the storm clouds were gathering for another blasting. I was in bliss. Most would consider me insane and I most likely am, but my thick fur and my spirit of adventure called for days like these. A mist of heavy white rushed out from every breath, but I felt as if I was born for this storm, as if a hidden destiny was waiting for me. When I changed to my present form no one knew what I was.

My muzzle was shaped like a fox's, but the coloration of my fur was unlike anything seen. I was neither red nor gray. Most at first glance would see me as black, but upon closer inspection, my fur is a deep royal blue. It would lighten in the summer, unfortunately not enough to make the summers bearable, but I am a bit of an unknown. Not even the great wisdom of the Keep, at least their books, knew what I had become. Sad, but most don't notice. Most are too busy surviving in our little town.

I hadn't been this happy in a while, but I see the misery of those who aren't built for the cold. They bundle into a coat of fur and hide in their homes, hoping for a quick snow with a very warm spring. Last winter was a warm adventure for me in which I nearly drowned in a pool of mud that seeped into my father's home. I doubt that will happen again. Around the base of my home now is a lining of stones stacked tightly so nothing can get in. That was far from my mind, for this is a time of celebration. It’s wintertime.

Walking down from my home and around the bakery — which was closed — and an inn — which was shut tighter than the purse of the local noble — was The Tavern's Hearth. I saw a light and knew someone had to be emptying the shelves of Myra Tavernsmith's pub. Quickly, my hand reached for the door and to my surprise only Myra was in. It was not even time to eat dinner and the room was empty. Looking up from her counter, Myra was shocked to see me.

"Jacob, only a fool would be out in this weather," she said with no offer of an apology.

I placed my satchel of badger hide down next to the closest table and raised my hands to the air. "I am a fool, I do not doubt that but where is everyone? I would expect at least Terrance Waters here, that swine's life blood is ale."

"It’s Christmas time, Jacob. Everyone is either in the Keep with Father Hough, the Lightbringers, or home with their family."

I nodded, understanding that this was a time for both faiths to be celebrating, but my heart had lost faith a long time ago, and those who I would celebrate with are gone to those gods I no longer believed in. Dropping down my snow covered hood, I sat at the counter and looked straight at the woman who once was a womanizer who spend more time looking after his many loves than his family bar.

"Why aren't you with the others in the Keep?"

"I could ask the same of you," I said, with a raised eyebrow.

"My family is in the back room, enjoying a turkey dinner I personally hunted with my son."

I smiled at the sight of Myra, a seductive brown haired woman who once was a man, hunting with her equine son.

"How is Alan today?"

She placed her hands on her hips and Myra's slight smirk turned into a frown. "Don't avoid my question, Jacob. Why are you here?"

"What family do I have? I was a son, now I am nothing. My father lies in a mass grave for the martyrs of the Three Gates War, my mother is dead along side him. The religion I humbly served stabbed my mother and I in the back, leaving us for dead. I am alone. My friends are my family now, but they celebrate with those I hold a great deal of discontent with."

Myra turned her eyes to a far distant place in the air. "You could join my family…"

"No. I was just going to play outside, but now my memories are calling for me."

"Then let me give you a gift."

She gingerly pushed off the counter and grasped at an old jug. Myra's small hands removed the cork and she took a whiff of the concoction.

"Jacob, this is an old wine. I am somewhat afraid what it may taste like, but it is very special, and it should ease any pain your heart may have."

I laughed and the permeating scent that came from her bottle was that of lilacs and myrrh. If the smell was any hint of the taste, then I was in for a treat.

"Thank you Myra." I smiled but I knew it was a snarl and looked down to hide it. "You may have given me what I needed this holiday."

I wiped the decades of dust off the brim, and I still could almost feel the scent that's how strong it was. In the background was the chatter of Myra's family. Alan talked about tracking the trails, looking for a meal this night, being lucky to find the large tom in a cruel winter. Myra's wife, Troy, laughing with him in his goose like laugh. I watched the joy from the crack opening of the back room door. I didn't know if I had sighed or not, but Myra saw me watching.

"Please, Jacob, join us."

Without looking, I nodded and walked around the counter and entered, shutting the door behind me. At least I wasn't alone today.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 3 PM

Rickkter managed to catch the fox as he was going between groups of friends and pull him over to a quiet corner. Considering the jovial mood that Misha was in with the party, that took some doing, but Rickkter eventually managed to do it. Of course Rickkter was adamant at finding out WHY Misha had done it.

“Well, I just wanted to thank you for inviting Kayla and myself here. I can tell you it’s been a very long time since either of us were invited anywhere.”

Someone had gotten the fox’s attention and he had not been looking directly at Rickkter, but the raccoon’s statement made his head snap around. “Rick, I can’t believe you said that. Hell, after the Longs themselves, and Andre and Jenn, you two were the next logical choices! George was more of an after thought, actually, and I’m surprised he showed, though I think he just came for the free booze. He’s not usually one for parties.”

“So you thought of the mercenaries after your own men, eh? Just like a typical commander,” Rickkter snorted. For a moment Misha appeared wounded by the comment and was going to respond, but then he noticed Rick’s smile.

The scout laughed along with the mage before clasping his friend around the shoulders. “After all we’ve been though, all we’ve done for each other, how could you not be here? You are my friend and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Rickkter smiled and thanked him. “And now that this silly serious business is over,” continued Misha, “let us find our ladies and a table. They should be bringing out the main course any time now.”

“Ah, most excellent. What will be the main course?”

“For my friends and comrades? Everything.”

The raccoon only smiled, his long tail sweeping out behind him as the two of them went in search of an otter, a skunk, and then a table of fine seats.

Their ladies were part of a whole gaggle of women and Rickkter let Misha venture in to retrieve the two they were seeking. They silently coordinated their attack so that they snuck up on their ladies from the rear, taking them into their arms at the same instant. Both female mustelids squealed and cringed at the same instant, laughing and wriggling in the arms of their respective lovers. Kayla turned her head around, leaning up to give Rick lick on his chin as she smiled.

“And what is it that you two want, sneaking up on a pair of ladies like that, hmm?” Caroline murred as she and Misha rubbed noses.

“Only that we miss you and want to spend a meal in their company. So what do you say? Will you have us?”

“What do you think, Kayla?” asked the otter, inclining her head to where the skunk was captured in Rick’s embrace. She had turned around and was nuzzling her raccoon. “Do we really want to spend anymore time with these two?”

Kayla ran the side of her muzzle along the thick fur of Rickkter’s right cheek ruff. “Well, they did say there would be free food involved. I think we could tolerate them for an hour or so for that.”

Giggling, Caroline turned back and kissed her fox. “Alright you rogues, lead onwards.”

Wrapping one arm around the shoulders of the otter, Misha called out to the rest of the Hall, “Attention everyone! Dinner will be served shortly, so find yourselves some chairs and tables or you’ll be eating off the floor! For those of you who've been to more than one of these, you know that's not an idle threat!”

The crowd of the Long Hall broke into cheers and applause as all present headed for the tables. In spite of Misha’s threats there was more than enough to go around. When everyone was settled groups of servers came out to take the specific orders and dispense wines or other beverages to whomever wanted them. Rickkter chose a fine red wine for his table, settling back to enjoy it as the rest requested certain dishes to suit their specific palettes. He gazed over the rest of the people in the hall, reveling in the whole atmosphere of the room.

“They were right, Misha. This is a wonderful party.”

“Yes, Rick, it certainly is. But there is one thing I have to do.”

Misha stood up at his table raising his glass and knife with him. He waited a few moments to see if anyone would notice, then rapped the glass with the knife, the peals rigging throughout the Long Hall. Everyone quickly dropped into silence.

Misha let it hang a few moments. “I want to take this occasion now to depart from the usual festive nature of these gatherings and say a few serious words to all of you.

“As you all know, the Long Scouts have existed now for four years under my command. In that time everyone here has run countless missions against the enemy to the north. We’ve killed his forces, ruined his supply lines, devastated his outposts, and did everything in our power to make the lives of our enemies as miserable as we possibly could.

“It’s a hard job we do, and often a thankless one. Most people at Metamor don’t know the specifics of our jobs; only that we are elite warriors who run missions more difficult than anyone else.” He paused and swirled the wine in his glass. “We’ve done a hell of a job, haven’t we? I don’t think there isn’t one of you here that doesn’t have a price on their head for their efforts.

“Looking out over the faces I see present here tonight, I can’t help but remember some of the adventures we’ve had, all of the good times and some of the bad as well. I see some of the original members of the Longs; Meredith, Laura, Lisa and Georgette. And I see those who have been recruited into our ranks only recently, namely Matt, Finbar, and my own Caroline.” The fox looked down at the otter in the blue dress to his side as he rubbed the bulb of his glass with one finger. His eyes picked out the subtle hints of residual damage left from her horrific ordeal from a few months ago. He blinked away the forming tears and turned to the audience once more. “And I see those who have fought alongside us to keep all of Metamor valley and the Midlands safe from the terror to the north.” He gestured to Rickkter and George, each of whom acknowledged in turn with a nod.

“But what I don’t see are, what I would give almost anything to see, are the faces of those who we’ve lost over the years.” His gaze lowered to the tabletop. His tongue darted out to lick his nose as he tried to quell his roiling emotions. Misha knew this was going to be hard to say but he vowed to honor his friends this night. “We all remember Craig Latoner, his laughter, his smiles, how we could call on him for any quick favor. Craig was a great warrior, a true Long, and I am honored to have served beside him. His presence is sorely missed around Long House, although his family is here with us tonight. May the prayers of all of us go with them tonight to see them safely through the coming year.”

The room was dead silent as all the keepers waited for him to continue. “This has been our worst year so far, with the death of Craig as a result of the specific targeting of Long Scouts by Nasoj’s forces. But having a price on our heads is the greatest compliment Nasoj could pay us! It means we're doing our job!” By that point Misha was almost shouting. Pausing a moment to collect himself, he continued in his normal voice. “But it could easily have been far worse than that. Were it not for the efforts of newcomers Murikeer and Rickkter we would be without the company of Joy Wanderer and my own love, Caroline Hardy. They have my eternal gratitude for those actions,” he said inclining his glass in Rickkter’s direction and toward the skunk seated some distance away. Rick returned the subdued gesture as Muri inclined his head slightly and smiled.

Misha surveyed the room once more, his tongue darting out to lick his nose. “Thank you all for listening to me ramble on here.” He raised his glass up high to the room. “This has been the greatest pride of my life, commanding the finest group of warriors I’ve ever seen anywhere. A toast, then; to our fallen comrades. May their memories never be forgotten.” Bowing his head, he toasted the ensemble of keepers.

“May they never be forgotten,” was the resounding chorus that rose from the throats of all assembled in the hall that day before drinks were downed.

“Thank you,” whispered the fox before taking his seat.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 5 PM

The dinner in the Long Hall had been a long, loud, and leisurely affair. The wines, ales and spirits had been flowing freely the whole time and there had been several toasts drunk throughout to various causes, most of them revolving around the idea of Nasoj’s head on a pike. The food, which had been prepared in a top fashion by the kitchens at the Keep was enjoyed by all and reflected the diversity of Metamor’s inhabitants. First had been a course of salads and greenery for the herbivores in attendance and any omnivores who wished to indulge. Rickkter, Kayla, and Carol had all taken part, though Misha declined in favor of what was to come. This was followed by a course of meats, something that the majority in attendance took part in. Kayla tended to fancy the fowl and selected a dish of thrushes in wine sauce. Rickkter tried loin of boar smothered in plum sauce while Misha helped himself to roast pork with a stuffing of bread, honey, red wine and bay. Caroline dined on breaded veal cutlet in a rich cream sauce with broccoli on the side, something the raccoon learned Misha despised. Rickkter and Carol also split a dish of broiled salmon steaks in a light coating of lemon juice and spices. Both thought that was a most divine course, though neither Kayla nor Misha would go that far. After they had all eaten their fill, along with the rest of the Hall, the desserts were wheeled out. These were all succulent treats, many consisting of ingredients preserved in the Keep’s cellars for just such an occasion. After much debate, the table settled on pears cooked in cinnamon, honey and wine in a light sauce thickened with a few egg yokes. Unlike the fish, no one at the table could argue with the excellence of them. All four of the animal morphs feasted upon the sweet, almost melting fruits with their thick, dripping sauce. Both couples also enjoyed the pleasure of feeding it to their partners and were all left sucking the sweetness out of the fur on their paws and off their muzzles long after the plates had been removed.

While the food had been served and consumed the minstrels had continued to play in the background, adding a pleasant atmosphere to the Hall for the diners. However, playing is hard work and so the musicians took the time after dinner, when conversation was at its height and the people would be too stuffed to return to the dance floor, to get something to eat for themselves. What they did not expect, however, was the loud disappointment of the Scouts at the loss of their music. Misha solved that with a suggestion from Rickkter, namely that any of those present with musical talent should go up on stage and replace the performers. There were several in the audience who had done so, and now a band consisting of Carol on flute, Rickkter with violin, and the girlfriends of Ralls and Jotham on pan pipes and mandolin now playing for the once more dancing audience of Keepers. The pipes and flute lent the pieces a very light, almost mystic air to them with Rick’s violin tending to dominate. The players also favored their audience with several shorter pieces not intended for dance. One was a rather intricate duet between Rickkter on one end of the stage and Carol on the other. The piece was one they had practiced together before, the most striking parts occurring when the two instruments came into a eerie, haunting harmony. Caroline then showed off how far she had become by engaging Jotham’s girlfriend Paula in a much faster, livelier piece with the mandolin. The crowd wildly applauded both pieces upon completion, their admiration gaining a reluctant bow from a very shy otter. The musicians then returned to the usual pieces.

The last dance came to an end with the slow hum of the violin bow drawing across the string. The multitude of keepers stopped their dancing to turn and applaud the impromptu band that had replaced the main help on stage. All the musicians rose and bowed several times to the roaring applause of the crowd before relinquishing their instruments to the actual band members once more.

Caroline linked her arm through Rickkter’s as they headed off to rejoin their respective loves. Kayla had spent most of the personal dances with Misha, though Kershaw did manage to entice her for a few of them. Now the female skunk and the fox were calmly standing to the side of the dance floor awaiting the return of their musicians to their sides.

“That was truly, truly wonderful,” said Misha as Carol came up to him. He took her head in his paws, cradling her cheeks in his palms and began to bestow loving licks on either side of her muzzle before pulling her into a tight hug. “You were really great, love! I told you that you’d do fine up there and you really did. Such applause doesn’t lie!”

Caroline had a wide, open muzzled smile on her face where she leaned over Misha’s shoulder and hugged him back. “Thank you, love. I was so nervous at first, but you were right, I managed to settle into it soon enough.”

“See, I told you all that practice would pay off,” said Rick from where he and Kayla embraced.

“You were good too, love,” Kayla told Rick.

He turned and rubbed his nose against hers, resting it there and looking into her eyes. “You really think so?”

“No doubt in my mind.” His long whiskers were tickling her own and making her smile. “Though personally, I think that the only reason you were up there was to be with all those lovely young females.” She winked at him.

That made everyone in the group laugh and earned her a lick on the nose from Rick. “Now why would I want that when I have the most beautiful one in the whole valley right here in my arms?”

Kayla folded her ears down, tucked her lush tail between her legs and blushed furiously.

“Oh, come on,” Rickkter admonished, hugging her close. “You know you are, at least to me. And I think this dance is coming to an end, so how about we all go and join the rest of the crowd?”

Misha and Carol were both in favor of that as well.

Then the music changed to a slower dance by the time the two couples had reached the floor. Rickkter and Kayla embraced each other as Misha and his love did the same. The skunk wrapped her arms around the raccoon’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder. He did likewise, with one arm around her waist to lead, the other up between her shoulders to stroke the fur there. Kayla knew that Rickkter favored dresses with low backs like she had for that very reason, and it was a good thing that such were quite the fashion amongst animal morphs. Kayla snuggled against his chest, as the music played, enjoying how he lovingly caressed her fur, and purring quite happily. She lay against him, eyes closed, trusting him to guide her.

“You know, I think that holding a purring skunk against ones chest has to be one of the most pleasant sensations in the world,” Rickkter observed after several minutes.

Kayla smiled, not wanting to give Rick reason to stop stroking her scruff. “Only one?” she burred deeply. “What would some of the others be?”

Rickkter placed his muzzle next to her ear and whispered a few of them.

Kayla barked a few sharp laughs and pulled back a little, grinning widely. She moved one paw out from behind and tapped it on his nose. “You are utterly, utterly, incorrigible,” she pronounced to his broadly smiling face. But all the same, she knew her own eyes were shining as much as his at the thought.

“That I am,” he said and licked her finger.

“Whatever am I going to do with you,” she wondered as they spun around, her muzzle hanging open in a smirk.

“Well, I don’t know about you intend for me, but I was thinking of doing this with you,” the raccoon said as he reached up and began to scritch the skunk behind her black ears.

Kayla responded immediately, leaning her head back against his paw and trilling loudly. When she spoke it was in a husky burr. “Um, yes that would be good for starters.”

Rickkter just chuckled and hugged her close again, feeling her deeply satisfied rumbling in his chest. “Well, it’s the least I can do for the lady I love.” He kissed the top of her head and gave them another spin, causing their tails to fly up a moment. “And you make such wonderful sounds, too.”

All Kayla could do was continue to purr as he resumed caressing the striped fur of her back. “I love you so much, too, Rick,” she burred. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He gave her another kiss and whispered, “You too, love.”

And the band played on.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 6 PM

The dancing had finally worn Rickkter out after about a half hour or so of it, and he and Kayla had retired to the crowd, Kayla acquiring a glass of chilled white wine while Rick took a mazer of fresh ale, and going off to mingle with the crowds. Kayla decided to see if she could find Caroline while Rick went in search of the fox. He found Misha on a balcony overlooking Long Hall.

Misha was looking over the room, sort of nodding back and forth as he leaned on his arms for support. “What are you thinking about?” asked Rick.

“Entertainment. Need entertainment.”

Rick pointed over to the band using his mug. “We’ve already got that.”

“Nope. Not what I meant.” The fox was still rocking back and forth.

“So what did you mean?”

“Hedgehog bowling.”

The raccoon blinked a few times then looked carefully at the fox. “Hedgehog bowling?”

“Yup.”

“Bowling? With hedgehogs?”

“Yup.”

Rickkter blinked a few more times and looked out over the room, raising his drink to his lips. When the amber liquid finally reached his mouth, he wound up drinking a little more than he intended. Eventually he emptied the mazer and resumed his study of the hall. His tongue darted out to lick his nose. Misha still hadn’t changed position, and seemed to be exhibiting the repetitive characteristics of a child’s wind-up toy. “We have any here?”

“Yup. One. Norman. We all call him Spiny Norman.” Misha pointed into the midst of the crowd. “Right there, next to his friend Monty.”

The raccoon’s pink tongue flicked out once more to lick his nose. “Sounds good, let’s do it.”

Misha’s voice rang off the walls and high stone ceiling. “HEY NORM!” And Rickkter could swear, even from the distance he was away, and even through the veil of alcohol, that he could see the hedgehog smile. Why, when he must have known what was coming, Rick couldn’t say. All that he knew what that as soon as he saw the look on Misha’s face, Norman grinned a grin of a man who knows what’s coming and cares not a wit. Oh, this was going to be a fun party! But then something occurred to him.

“Um, Misha? How do you bowl with hedgehogs?”

The red fox stopped his decent down the stairs. He cocked his head to one side a moment before waving a charcoal colored hand in a dismissive manner. “No idea.”

“Um, so what are you going to do about that?”

“Don’t know. Probably make it up as we go. It’s what we usually do in these situations.”

“That little saying wouldn’t have any bearing on the bean dip, would it Misha?”

The fox just gave his masked friend a very ugly look.

Rickkter grinned. Yes, this party was finally starting to get fun.

---

When Misha’s voice had rung out over the hall, it had snapped Kayla out of her absorption in the discussion of a small group of female scouts. They had all been laughing and giggling over their visiting families and all the crazy antics that went on this time of year. Kayla managed to distract them long enough to say she had to leave them to get a new drink. Laura, Carol, Lisa and a few others bid her well before she left, quickly making her way to the exit to Long Hall. Whatever Misha was setting up over near the far wall was drawing a crowd and no one noticed her slipping out.

From the Long House it was only a quick walk to her room. There, she retrieved the long, slim, black velvet bag and headed up several stories to the library. Just as Muri had promised, it was still open. Cutter almost always had something special going for the kids. This year he had staked out a prime spot in the center library lounge and was reading to a rather large group of children. Their joyous laughter indicated how much they were enjoying both his tale and the antics of his impromptu acting. Whatever the story the sword fight was from, of which he was performing both sides, she couldn’t make out over the giggling and howling laughter.

Kayla turned around and went off down one of the aisles in search of someplace a little quieter, a little more private. The spot that she found was in one corner, near a smaller group of children. They were ringed around a young woman, probably their governess, on a stool who was reading them Christmas tales from a thick tome on her knees. Kayla found a spot in a padded chair just beyond the small group and curled her lush tail over her knees before leaning back and listening to some of them. They were the same ones that she recalled from her own childhood.

She was lost in the narration of Beggar's Rhyme, recalling hearing it perched upon her grandfather’s knee, when she felt the hand on her shoulder. Looking up was almost like looking into a mirror, yet the differences between the face looking down at her and her own were stark.

His eyes were the most arresting feature upon his animalistic visage, though there was nothing about them that was different than any of the other animorphs at Metamor. They had become dark with his change, losing distinct iris and cornea that Kayla herself yet retained in her pale blue eyes. It was the intensity within those eyes, the way they seemed to make the person they fell upon feel as if they were his only consideration. He smiled down at her, never once glancing toward the storyteller and her coterie of giggling children. His muzzle, as well, was more animalistic than her own. Her face was not truly human by far, but there was a mobility and expressiveness to it that gave those she met the impression that there was still a woman under the black and white fur of her muzzle. Muri's face, though, was almost entirely that of a skunk. Tapered, triangular, and quite chiseled in appearance under the short fur.

She, like any other animorph, had whiskers, but they were short and straight, almost feline in nature whereas his were much longer, drooping slightly toward the tips. They twitched, angling about to a degree hers were unable to copy as his emotions played themselves out across his muzzle. His ears were much like her own, though, not overly large and rounded, positioned high upon his head. At the moment they were pricked alertly toward her as his whiskers angled back, the corners of his muzzle pulled back in a warm smile. Those ears, she had noticed, were much like his eyes. Only the occasional swivel from one or the other revealed that his senses were alert to things occurring beyond the attentive regard given by his eyes.

"I'm glad you came," the male skunk said, his voice a rolling churr trapped half way between man and animal, but still easily understandable. His strong hand tightened slightly upon her shoulder as his smile deepened, whiskers angling forward slightly. "How about we go someplace a little more private?" he inquired quietly, one twitch of his ear pointing her attention back to the story circle. Kayla smiled back, chuckling softly, as she had almost totally forgotten them.

She stood, Muri's hand falling away from her shoulder, and brushed the light fabric of her dress smooth. "Okay, Muri, I'll follow you," she said, her voice almost as perfectly smooth as it had ever been before her own change. Her voice had not changed a great deal, for which she had been grateful in the earliest days afterwards. Her voice and eyes had saved her sanity back in those dark and traumatic days, telling her each time she spoke or looked in a mirror that there as still a human in the animal she had become. Muri turned slightly and moved down one of the narrow aisles between tall shelves of books. Kayla picked up the black case from beside her chair and moved to follow him. He was wearing the same white silk that he had shown her in the Long House, but she could tell by the way his split cloak stirred the dust that this was the reality rather than the illusion she had seen earlier. Against that unrelieved white his tail seemed like a skulking shadow hovering along behind him.

Their tails held the greatest similarity between them, being of almost the same length and mobility, though they carried them differently. Kayla carried hers up close to her back, the upper curve brushing the back of her shoulders half the time. Not only was that the instinctive pose that had come with her change, it was also a protective way of holding it. Doors, feet, and passers-by tended to cause problems if she carried her tail the way Muri did. His was also arched upward, but only slightly, its use for him obviously one of balance as he held it more directly out behind him.

She had already seen that he was far more nimble than she with his tail that way, but she had to know that he'd gotten it trapped in doors more than a few times. Chuckling to herself as they made their way down the shadowed aisle of books, she found her eyes examining his physique. His physique was not nearly as human as her own had become, his shoulders not nearly as square as Rick's. He seemed more animal than human, sometimes, in his appearance. Kayla knew skunks, by nature, were plantigrade just as she was, but Muri's legs were digitgrade, and sharply so, like many of the other animorphs of Metamor. How that had come about she had no idea, and she rather suspected that Muri did not know either. For all that he had the long shanks and narrow footprint of long digitgrade legs, he was a good hand shorter than she, though much broader.

She had to smile as he led her down first one aisle then up a flight of stairs, down another isle, to the far end of the library proper. Here, where the sunlight from the open center of the library had a difficult time reaching, mage lights set into the ceiling provided the illumination necessary to keep from kicking unseen objects and for reading the titles of the innumerable tomes. The also eliminated the potential fire hazard of burning candles, which would be a disaster in a place like this.

After a few quiet moments walking through the silence of the library, though, dim gray sunlight once more began to return, filtering down the narrow aisles as he led her out into a small solarium set with several vacant chairs and empty tables. She had seen these very windows from the outside before, but had never had the chance to witness the marvelous view the provided from the inside. There was a narrow parapet beyond the sealed, smooth glass windows, which looked down upon Laracin's courtyard. The intelligent tree was naught more than towering bundle of twigs with the winter, his branches covered with a heavy blanket of snow.

A cold wind whistled beyond those windows, the hint of much worse weather to come. The last waning light of the day cast a muted, gray glow about the solarium as Muri moved over and touched each of the glass panels for a brief moment. Soon after he did the chill radiating in through that glass faded, allowing the soothing warmth of the library to reach their far, private corner.

Smiling, Kayla moved over to sit in one of the large, padded armchairs and sat down. The chair, by its look, had been built decades before the change had come to Metamor, but had been modified at some point since to have a tailhole. The modification ruined the handsome lines of the aged chair, but made it a great deal more comfortable to sit in. Muri, on the other hand, did not sit in the other chair. He stood by the windows, staring down at Laracin for a few silent moments.

"So are you going to wish me a happy holidays, Muri?" she finally asked brightly as she laid her package upon the small round table between the chairs. A couple of thin, ancient books were laid on the table as well, detailing various subjects their absent owners had been interested in. Muri turned from the windows and nodded with a warm smile, though his eyes seemed oddly distracted.

"Oh," he chuckled with a small shake of his head. "I’m sorry. Happy Holidays Kayla." He sketched a bow. "It's just been so long —"

"I understand."

"— since I've had anyone to celebrate this with... Now, all of a sudden, I have you and Rick, Dream, Charles, and Lady Kimberly, and… so many to share the time with." He ran a hand across his head, his ears folding back briefly. "And Llyn as well." He sighed, shrugging one shoulder. "I wish she liked you better, Kayla. She's really a good person."

Kayla held up a hand, forestalling any further explanation. "I know, Muri, I know. You don't have to make excuses for her. If she has a problem with us being together, even for this small celebration, you should talk to her about it."

Muri nodded with a small, seemingly frustrated laugh. "I have, believe me, many times." He raised his eyes to meet Kayla's own blue gaze. "She's just jealous, Kay, because you're a skunk, and she thinks you are far more beautiful than she is."

"What?" Kayla gasped, her jaw hanging open a moment. Muri merely nodded as he moved over to stand behind the other chair.

"Yes, you come across with a far more feminine beauty than she does, at least in her own opinion." His attention wandered for a moment. "Though perhaps what I do for her today will change a few things." His distant thoughts focused once more as his eyes came back to Kayla. "I, though, find both of you beautiful, regardless." He bowed his head slightly to her with a smile. "But that is neither here nor there."

Kayla was momentarily taken aback by that admission, for she had never really considered herself beautiful since the change, despite all that Rickkter kept telling her she was. Before the change she had been, though, and was courted by many suitors for that beauty. What she had become since, a skunk, a social anathema, had cost her what vanity she had once possessed. Only the recent attentions of Rick, and Muri, had allowed her to begin feeling… truly a woman once more, and less a ghost. "Thank you," was all she could say for a moment as Muri watched her with his dark, arresting gaze.

"That aside, though, I daresay… with so many things occurring, and so many to celebrate with, I am quite wonderfully overwhelmed." He moved around to sit on the arm of his chair, his tail curving loosely around his hips to drape down across the front of the chair. "Speaking of other loves, where is that raccoon of yours?"

Kayla's bright laughter echoed into the silence of the stacks as she smiled. "Oh, he's still back at Misha's big party." She chortled. "I thought it would be a good time to escape when they started the hedgehog bowling." She winced slightly at the idea, one ear folding over. "You left before that started?”

“Long before, I’m afraid. Llyn is still preparing for Hough’s mass, and despite how good the evening was, I did feel a little crowded.”

"Still?" Kayla asked, bringing a soft chuckle from Muri.

"New dress and all… she does not want me to see it until she's ready."

Kayla nodded with a smile, self consciously smoothing out her own dress. It was not new, but she had only had perhaps one or two other opportunities to wear it in the past. "Ah, I would like to see how she looks in something other than leather leggings with a sword on her hip." She said as she shifted slightly in the deep embrace of her chair. "So, shall we do this now, before she summons you?"

Muri glanced down at the long velvet case laid across the table with a sheepish smile, "Well, uh, yes." His voice dropped an octave as he glanced back up, whiskers angled back against his muzzle. "Who goes first?"

"I guess I will," the skunkette volunteered after favoring the socially ungainly male skunk with a cheerful laugh. She picked up the velvet case and turned it in her hands, offering him the end. He took it gingerly with one hand, his eyebrows raising as he felt the shifting of the contents. Once he had a good grip on it, he felt around the long, slender lengths within the heavy fabric for a few moments, as if trying to discover what it was before opening the drawstrings at the end of the case. "You can open it." Kayla giggled warmly, causing Muri’s fur to rise and fall at the collar of his shirt, his ears flattening back in a brief moment of embarrassment.

The knotted end of the case was a simple task for his nimble fingers. Kayla idly noticed that he had trimmed his claws at some point, and had them polished to a high gloss. He raised the velvet and let one of the slender shafts within slip out into his hand. She suppressed a giggle at the way his eye ridges shot up his forehead, his ears coming up as he drew the separate shafts into the light.

It was, at first, quite a quandary to him. The detailed carving at the butt of the thick shaft and the brass fitting at the narrower end with a threaded hole in the center not immediately clicking home. "A staff?" he quarried as he examined the end of the second length. The other piece had a screw set into a brass fitting, continuing the taper of the thicker piece.

“No, not quite.”

"Just two pieces of wood, then?" he asked in jest, his brows furrowed and a confused frown crossing his muzzle. That is just what they were, two lengths of stout imported bountifruit wood from Phil's homeland.

Kayla laughed at that one. "Not quite," she said, her voice light with mirth as she watched the male skunk's confusion working itself out. Her tail swished about her ankles as she leaned forward, resting her arms on the edge of the table. "Look at it a little differently; it's not a weapon."

Muri's muzzle formed a grimace and he nodded, assembling the two lengths of pale wood. "Oh!" he gasped in surprise as his eyes traveled up the length of the entire shaft of the assembled product. "A pool cue!" His eyes widened at the sight as he turned the shaft horizontally and looked down its length. "This is a wonderful surprise, and it's balanced perfectly for me!" He looked up at her, his eyes bright with his elation. "How, by all the gods, did you know I used a seventeen ounce cue?"

Kayla laughed. "I asked Copernicus."

Muri held it close with one hand as he stood from his perch on the arm of his chair and crossed over to give her a strong, warm hug with his free arm. "It's absolutely marvelous."

Kayla returned the hug, her tail switching out from around the legs of her chair to pressed against the sides of his long pawshanks, "I am glad you like it, Muri," she murred softly into the warm fur of his shoulder.

Grudgingly, he broke the hug and retreated, leaning the shaft in the corner of his chair as he walked over to a large shelf stacked haphazardly with several thick, dusty tomes. Setting several aside, he lifted out a wooden case from where he had apparently cached it for this occasion and carried it over, setting it on the table before her. "I fear what I have created for you cannot compare," he churred, his voice a husky rasp. He sat back on the arm of his chair and picked up the cue again, running his fingers along the length of smoothly polished wood. He had no idea what manner of wood it was, either, for the grain was far too dense and wavy to be any wood he knew.

Kayla stood from her seat and looked the case over. She knew almost immediately what it was, for she had seen many, many such similar cases in her many years. This one was highly reminiscent of the one her grandfather always used with her. Alas, that set had been lost in a fire during the Battle of the Three Gates. She unfastened the clasps, which she was rather surprised to find made out of polished silver steel rather than brass or bronze. Opening the case, she laid it flat, her eyebrows rising at the carefully wrought stone surface.

"You created this?" she whispered as she ran the tips of her fingers across the polished stone chessboard. The dark squares were of inlaid garnet, or solid garnet where he was able to find a piece large enough, and polished to a mirror shine. The pale squares were of milky quartz. Both minerals were difficult to find, but quite common in the mountains surrounding Metamor.

The male skunk smiled and nodded. "Open it."

Kayla blinked, looking back down at the board. She had assumed by its thickness that it was designed to hold a set of chess pieces, but had not realized that it already held them. She grasped the satin tab on the closest side of the board and lifted, the hinged chessboard folding upward in the center to reveal a set of intricately wrought chess pieces of a pale rose quartz. "You made these, too??" she gasped. She stared at the pieces nestled in the gray velvet lining of the case. There was something naggingly familiar about them, and she couldn’t figure it out until she lifted out the king.

It was Duke Thomas!

"How?" she squeaked as he found herself looking into the chiseled quartz visage of the Lord of Metamor Keep. Muri leaned across and turned one hand to her, palm up, flexing his fingers so that his polished claws caught the muted light from beyond the windows. She furrowed her eyebrows at his hand, then looked up at him.

"I can work stone, Kay." He smiled, his voice soft and quiet. "I've been working on these for a little over a month now, while studying the books you see around you."

Kayla was struck speechless, the detailed working of the stone not the work of a master artist, but highly skilled nonetheless, fashioned by his claws and nothing else. It was almost too much to believe. Looking down at the translucent rosy stone figures she could only chuff in surprise. Muri reached over and picked out the queen, holding it up into the light and smiling.

It was herself.

The King's bishop was Raven herself, the queen's bishop Hough. The knights were Saulius and Andre, with the king’s rook being Misha and Rickkter her own. Kayla turned the board to open the opposite side, finding herself looking upon an enemy horde carved from dark black granite. The King and Queen were human mages she could not identify, the bishops heavily robed clerics. The knights were Lutins on dire wolves, while the rooks were giants. The pawns of the enemy horde were Lutin regulars, no two alike, while the pawns for the allies were various kneeling representations of Keep denizens.

"This is…" She placed one hand over her breast as she gingerly placed the king back in its nest, Muri doing likewise with the queen, the representation of herself. "I don't have the words, Muri, I just don't," she whispered as she looked back up to meet his gaze.

She then surprised the male skunk by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her in a tight embrace. He actually let out a brief animalistic squeak of surprise when her body collided with his. More to his surprise was the fact that his own arms slipped around her mid back to return the hug as she nuzzled into the soft fur of his neck.

"Thank you so much for being a friend, Muri," she said, her voice muffled into the side of his neck. "You don't know how much that has meant to me. Thank you so very much."

Muri blinked, taking a few seconds to form an answer. The tender embrace had been about the last thing he had expected from Kayla. “Well... you’re welcome, Kay. But if truth be told, I should be thanking you. You were one of the first people here to accept me.”

Pulling back a little, Kayla looked up at the male skunk with those vibrant, still human, blue eyes of hers. “Naturally. We skunks have to stick together, you know.” And then she did the most shocking thing yet.

She kissed him.

It wasn’t a large kiss, nor a passionate one; it was a small kiss, her lips pressed against the side of his muzzle and her tongue drawing up in an affectionate lick. Yet the... intimacy of the whole action absolutely stunned him. When the skunkette fully pulled away from him he was unable to resist. He bowed his head and shuddered as she ran her paw along the fur of his cheek and jaw line, his arms slowly dropping.

“Well, I think we both need to get back to our prospective loves, Muri. Thank you so much for your gift. I’ll find someplace special for it as soon as I have the time.”

“And I’ll... I’ll be sure to make use of yours at the first opportunity.” He smiled, his black lips raising to show most of his teeth, as he tried to quell the quaver in his voice. “Who knows? I may even beat Cope with this.”

Kayla turned back to him, her lush striped tail swishing against her skirt. “Then I wish you the best of luck. You’ll need it.” They both shared in the laughter. “And the best to you and your mink. I know she doesn’t like me, but I know what she means to you. Merry Christmas, Muri.”

---

“OW!”

“Sorry.”

“Damn it!”

“Sorry!”

“What is this hedgehog doing in the punch?”

“The back stroke!”

“Not funny!”

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry, be rid of it!”

“Sorry!”

Yes, it looked like the party was going exceedingly well, Kayla reflected as she returned. From where Rickkter was standing, next to a fox, a wolverine, and four humans — one of whom was wearing heavy leather gloves — it appeared that he hadn’t noticed her briefly slipping out. Of course she had no desire for him to find out, and so slipped through the crowd until she was standing behind her raccoon. His first indication that she was there was when she slipped her arms around his front, pulling him towards her and nuzzling his shoulder, which he indicated with a small yelp.

“Miss me, love?” she murred, nuzzling his back.

“Always.” Rickkter reached back and pulled her around front, resting his arm over her shoulder. “Where were you?”

“Oh, around. I just finally decided to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Well, you certainly did miss a show. Why, one time Misha...” Rickkter stopped mid sentence and leaned his nose down to Kayla’s head and sniffed around the fur there. “Have you been around Muri just now?”

Kayla turned her gaze down to the stone floor. Scent couldn’t be hidden from an animal morph, that was one thing she knew all too well. “Yes, that’s where I just came from. He wanted to meet me in the library, someplace quiet. Private.”

“What did he want that for?” asked Rickkter. Kayla could detect a hard edge creeping into his voice.

“He wanted to exchange gifts and he knew that Llyn wouldn’t like him doing that with me. But he really wanted to do it, and I agreed that we should; he needs to get used to human interaction again.” She sighed. “I wish that he could have stayed here a little longer. He needs to be around others.”

“Well I suppose I can understand that.” Rickkter hugged her close, his voice having lost the edge. “I saw him and that mink of his at the feast, but briefly. Why aren’t they here now? All the other Longs are.”

“Well, two reasons really. First is Muri, of course. He’s still not comfortable with large, noisy crowds, as you know.” Kayla spared a brief glance around the room. “And she didn’t want to put him through all this, and so decided it best that they leave early. The second reason is that she wished to get into proper attire for the Follower ceremony in the chapel tonight."

“Well, that’s too bad for the both of them, I guess.” He turned back to the main spectacle and hugged her with one arm again. “Let’s just hope that you haven’t missed too much.”

By this time Norman had managed to extricate himself from the punch.

“Hey, Norman,” called out Misha. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, just fine,” muttered the hedgehog, sucking a little of the remaining wetness from his arm. “Though I think this batch of punch could use some more spices.”

Misha took the pair of heavy leather gloves from the burly human who had them last. He quickly pulled them on and gave the palms a quick slap. “Well, we can worry about that later, Norman,” said Misha as he moved out onto the empty section of the floor. The fox flicked his paws towards the hedgehog and took up a bowlegged stance, his tail flagging behind him. “Come on, now. We’re not done with you yet.”

Kayla could only groan and roll her eyes as she nuzzled her cheek against Rickkter’s. "From what I remember of Christmas mass, they'll be spending the rest of the evening there," concluded the skunk. "Llyn spent the morning getting a new gown just for the occasion." Kayla looked down at her own apparel. "I guess she just wanted to look beautiful for Muri."

Rickkter caught her tone and turned her around to face him. “Hey, didn’t I tell you that you look absolutely stunning in that outfit? I know it’s old, I can smell some of the age on it but that doesn’t matter. You’d look just as ravishing now if that dress had been tailored last week.” Reaching down, he used his crooked finger to lift up the edge of her chin. “If I were to give you a necklace today, would it make any difference if I were to tell you that it was once worn by a queen over two centuries ago or that I picked it up from Will the day before?”

Her love’s eyes had a mischievous twinkle to them that made Kayla smile instantly. “Are you hinting at something, Rickkter?”

He leaned down and licked the white stripe between her eyes. “Maybe.”

The female mephit’s laugh was a delighted burr as she hugged close then nuzzled the raccoon that meant so much to her. She looked out over the hall filled with faces of people she had known for years but had only recently come to be friends with; friends who were setting up pins at one side of the hall and talking to a still dripping hedgehog on the other. Briefly she wondered how much stranger this party was going to get in the next several hours or so before it was over. From the look of Misha and the other Longs, she wasn’t going to be making any predictions. Not that it really mattered, she realized as she rubbed Rick’s arm. She had everything she needed right here.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 6:30 PM

Ryuo knelt upon the bamboo tatami mats of his small room, breathing in the incense and actively thinking about nothing. After hours of study, the oriental warrior was taking a much-needed rest for his heart to contemplate the evening's lesson. Outside, the winds continued to howl as the winter storm that had suddenly blown up battered at the stone walls of the Keep. Ryuo had long since closed the outer wooden shades of his small nook of the Keep. Hidden in a small crack between the towering spires of the Keep, it was spared from the harshest winds of the winter storm. Still, the snow piled high outside, although the paper walls insulated remarkably well.

As Ryuo inhaled another long, deep breath through his nose, the spicy incense floated lazily about his head, circling out to the four corners of the square room. Sitting serenely on his right was a leather bound tome of mammoth proportions. Faded gold leaf on the cover revealed it as a copy of the Ecclessia's New Testament, written with a translated gloss of the North-eastern Ma-yonshu script.

Ryuo was having trouble comprehending some of what he read; a man made of bread and wine? he thought incredulously. Other passages, however, seemed to contain words of wisdom. Ryuo could only assume that this Yashua must have been a truly enlightened individual. His sacrifice was particularly noteworthy as an example of his warrior spirit.

Apparently, it was his birth that many of the others celebrated tonight in the Ecclessia Cathedral. Most of the others had gone to the great shrine of the Keep to have the priestess help them call out their prayers to the gods. Ryuo, however, had felt no draw towards either, and had retired to his room after his shift on the wall. Here he had stayed, reading and meditating while the storm raged outside.

Gathering back his wandering mind, Ryuo stared calmly at the blank wall before him and once more began to send his thoughts into blissful oblivion.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 6:45 PM

The lighthouse was packed that day. The whole tower was cozy and warm, despite the raging storm outside. A great many of the residents were feeling warm and cozy as well. For most of them, it was an exceedingly joyous occasion. It was going to be a real Christmas, complete with feasting, gifts, and happy times spent with good friends. Most of them thought that they would never live to see another Christmas. Their days of hiding in the wilderness after Hipocc was destroyed had almost crushed their hope of living through the year, and yet here they were, singing carols in the lighthouse sanctuary.

Desuka was trying to lead the singing, every now and then forgetting to translate a word. Mong Ho, having had a touch too much nog that night, was launching into a song in her native tongue. Ye just sat there and smiled at her, happy that she was having such a good time.

Gornul sat perched on the back of a pew with Mitok and Qualin on either side. His family had been working hard to keep the fire burning on the top floor to serve as a beacon to those hardy souls who were braving the storm to be at Metamor Keep for the Christmas festivities. Natalie had taken over from them so that the lot of them could take a break and come join the fun.

Jesse Roo was busily sampling the Christmas cookies and recommending various varieties of goodies to Blake Tizzo, who nodded in a polite manner and snuggled up to Shamgar, who had come down from the keep a couple hours earlier, for warmth.

Vitra sat alone in a corner with a cup of punch. Every once in a while, she would hold the cup out to the side. It was obvious what she was doing. She was imagining that her late husband, Ushka, could be here for the festivities. Though Vitra was his wife now, Oren understood that he could not replace Ushka nor diminish the love that was there. Nor should it be so.

Oren understood how she felt. This would be his very first Christmas without his parents, and without many of his loved ones. His sister was alive and present, as was her young son, Alyxander, but she was the only family he had now. Even Ana, the woman he almost married once, was gone.

Everything, both happy and sad, seemed just as it should be. Why, then, did Oren feel so ill at ease?

He could not understand it. Here it was, almost Christmas, and yet the otter could not be merry. Something was simply and basically wrong.

Slipping away from the crowd, Oren headed up the stairs. Up, past the residential floors he went. Up past the armory and the food stores. All the way up to the top level. There, he found Natalie, who had shifted into as human a form as she could get, the better to brave the cold. She was also fairly small, presumably to minimize the area of her skin. Oren knew that this storm had to be rough on the reptiles, especially dragons.

When she noticed him, Natalie smiled and said, "Do you have any idea what's wrong with Leo?"

Oren looked around, but didn't see the person in question. "Where is Leo?" he asked.

"Up on the roof." she replied.

"In this weather? He's nuts."

Natalie tilted her head to the ceiling in affirmation. So, feeling like a moron for doing so, Oren climbed the ladder to the roof.

There was Leo, standing like a statue amid the blowing winds. Oren supposed that he was equipped for such a thing. Like the other Hipocci who had already transformed, Leo had been given a double transformation. He had become a polar bear with the suction-cup feet of a hyrax. Like the otter, he wore only the blue vest and briefs of his uniform, decorated only by his cuffs and the red cape which flapped in the breeze. Even now, it seemed strange to see him dressed like a warrior, when Oren's memories still depicted him as a lad less than ten in his mind.

"Leo?" he asked, shrinking as he approached the bear. He was glad that he no longer had to become female to assume a more lutrine form, for he wanted an excuse to hug the roof as the violent wind whipped past.

"Oren?" Leo responded, raising his voice against the storm. "What are you doing up here?"

"ME?" he called back in a rising voice. "What are YOU doing up here?"

"Looking. There's something out there."

"You see something?"

"No. But I know it's out there. I can feel it."

A chill went down Oren's back which had nothing to do with the storm. He knew that Leo was never wrong about these things. "What is it, Leo?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I think we ought to get folks moved inside the keep. At least the civilians."

"All right. Come on down, Leo."

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 7:30 PM

Jeremy and Samuel and Derek have always been the undisputed Champions of the Snowball Fight. The three of them always manage the proper style; Samuel manages to make many, many snowballs very, very fast to keep people on their toes, and Derek and Jeremy are uncannily good at accuracy. Jeremy will sometimes get hit back in the inevitable return fire, he's not all that fast but Derek is completely invincible when it comes to flying projectiles of water crystals. To be the One To Hit Derek would be to be the Ultimate, the Greatest, the Snowball Champion Of The World.

Unfortunately for any would-be champions, Derek is dodging snowballs very effectively still, even with the blizzard affecting visibility so seriously that many doubted even powerful Randolph could make his way through. Still, Jeremy's dad, being a Fire mage, manages to keep them all warm in addition to their big warm clothes, so nobody is uncomfortable at the weather, just the defeat.

"Got you again!" Jeremy yells at Josh as a snowball plasters across the back of the young previously-actor's jacket. Josh's response is to start trying to look around, attempting to spot the splotch on his back. Jeremy goes to focus on other attackers, and in so doing keeps himself occupied while Daemion rushes up to Josh and quickly brushes the blotch of snow off his back. "There, you're healed," he whispers conspiratorially to the would-be defeated soldier.

Josh grins, scoops up a snowball and hurls it at Jeremy, getting a direct hit right on the top of his "murderer's head, whereupon Daemion quickly yells out a "Got you!" so as to keep the deception going. Jeremy jaw drops in surprise, and turns to see Daemion grinning, while Josh is headed to the side of the battlefield towards the designated 'morgue.'

Jeremy grumbles and heads after Josh, who is sitting down along with his snow-slain fellows near the grown-ups.

"That's a pretty clever trick he's going, going, eh?" Perry asks Jono. Perry is a hedgehog morph; a swift and capable soldier who is out here mostly to look after his son.

"Who?" Jono asks.

"My boy over there, Daemion," Perry says, pointing. "He knows his limitations. He can't throw a snowball very well, but he still wants to play and keep things going. So he goes out and 'heals' fallen kids by brushing the snow off, then has them throw snowballs for him. The 'healed' kid usually gets to get his revenge against whoever hit him with the snowball, and Daemion gets to join in," he observes with a chuckle. "He's saying he wants to be a real healer when he grows up too," Perry continues, obviously very proud of his child.

"Oh?"

"Yep!" Perry says, beaming. "He's already going over to see Merai at the Lightbringer temple occasionally just to look at some basics, and he was thinking about finding some way to talk to your friend Joanne while she was here." He grins widely. "Be nice to see my boy getting himself educated, for damn sure."

Jo speaks up then, having been silent until now. "I'm sure it would be. Wonderful to see them grow up and go see the rest of the world..."

Perry then turns to the pair. "Why haven't you two, like, ever seriously gotten together?" he asks. "Like, stopped and raised a family, or something?"

Jo raises an eyebrow; Jono laughs. "There's no way we'd be able to have kids between the two of us; our friendship has boundaries, and that's past them. Besides, we never wanted to settle down, really; if not for the Curse we'd not be here still."

Jo then acquires a small smile. "That and I've already got myself a child." She indicates Jono with a cock of the head.

"Oh, pah! Only part-time at best!" Jono protests. "Besides, I could never do better as a little kid than you," he continues, grinning in a mock evil manner.

Joanne responds by leaning down, scooping up a pawful of snow, balling it up and hurling it at the panther, grinning as she does so.

"Ha!" cries Jono as he ducks down to dodge, and the duel is on.

Jono, while ducking, scoops up two pawfuls of snow, balling them up into one as best he can and leaps to the side, hurling the snowball towards Jo in mid-flight. The vixen drops herself, bringing her paw down and up in a wide arc to try and fling a giant scoop of snow towards the cat as he lands, but he quickly turns his landing into a roll out of the way, at the termination of which he grabs up another scoop of snow and sends it in the vixen's direction. She blocks it easily with her forearm and then flings the ball she prepared in her paw earlier while Jono was doing his acrobatics, but he manages to dodge this as well, leaping forward to get closer to the vixen and get an easier shot...

And then POW! and Jono YOWLS in surprise as a snowball slaps him in the side of the face.

He turns to see... young Derek, grinning, another snowball in his hand being tossed up and down. "Gotcha, Uncle Jono."

Perry and Jo, of course, cannot get up from the ground because of how hard they're laughing.

"Yes, yes, you got me," Jono says, suppressing a chuckle. Then he reaches down, scoops up another ball and attempts to hit the laughing vixen in the mouth. She rolls to the side easily, still laughing. The cat grumbles briefly, then mock sighs and throws his hands up, looking to the sky. "I just can't win, can I?" he asks of the heavens while the children in the 'morgue' snicker.

"Nope," the vixen says, still snickering.

Derek takes the opportunity and hurls his other snowball, catching Joanne right on the nose and soliciting a loud yip from the suddenly stricken vixen.

Perry is now pinned to the ground, laughing uncontrollably. Jono looks like he's about ready to join the hedgehog.

And Derek just sits there, grinning ear to ear, having solidified his position as Unsurpassed King Of The Snowfields at Metamor.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 7:30 PM

The temple hall was more crowded than Merai had ever seen it before, and as she looked over the assembled acolytes and townspeople she could scarcely believe that they could all fit in the room. By her rough estimate, about four hundred people filled the long, vaulted chamber, and there was still space for an aisle leading down the center to the altar at the back. The acolytes had decorated the hall with red and green curtains and bunting, and the wall lamps cast the whole room in a soft, warm glow. There were no chairs; people stood or sat on the floor in small groups, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Raven walked among the visiting lay-people, welcoming them to the temple and generally playing a cordial if reserved hostess. Acolytes stood to either side of the large double-doors, which had been opened wide for the occasion, greeting people as they came in. Behind the altar another group of acolytes were playing music on lutes, woodwinds and lyres, filling the hall with soft and peaceful music.

Merai walked back through the doors into the corridor that led out of the temple chambers, watching as the acolytes collected cloaks and weapons from the townspeople and placed them in one of the adjoining storerooms.

"Exciting, isn't it?"

Merai turned to see Celine smiling at her, green eyes dancing. The senior female acolyte at the Keep, she had become one of Merai's best advisors and most trusted friends.

"It is for me," Merai admitted, moving out of the doorway to stand by the wall. "But I would've thought you've seen this before. You've served here ... what, twenty years?"

The seeming-girl nodded, turning momentarily to greet a pair of women as they entered the hall. "Twenty-two, i'truth," she said. "But I've never seen this many people come for a ceremony before. Usually most of the laity leave it to us to deal with the gods."

"Mayhap it has something to do with Father Hough being here," Merai suggested. "It seems like his presence has awakened a sense of faith in Metamor. Perhaps with the Followers having their own service tonight, our people thought it right to be here."

The blond-haired girl cocked her head. "'Tis possible," she said. "On the other hand," she laughed, "it may have had more to do with Yajiit's little performance last July."

"There is that," Merai admitted with a grin. "Maybe they're expecting another show."

Celine made a look of mock despair. "My god, sister! We've become a tourist attraction!"

They were still laughing at that when the acolyte gestured towards the entrance at the far end of the corridor. "Look there, Merai — you have company."

Merai looked up, smiling broadly as she saw a group of very familiar faces come in. She saw her father, Dana, and her mother, Sandra, along with little baby Thomas cradled in her arms. Missus Caitlyn, one of Dr. Coe's assistants and a longtime family friend, was close behind them, and bringing up the rear...

"Merai!"

"Daria!" Merai called back, running to embrace her best friend. The young warrior-woman was dressed in her squire's uniform, which marked her as a knight-in-training with the Knights of the Red Stallion, Lord Thomas's personal chivalric order. The outfit was largely ceremonial, far too impractical for the daily work of a field scout, but it made Daria look noble and mature beyond her years.

"Hello, Merai," Dana said, stepping forward to give his daughter a huge bear hug. "You're looking lovely this evening."

"Thanks, Da." Merai felt herself blush a little, but it was unlikely anyone saw it — her short, tawny fur had a tendency to hide such things well.

Merai greeted her mother and Caitlyn in turn, and after they'd turned over their winter clothes and weapons they made their way down the corridor to the temple hall.

"Where's your da tonight, Dari?" Merai asked, suddenly noticing the big lion-morph's absence.

"Guard duty, if you can believe it," Daria said, sounding disgusted.

"What?" Merai half-laughed in surprise.

"Apparently, a few members of the mages' council have expressed concerns about the storm," Caitlyn explained. "They judge it unnatural, and say something foul may be afoot. Unfortunately Saroth and Electra are both away visiting Magdalain Island, so there is no way to be sure. Master DeMule asked Leon to serve on the first watch — it seems that the guard on the wall is being doubled."

"How strange," Merai mused. "Do they expect an attack?"

"A general would be daft to order an assault in this weather," Dana said over his shoulder. "He'd lose twice as many men to the blizzard as to the guards."

"Still, it can't hurt to be cautious," Sandra observed. "Nasoj has surprised us before."

"Well, he won't surprise us tonight," Daria declared. "Nothing is going to get near a double-guard without being seen."

"… Danger ..."

"I'm sorry, what did you say, Daria?" Merai asked.

"I said that Nasoj wouldn't be able to get an army that close without us spotting it."

"No, I heard that part," the young priestess said. "Didn't you say something about danger?"

Daria frowned. "No, not a thing."

Merai cast a suspicious glance around her, her catlike face soon wearing a frown of her own. "Mum? Missus Caitlyn? You didn't say anything about danger, did you?"

"I didn't," Sandra said.

"Mayhap it was someone behind you," Caitlyn suggested.

Merai looked behind her. There were, indeed, a fair number of people still crowding in behind them. But she felt certain that the voice had come from close by...

She shook her head. "Aye," she said. "Aye, that must be it."

They made their way inside, to a place where the people weren't crowded in quite so tightly, and took seats on the floor in a reasonably straight row. Merai sat closest to the aisle, which had been marked out by a long red carpet.

"Will the Lightbringer be needing your assistance tonight, Merai?" Caitlyn asked.

Merai shook her head. "No, 'tis a simple ceremony, and she prefers to do it herself. My presence is all that is required of me tonight."

"… Danger ..."

The cat-woman's ears pricked up, suddenly alert. She knew she had heard the voice that time ... and it was close. Very close.

Close, and somehow familiar...

"… Danger is coming. Be ready. Danger is coming …"

Suddenly, it clicked.

"Kyia?" Merai whispered. She had only heard the voice once before, during the confrontation with the daedra last October, but she recognized it now.

"Merai," the voice came back in acknowledgement. "Danger is coming, Merai. Be ready."

"What sort of danger?" the priestess murmured, not wanting the people around her to hear.

"Not right now," the nymph answered. "I still have to warn others. Trust Raven, she knows."

"Knows what?" Merai asked, feeling frustrated.

But the voice did not answer again.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 7:45 PM

Raven was just approaching the altar to begin the service when a sudden, familiar voice called out to her.

"Raven!" The voice was close at hand and urgent, which seemed out of sorts for the owner of that soft voice.

Without even breaking her stride, Raven signaled to the musicians to keep playing, then walked into an adjoining storeroom on the east side of the hall. Keeping her gaze fixed on the shelves, her back turned to the hall, she answered.

"What is it, Kyia?"

"Great danger, Raven. Your mortal enemy stands ready to attack you this very hour."

It was as if an icy hand had wrapped itself around her heart. Choking back the bile that was beginning to rise in her throat, the priestess asked, "Which enemy, Kyia?"

"The dark wizard, Ba'al's servant," the unseen nymph replied. "This storm is a creation of his mages, to cover his approach."

"But that's insane," Raven murmured, half to herself. "The men he would lose to the cold alone—"

"Are insignificant to such as he," Kyia cut her off, her voice unusually harsh. "I know not when they will attack, but they are preparing even now. The assault will come, and soon."

The Lightbringer swallowed. "Is there time to warn the Duke?"

"The Duke's daughter has been warned," Kyia said. "Your friend the bear-sage has caught scent of the enemy's forces."

Raven nodded — Christopher's nose was excellent, and stronger than ever in his recently altered form. "Who else knows?"

"Merai knows to be ready, though I have not told her everything. I have warned my friend Madog, as well."

That brought a quizzical smile to Raven's face. "The automaton?"

"He has warned the fox-scout and the boy-priest," Kyia assured her. "They will be ready."

Raven looked up at the stone walls around her. "What are you going to do?"

"Whatever I can. Do not tell anyone until the alarum sounds — I will protect you and your people."

The priestess turned and began to walk out of the storeroom. Her eyes fell on the window at the back of the apse, and the howling winter storm that raged outside.

"And what about the others?" she asked softly.

There was a pause before Kyia answered. "It will be terrible," the nymph said sadly. "I will help those I can, but many are sure to fall. Do what you can, Raven. I cannot say for certain how this battle will end. I am sorry."

Raven nodded, slightly, once more. "I understand," she murmured. Shaken, she made her way back toward the altar.

She was halfway there before she caught sight of someone walking swiftly down the aisle towards her. It was Lurene, Christopher's friend, pupil, and apparent lover, and the young wolven woman looked frightened.

The priestess met her halfway. "Lurene," she said, by way of greeting.

"Lightbringer," Lurene breathed, drawing close to Raven's ear. "Chris sent me to warn you — while we were outside, he caught scent of—"

"Lutins," Raven finished for her, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Aye, Kyia herself has warned me. Stay calm — we have prepared for such things as this. We shall be safe here in the temple."

Lurene didn't look any calmer. "What should I do?" she asked.

"For now, take a seat and try not to start a panic." the priestess said firmly. "The prime minister has been warned; that is all we can do for now. The service will go on as planned."

The younger woman looked at her as if she had gone mad. "You're going to hold a service at a time like this?" she demanded.

Raven regarded her coolly for a few seconds. "Would it truly make any difference if I didn't?" she asked. "What else can I do, save start a panic and undermine Lord Thomas's authority over his troops? The decision is his, Lurene, and I shall respect that. And as I said, all who remain here shall be safe."

Lurene looked at her a moment longer, then nodded. Raven gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, then turned and walked back to the altar.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 7:50 PM

"Jono!"

The black cat turns around to see a large bull morph headed his way. "It's almost 8:00! The kids need to get inside!"

Jono blinks, then quickly turns towards the snowed battlefield. "Okay, everyone, it's getting close to time for the ceremonies; let's all get inside now!"

There is, of course, a chorus of "awwww"s and similar signs of depression, but the children comply quickly. Most of the Mommies and Daddies among them wouldn't even have agreed to this if Jono hadn't promised they'd all be at the ceremonies; they might not get to see him again if they miss it. And none of them would ever want to pass up the chance to see Uncle Jono again.

"Everybody!" calls out Jono, heading up towards the battlefield, silently counting each child. One of thirty-eight. Two. Three. Four... "We need to get moving! We're already late, and the Mommies and Daddies don't like that!" Eleven. Twelve. ....that group brings it up to twenty...

Jeremy runs past followed closely on his heels by Josh and Andrea, both still hurling snowballs at him. Twenty-three. "Jo, what's the count for you?"

"Fourteen. Have you seen Derek?" the vixen cries back.

Jono curses under his breath. Derek has always been the troublesome one; usually hiding in a snowdrift or behind a barrel so he can stay out longer. "Derek! Derek, get over here!" Then to Jo, "Get all the rest inside and over to my rooms; they need to get started getting changed. I'll get Derek."

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 7:55 PM

"DEREK!" Jono yells, now searching around the barrels buried beneath snowdrifts, mentally forgetting that he used to pull this very trick with his own parents. Kevin's spell is going to wear off pretty shortly, and he has no illusions about what would happen to Derek if he gets caught out here too long. "Where are you? Games are done, we need to go if we want to play again!"

No response.

Jono starts peeking in barrels with disturbed snow about them. No Derek. But his nose just barely catches a scent... he Was here.

"Derek! Get Over Here Now!" he yells, starting to track down the scent as best he can in the billowing snow.

---

Jo is at this time meeting back up with the bull morph guard and another, apparently a transgendered soldier, a sea of kids behind her. Dana, the woman, is currently bringing up the rear to make sure none of the kids sneak away while Kirk stays at the door, waiting for Jono and Derek.

Metamor Keep's variable geometry always dictates that the length of time needed to pass down a corridor to get to your destination is always going to be different, so Jo doesn't have any way of telling when they're going to get there. So she keeps her eyes on the walls, looking for the Seal Of Bardic Immunity duplication Jono carved on his door.

"C'mon, everyone, we have to hurry," she urges the kids. She knows they're going to be late regardless; the kids still have to change out of their winter clothes and into their good clothes for the Ceremonies. Father Hough might shake his head and chuckle at seeing drenched kids in the halls, but she doesn't know about the current Lightbringer, and so it's best to play it safe for everyone.

Then... That's the door she thinks to herself, spotting the Seal a bit further down the hall. There's a few Keepers moving pretty frantically down at the other end of the hall; apparently her party isn't going to be the only late one...

---

"DEREK! The ceremonies are starting Right Now! Your parents aren't going to let you come out anymore if you miss them!"

Derek keeps quiet, hunched underneath a barrel, making his two snowballs. This has always been his favorite part of the game. Sure, any loser can be King of the Snowfields here, but He's something special. Not only can he throw and run and dodge, he can also hide. Derek is going to be a real warrior when he grows up, he knows it.

This is just his practice session.

"DEREK!" The voice is Much louder now. Jono must be able to track down his scent; he's going to be in contact soon.

“Here we go!” Derek thinks to himself... then he Leaps out from behind the barrel, instantly spotting Jono and another Keeper right there as he lands. He hurls both snowballs, catching both Keepers in the head. Glorious!

"Got you BOTH" Derek cries in joy. He's a real warrior!

---

Jo gets to the door, pulls at the handle. Locked, of course. Jono doesn't want anything stolen by any of the passersby...

She reaches into her pocket, fumbles with the keys to try to find the right one. She keeps one eye almost absentmindedly on the party down there... there's something odd about them; they're moving quickly, but not going down the hall... then she sees one of them fall down. Tripped?

---

Both? Jono thinks. I didn't ask Kevin to accompany me... "Derek! C'mon, we need to hurry, or we're going to be Really late!" He then turns towards the Keeper apparently behind him. "I'm quite sorry, sir, he's a bit of a—"

---

“Finally!” Jo inserts the key, twists and unlocks the door. "Okay, everyone inside!" Then she glances up at the party. “Why are they heading towards us? Aren't the halls in the opposite dir—“

---

The exact same thought hits both Jono and Joanne at the exact same time.

“That's not a Keeper!”

And right then, as if in endorsement of the whole scenario, just to show they're not hallucinating, the alarm bells start to ring.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 7:50 PM

“Omnes gentes plaudite,
Jucenes dum sumus,
Gaudeamus ingitur...”

Rickkter hung off Misha’s shoulder, breaking the song and holding his side with his free hand as he contorted in laughter. “No, no, no! You’ve got it all wrong. You need to roll the r’s.” The raccoon had been trying to teach a group of the Longs some of the old drinking songs he knew. Of course none of them knew the languages Rick did, and the translations of the songs tended to lack the same punch. “What you said instead was... well I don’t think it would be physically possible to do that to yourself!” The rest of the group continued to laugh.

“Never underestimate people here, Rick,” chided Kershaw. “After all, I’ve seen some of the female felines here do some really amazing contortions.” His muzzle contorted in a smirk. “Though I won’t tell you where.” The rest of the chorus roared, Finbar almost falling over when he went to take a drink of his ale. That caused the rest to laugh harder and almost join him.

They did eventually laugh themselves out. “Okay, okay, one more time,” said Rickkter, wiping at his eyes. “And remember it’s ingitur, with an rrrr. From the top.”

The chorus never had the chance to resume as a horrendous clatter of metal on stone caused everyone in Long Hall to turn to the door. Madog practically flew in through the door, digging his claws into the flagstone to stop himself. Every single pair of mobile ears in the room went flat against their owners skulls, those that could not do so were covered by their owner’s hands from the horrible screech caused by the mechanical fox’s aluminal claws carving furrows in the floor. He stopped right before Misha, sitting down on his haunches and thumping his tail on the ground in a very aggravated fashion.

“Argh, Madog!” growled Misha as he rubbed one of his ears. “What do you think you’re doing coming in here like that?!”

“Na Tol, Fala sha!” the automaton shouted as he jumped up on his hind legs, turning himself around much like a real canine would when excited.

Misha moved from under Rick’s arm and grabbed Madog by the snout, settling the metal animal down. “Madog you need to speak a language that hasn’t been dead for five hundred years.”

Madog jerked his head free and started yipping and dancing in circles once more.

“I think he’s been sipping too much oil,” someone commented and the group laughed.

“Attack, Papa! Lutins come now! Hurry Papa, hurry!” Madog said sitting down in front of the fox.

All conversation in the hall dropped to silence, the eyes of all guests fixing on the metal fox were it sat on the floor. Rickkter wiped the side of his muzzle with the back of a paw and straightened up. “What?”

“Lutins attack!” repeated Madog. “Big army coming, will reach the walls soon now!”

Rickkter placed one finger on his head, closing his eyes as if in deep concentration. The rest of the room was humming with whispered conversation. “That’s not possible. I was out in that stuff this morning and it would be suicide to march an army through it.”

Misha chose to ignore the raccoon. “Are you sure?” he asked, leaning down towards the automation. “How do you know this? Who told you?”

“Kyia told me,” Madog replied, bobbing his head. “Told Salius and me to go warn people. He go to chapel now.”

Misha didn’t move for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then he turned back to Rickkter, causing the raccoon to wince. “Aw, hell no.”

“EVERYBODY SUIT UP!” Misha yelled at the top of his lungs. “SEEMS WE’RE GETTING UNINVITED GUESTS! I WANT BOTH TEAMS ASSEMBLED IN TEN MINUTES AND READY TO GO.” The entire hall erupted in chaos as Longs and their companions broke ranks at once and scattered in every direction the fox shouted over the din. “TRIPLE THE GUARDS. I WANT TEAM LEADERS IN MY OFFICE IN FIVE MINUTES!” The hall was a mad house as keepers tried to follow the fox’s orders. Through the crush of it all, Rickkter and Kayla managed to find each other.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her arms up against his chest and clenching his doublet.

Rickkter ran his paw over his head, raking the fur as he looked out over the chaos. “Great maker, I have no idea.” He suddenly seemed to realize Kayla was there. Rick took her by the shoulders and moved her over to a nearby wall. His face bore an expression of subdued panic as he looked down on her. “Kayla, listen: I want you to get someplace safe. Go to the Lightbringer temple. I’ve seen the wards on that place, it will take a lot to break in. Go now.”

“And what about you?”

Rick was looking off over the nearly dispersed crowd. “I’m going out there. If this is true, they’re going to need someone who can seek out the enemy in all this snow.” He rubbed her upper arm. “Just get yourself safe, okay love?” He started to head off before she could answer.

The skunk jerked him back with a quick pull on his lapels. “Damn it, Rick, I’m not going to run and hide! Last time Nasoj invaded I hid out from his armies, and this is what happened to me. That time I lost everything dear to me! I won’t lose you this time.”

Reaching up, Rickkter tenderly stroked her cheek fur. “And I don’t want to lose you, love. But I can’t just sit by.” He rubbed his paw through her fur a little more. “I do know something you can do then; no one besides us knows of what’s coming. I want you to go around and warn anyone you come across. I don’t know if they’ll believe you, but they have to know. Tell them to get to the Temple or perhaps the Cathedral. Anyplace secure.” He bent forward and kissed her gently. “And if you see any Lutins, if they do get through, I want you to run to one of those places as quickly as you can. I couldn’t stand losing you either.”

Kayla cupped his paw in two of hers, pressing it to her face once more before letting go. “Okay, love. You had better get back quickly though, you hear me?”

He smiled. “I will.” Slipping his paw from hers, he gave her a final wave and went out the door at a quick jog. However, the smile was quick to fade. It was replaced by a slight snarl at the very notion of what he was doing. An assault in the middle of winter? Great Maker, Rick thought as he raced up a flight of stairs, perhaps Nasoj was as insane as people said he was. No other general would tolerate the loss of life any army would sustain in this kind of weather. Abruptly the sounds of panicked preparation from the Long House dropped away, and when he crested the top of the current flight of steps Rickkter found himself just down the hall from his quarters.

“Thank you, Kyia.” Rickkter wuffed as he opened his door. Well, at least one thing was going right for him. Once in the room the raccoon turned around several times, raking his paws through the fur on his head. The first thing to do was take care of the clothing. His claws made quick work of the buttons and laces that didn’t want to come fast enough. Damn, that was going to cost to get repaired, but at that moment all he cared about was getting into his old tunic.

Phet, damn that smelled, he reflected as he pulled it over his head. But old clothing was the least of his problems. Right now the biggest was the alcohol he had consumed, causing him to fumble with the catches on his mail shirt. Have another drink, you’re not going anywhere for a while. Right, sure! Stupid, stupid, thrice damned little green fucking monsters have to pick Christmas EVE in the middle of the worst damned BLIZZARD the valley has seen in years to stage an attack! Oh, he could see this whole incident, on both sides, going right down the privy! Damn, damn, damn!

Eventually he managed to get himself into some semblance of battle readiness. Sliding his katana into his scabbard, he headed out the door. He stopped and turned back from the top of the stairs to go and strengthen the wards on his quarters. Normally they would just repel intruders who got too nosey, increasing severity until reaching lethal levels. Most people would become discouraged long before they reached that point. Rickkter removed all of that. If anyone tampered with the spells on his room now they wouldn’t live long enough to realize how bad an idea that was. Then he moved on to the armory.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8 PM

"We honor you, O Lord of Creation!
We lift you up, O Father of All!
Maker of Man and Earth and the Heavens,
Oh, Most High God, now answer our call!"

The acolytes sang beautifully, sweetly, as they lifted up the song of praise to the Iluvatar. Raven looked on with satisfaction at the choir's performance, both those who sang and the musicians who accompanied them. Letting her eyes drift to the audience, Raven saw that they, too, were moved by the hymn, each person's gaze fixed on the singers behind the altar. There was no question, she thought: Celine's idea to include music in tonight's program had been simply brilliant. Music penetrated the heart, touching the innermost parts of a person in a way few other things could. She would have to thank Father Hough someday for giving them the idea.

If he survives. Raven frowned at the thought, another wave of something entirely too much like fear washing over her. For all Kyia's power, even she could not predict when Nasoj's army would attack. With the Prime Minister warned, there was nothing left to do but wait to see how the lots fell. Kyia, if any have left their arms within the alcove in the vestibule, please see that they can reach them when the temple doors are closed. She thought fervently as she bowed her head to the music, And the same for those in the Chapel, she added as well. Despite their theological differences she counted the young Paltidor and his flock as much her friends as those who crowded her own temple.

Raven hated that. This feeling of powerlessness, of knowing what was about to happen and being unable to stop it, sickened her more than anything else she could think of.

Forcing such thoughts from her mind, Raven stepped up to the altar again as the acolytes finished their hymn. She applauded for them, the audience following in kind, and Celine flashed her a smile as the singers returned to their positions at the front and back of the temple. Raven waited for them to be seated before speaking.

"I would like to close this ceremony tonight with a time of personal worship," she said. "Since the All-Father, in his infinite wisdom, has chosen not to reveal himself to the priesthood, it may be that the best way for us to approach him is as individuals. Our musicians are going to continue playing now, and I encourage all of you to spend this time in prayer and meditation on the glorious mystery of the most high god."

She motioned to the players, and they began a new tune — quiet, thoughtful, and reverent, the music filled the hall as men, women and children bowed their heads to pray.

Thirty-five seconds later, the alarum sounded.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8 PM

I whimper, and look to the hole in the wall that lets light in. The wall-that-I-can-see-through has been moved a little, so that I can smell the cold air, but He has made me stay inside. He is bigger, so I must obey him. But I do not like it. I should be with Him, and His mate, and The Female. I should not be alone.

And no matter how much His mate cuffs me, scentmarks are good things.

I smell a little of Him through the opening to outside, though not as much as there is in here. I can almost smell His mate. They smell happy. But I cannot smell The Female. She is still not here.

Then, I smell something else. It is not Him, or Her, or His mate. It is not food. What is —

My tail curls under as I remember the smell. Badsmell. Badsmell brings Badthings. Badthings that can hurt, and kill, and ...

I scratch at the movingwall, but it does not move. He has made me stay away from the wall-I-can-see-through, so I cannot go through there. I must get to Him! I must tell Him! Badthings are coming!

Someone moves the movingwall from the other side, and I am free! I follow His scent and His mate's, to the eatingplace, and lose them. Too much scent, too many! Too much!

Noise! Fightnoise! But He is not here! Where ... ?

Her! I must go to Her! She is My Female, and I must protect Her!

I scatter the others as I run through the caverns to the specialplace where I remember Her. Her and ... the Other. But She must be protected! She must be warned!

I turn one more corner, skittering on the smooth notground, and run inside the specialplace. She is there, and I place my paws upon Her and give the whuffle of parentcall. I must protect you, Female! Badthings come! BADTHINGS COME!

The movingwalls behind me come together with a noise like many rocks.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8 PM

At first, the sound was greeted with confusion — it had been seven years since the general alarum had last been sounded, and there were many Keepers in the temple tonight who had never heard it before today. But then the shouts and screams of battle began to echo up from the curtain wall below, and confusion rapidly turned to fear, stunned disbelief, then anger.

"Stay calm, everyone!" Raven called out, using one of her favorite clerical tricks to make her voice echo unnaturally through the room. "No one move! We do not want anyone getting hurt! Stay put and listen to me!"

The trick worked: all eyes turned toward Raven. For ten seconds, nobody moved.

In the space of those ten seconds, a terrified and very familiar-looking wolf came racing through the doors of the temple, yowling as if every daedra in all nine hells were on his tail. He raced down the center aisle, heedless of everyone there, and made a line straight for Raven.

He was halfway to her when the outer temple doors swung shut with a thunderous boom.

The people in the audience jumped at the roaring crash and turned to look at the doors as if they had betrayed them. The wolf raced the rest of the way towards Raven and began pawing at her frantically. He was whining forlornly, desperately, and Raven's arms went up in an instinctive defensive posture. Her ears flattened, and her lips began to curl back in a snarl.

"Wand'rer!" Lurene called, rushing to the animal's side. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him back, giving Raven the time she needed to regain her composure. Placing a hand on his head, she drove a shaft of consciousness into his mind like a sharp grey knife.

"Relax!" she ordered, forcing the thought into the middle of the swirling torment of his mind. Immediately the wolf stopped struggling, fell to the floor with a soft whuffle, and fainted.

"That was a bit much," Lurene observed.

"He'll be fine," Raven said curtly, turning her attention back to the panicked audience. By now some were pulling desperately on the outer doors, trying to get out, but the massive wood-and-metal panels refused to budge. They might as well have tried to pull open a piece of the stone wall. Stretching out her arms, the Lightbringer raised her voice and addressed the crowd.

"Listen to me!" she shouted.

For the most part, they did. After a moment, she continued.

"Metamor is under attack by Nasoj," she said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "Even now, an army is storming the Keep. Kyia, the Spirit of Metamor, has sealed the temple and placed a warding spell around it. Nothing can get in, and no one can get out."

Voices were raised in protest at this, but Raven silenced them with an uplifted hand. "After the Battle of Three Gates, we made provision for the temple to serve as a sanctuary should something like this ever happen again. In our storerooms are food and drink enough for everyone here, and we have access to a cistern for all the water we need. There are mats for those most in need of them, and blankets for everyone. We are well prepared, I assure you."

A few swords and other weapons were raised above the crowd, “We’ve weapons, Lothanasa, let us out so that we can help!” a panic-edged voice cried above the mumblings of the crowd.

Raven was thankful for that small blessing, but not for the would-be heroes among the crowd. "Now, I shall do my best to find out what is going on, and what we can do about it. But until we know our situation I cannot open those doors. I ask you to keep your heads and respect those around you. Those with weapons I ask to form a watch and prepare to defend us should the temple come under attack. Celine?"

"Aye, Lightbringer?" the blonde girl replied.

"I want you and the other acolytes to begin leading people down to the Archives — there will be more space for everyone down there, and I want this level cleared within the half-hour. Take people down to the second level if you must, but no further. As for the rest of you," the priestess added, turning her attention to the townspeople, "I expect you to listen to Celine and the other acolytes and do exactly as they tell you. I should have more information for you in the morning. Acolytes, meet me back here as soon as the temple is cleared. That is all."

Celine and the other acolytes moved swiftly into action, directing small groups of people out of the hall, down the corridor and into the side passageway that held the staircase to the Archives. The townsfolk followed quietly, numbly, most of them still in shock over this frightening turn of events. Raven watched them go, then turned her eyes upward to the ceiling.

"It was only a matter of time," she sighed. "He was bound to try this again."

"Can we win?"

The Lightbringer turned her gaze on Lurene. The young woman looked more frightened than ever.

"I don't know," she said, honestly. "But by all nine hells, he shall not find us an easy target. You are new to Metamor, Lurene, and you have not seen the tenacity of a Keeper whose home is under attack." Her voice and eyes grew hard, as her mind drifted back to the battle of seven years ago. "We will fight with every weapon at our disposal, down to our very teeth and claws if needs be — every ounce of strength, every drop of blood — and we will make him pay dearly for every inch of ground he takes. And if we fall..." Raven turned and looked out the window. Beyond that veil of snow lay the Giant's Dike — and beyond that, the domain of Nasoj, full of dark and evil creatures eagerly awaiting the chance to storm through the lands of men.

And Metamor Keep was the only thing that stood in their way.

"If we fall," Raven murmured, "the world will tremble at our passing."

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:05 PM

The Lutin is a pretty sizable one; fairly large compared to most. He's missing the tip of an ear through circumstances that are unknown and currently unimportant. He has a large, nasty looking scar on the side of his face, partially obscured now by the remnants of a small child's snowball.

He's also got a very, VERY big sword. And he doesn't look very happy at all.

Jono also discovers pretty quickly that this Lutin is plenty fast, too; he doesn't even have the time to yell out a warning to Derek before it charges him, swinging the sword in a wide arc and growling revenge.

But Jono is faster still.

Jonothan Hand's profession, before having his voice box burned out by vengeful Questioners and later restored by the Curse at Metamor, has been that of the traveling tavern bard. It's a very rough-and-tumble way of life; not only can the road be quite perilous for a simple pair of travelers, the taverns themselves can get quite rowdy. Taverns are often frequented by large warriors; big, violent individuals who can alternately be the most placid or the most dangerous people in the world when they get into drink. And the stories that Jono tells more often than not can sway the balance. Oftentimes, he's able to keep crowds calm and entertained, but sometimes he makes an error, and then he and Joanne are in serious trouble.

From this, Jono has learned two major things about life on the road. One is to always know how to fight in hand to hand combat, so as to keep a warrior from overpowering you.

The other is to always have a weapon of some kind available, because not all taverns make you check weapons on entry, and not all warriors play fair.

Jono has another thing to thank the Curse for besides his restored voice; he's a big cat, and big cats have very sharp claws. So he knows exactly what to do when the Lutin charges. He takes a sidestep and swoops in close to the charging Lutin before it can swing, catches the hand with the sword in it with one paw, and with the other unsheathes his claws and guts the Lutin from top to bottom in one powerful stroke.

The Lutin hasn't even hit the ground yet before Jono has turned and yelled "Derek! Get to the gate! RUN!"

---

"PERRY!" Jo cries. "That's not-"

But Perry has already noticed and is charging forward, one hand on his sword hilt at the Lutin band further up down the hall. "For the Duke! For Metamor!" he cries, leaping at them and curling into a rolling ball headed straight for them.

Perry, as a contrast to Jono and Jo, has never been outside of the Keep. He was born and raised in the Metamor village, watched his parents go off to the Battle Of Three Gates and saw only his mother - now his father - return, and became a prickly beast a year later at the remarkably early age of 13. A quarter of a year later he became one of the youngest new members of the army of Metamor. In keeping with generations of his predecessors, he's been fiercely loyal to the Keep and to the inhabitants within, and he would willingly die to protect any Keeper, so he throws himself in this fashion towards the enemy while Joanne is getting the kids to safety in Jono's rooms.

Ultimately, though, he prefers not to die; he figures he can save more Keepers if he's alive. Which is why his usual method of attack involves taking advantage of what the Curse granted him.

Four of the eight Lutins fail to get out of the way and fall as he plows through them, stuck dozens of times by the spines and left bleeding on the ground. Then when his feet touch ground again he leaps up into a somersault, landing away from the remainder, turning and drawing his sword. He doesn't bother wasting breath with words; instead, he swings at the first Lutin to charge, catching it along the side of the head and splitting the skull.

The three left seem a little more swift than the fallen - obviously in both dexterity as well as mental agility, else they'd be with their fellows on the ground - and don't all charge at once. Instead, one steps forward and takes a swing while the other pulls and throws a knife at his leg. Perry manages to quickly parry both blows (sword with sword, knife with spikes), but it's clear that he's suddenly out of his league.

Fortunately, he's not alone.

Joanne has been traveling with Jono for a good part of her life, and his too, ever since they were both young children not much older than those rushing into Jono's rooms now. She lost her entire family - including both her parents, her brother and sister, and the Apothecary they all ran - to a marauding Inquisitioner band when they discovered that her Lothanasi mother was trying to reconcile the two religions, and no true Inquisitioner could dare allow that, of course. She met Jono that very night of her escape, traveling with his parents, and since then has been using her knowledge gained in the Apothecary to keep Jono healthy after particularly rough shows, and occasionally even assisted him in the performances. And in living alongside him, and treating his wounds, she's also learned to keep a weapon always close by - preferably one that will keep the enemy from using his weapon back against you.

Therefore she's very glad of what she escaped her burning home with all those years ago. She had only three things - her life, her clothes, and a pair of throwing daggers that she retrieved from behind her father's desk while he fought off the Questioners, yelling at her to run.

The two throwing daggers are rather remarkable, however; they're an old family heirloom, owned for generations, and kept about them at all times. The reason for this is pretty simple; they are immensely powerful magical artifacts. She almost never tells people about them, however; the only presumably other living beings who know of them are Jono, and one of the Glen scouts named Marcus, to whom everyone seems to think she's betrothed. (She's not, but they've discussed it.)

As a result, when she flings one of the daggers at the rearguard Lutin, and it becomes a bright streak of flashing light that drives through the Lutin first on the way there, then again on the way back to her paw within a very brief flicker of time, everyone is caught off guard.

They're used to it by the time she uses it again on the second Lutin, however. Excepting, of course, the third Lutin who was in front of Perry, who barely has time to note the fall of his fellows before Perry's sword cuts down through the top of his head, dropping him instantly.

"Perry!" Jo yells, re-sheathing her dagger. "C'mon!"

The hedgehog evidently doesn't need the encouragement, as he quickly sheaths his sword and runs quickly back towards Jono's rooms as the last few kids enter, with Dana among them.

---

The armory was... chaotic, to say the least. The only one who looked to be controlling it in the least was Jack, and he was passing out the weapons.

“Okay, who’s in charge here?” Rickkter yelled out.

A burly woman reached up from one of the larger crowds and waved him over. “Who are you?”

“Captain Henrietta Marcusson.” The captain had the face of a veteran changed in the original battle of the gates; while having the expected feminine lines, it was still crisscrossed by a fine network of wrinkles and battle scars. At least that gave some indication that she knew what she was doing. “Who are you and do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

“War mage, Rickkter. Alas I do know what’s going on.” He reached back to scratch at his head. “It seems that we’re going to get a Lutin army of undetermined size knocking at the doors to the keep. Kyia told that to Madog who in turn told Misha.”

The other soldiers began to mutter amongst themselves. The captain held up her hand and silenced most of them. “That’s what I was told as well. How reliable is that?”

“I was there.” Rickkter wiped his face with his paw. “It was serious enough for Misha to scramble all the Long Scouts.” The captain cursed. “Tell me about it. So you’re in charge of this section?”

“Aye. Though you outrank me,” she said, noting the rank cluster on Rick’s left upper arm. Full wizards like Rickkter wore an insignia with three gold, five silver, and nine platinum stars in a tight circle within the center of the rank cluster. In addition, he carried a field rank of major, designated by crossed swords on a shield with a crown above. Her own of Captain, was two crossed swords on a simple kite shield.

Rickkter shook his head and looked off at the outer door. “No, this is your show. I have no experience with winter warfare.”

The captain nodded and turned to the rest of the troops. “Okay, listen up! This is how the situation now stands: We have an unknown number of Lutins making an attack on the Keep itself. No other warning from any of the towns, villages or outposts further north have been received, and if it weren’t for the fact that Kyia herself decided to tell us, I would dismiss it as a hoax. Until now, attacking in the middle of a blizzard would be unthinkable.” A few more keepers had trickled into the armory and were listening to what was being said. “The good news is that I see we have a lot of animal morphs with us. From what we all know of that kind, their sense of smell should give us an edge. Though with Lutins I don’t know if any of us can help smelling them.” There was a collective chuckle, but the tension was still there. “We also have a mage with us, a fully ranked wizard. His skills will enable us to track this attacking ‘army’ despite the blizzard and eliminate them all the quicker. Now I know this is late notice for all of you, but let’s get out there and get this over with!”

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:10 PM

Derek is running. Running as fast as he can possibly go.

Two minutes ago — a small eternity to his young mind — he was playing outside with his big friend Uncle Jono (the panther immediately behind him), hiding while Jono was calling for him to come inside, ready and with a snowball to fling. Back then, he was a True warrior, talented and capable and ready to fight off anyone and anything.

But the Lutin changed the rules of the game. The instant his blood became visible was when everything went so wrong.

Now it's all for real. The bad guys are HERE NOW. And Derek is frightened badly. For all his prowess as a warrior, he's never been in an actual battle. He's never seen blood before, never held an actual weapon before. All he knows are snowballs, and as the Lutin demonstrated so very clearly, snowballs don't help against the bad guys.

And Derek is terrified; all he knows is snowballs. So he is running.

Jono is right behind Derek, his eyes flickering back and forth, searching desperately for any remaining Lutins that might check up on their fellow, whom he left in a large steaming gutted heap in the snow but a minute previously. His claws are no longer dripping blood — he wiped them off quickly in the snow, so as to make it just a bit harder to track them to that gate, even though it likely doesn't matter — but his mind still retains clear memory of the Lutin he just killed. If there's one there's going to be more, and if the alarm sounds then we're ALL in VERY serious trouble.

He's not questioning the alarm; conceivably it could be a prank, but no prank like this is so elaborate as to include actual Lutins. Which means, of course, that as crazy as it would seem, they're being invaded.

Add to that that Kevin's warming spell is starting to wear off, and the cold is starting to seriously get to him even through his thick clothing and fur, and it's clear that Jono considers this to be a very grave situation.

So he runs also, and he is also scared, making him a little less unlike the young child whose life he just saved.

"KIRRRRK!" Jono screams at the top of his lungs as the gate starts to come into view beyond the blizzard. "GET THE DOOR OPEN!"

Kirk, thankfully, has already seen the two coming and is currently screaming at the gate guards. "There's two keepers out there! Open the doors! They need to get in!" Compliance takes only a few seconds, and then Kirk is there, hefting his massive battleaxe with four guards behind him, keeping a watch out for any Lutins as the child and cat race for the doors, and safety...

They're about three quarters of the way — forty feet left to go to the gate — when the platoon of Lutins appears as if by magic, not twenty feet away.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:15 PM

Ryuo jolted awake, forcibly separated from the blissful calm of his meditation by the ringing of bells. Calming himself from his initial startlement, Ryuo assumed that the bells must be tolling for the ceremonies, drawing the attention of the gods to the festivities. Smiling, he listened as they tolled out to the heavens, barely overcoming the voice of the angry winds outside. As he sat and listened, another set of bells, like clanging iron bars, joined the first, and voices could be heard. The smile disappeared from Ryuo's face as he recognized the sounds—they were the sounds of battle.

Quickly Ryuo stood, looking towards the door. Metal plates rattled as he rose; he had not doffed his armor upon returning home, except for his helmet and mask, which had been placed on a shelf, and his shoulder guards, which were awkward under the fur and straw clothing he had worn to stay warm during the storm. When he had come home, he had simply seen no need to remove it, and so had gone straight to his studies. It seemed as though such an action—or inaction as it may be—would soon prove fortuitous.

Ryuo ran to the door and slid it open, but the gust of air that burst in reminded him of the arctic temperatures outside, and he closed the door quickly. Looking to the closet, he quickly garbed himself in his winter clothing, realizing that every second he missed would be another second of advantage to whatever enemy he might be facing.

Clothed against the fierce cold, Ryuo hurried out into the blizzard's icy clutches.

---

Excerpted from the journal entries of Jacob T Fox
January 27th, 708 CR.

My head was... spinning. Or was it the room itself? No, it couldn’t be the room. My rooms don’t move. I live in town, in the small home of my parents, not in the Keep. Crazy place there anyway, always shifting and changing. Not like here at all.

Ah, ow. I really should have taken better care to remove the edges on that table when I made it. Oh, well. It’s served me well, much like the rest of my house. Sure, some may call it a shack but it was my home and my parent’s home before that. Just one room, a bed, table and chairs I made myself. Few other things. But it’s mine. All mine! Though unlike my parents I’ve been able to put what little extra money my writing has generated towards repairs. The roof no longer leaks on my head when it rains hard and there is only a small snowdrift in one corner of the house despite this blizzard that’s going on outside.

Gods, that blizzard is crazy. I almost didn’t make it back from Myra’s house in the pitch black and the blowing snow. Why, oh why didn’t I stay longer? Yes, it was crowded with her entire family there, but it was more a feeling of closeness than crowding. And it’s been... gods, I can’t remember when the last time I felt like that was. Certainly years before with my parents.

Whoa, whoops. Yes, I think my home must have been relocated to the Keep for today. The furniture seems to be rearranging itself on me. I did not put that stool there, no.

But at least my bed is where I left it. Ah, this mattress has never felt so nice. Good thing I managed to save enough for a new straw one this year. Ah, yes. Wonderful feeling to have something firm to sleep on. My old one was so worn and emptied I felt the wood struts of the bed digging into my tail every night. At least mom’s quilts are as warm and thick as ever. Tucking them up around my chin I curl my bushy tail over my legs and settle down for the night.

Ah, yes, this was a good Christmas. Now if the darkness would only hold still long enough for me to drop off...

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:15 PM

The kids are all huddled in the corner, some whimpering quietly, when Jo remembers Jono.

"Oh, gods, Jono and Derek are still out there!" She grabs her herbary bag, then quickly runs over to Jono's travel pack and unhooks his whip from the side, then runs for the door. "Dana, Perry, keep watch over the kids; I need to get to Jono..." She quickly dashes through the door and shuts it behind her before anyone can argue.

---

Before Jono and Derek can react, Kirk is already charging, his war-axe in front of him and poised like he might his horns if he were to assume full bull form.

Back in the olden days, Darren and Kirkland Russell were best known as the two rowdiest brothers in all of the Keep. Darren, the elder, was the big, hefty defender, and Kirkland, the younger, a small but clever troublemaker. They also enlisted early into the Metamor army, just in time for the Battle Of Three Gates.

Kirkland became a gigantic bull morph, larger than Darren had ever been able to manage. Darren became Dana.

Ironically, the curse managed to bring the ex-brothers (now simply brother and sister) even closer together, as Kirkland lectured Dana on the importance of speed and stealth, while Dana gave tips to her brother on how to fight with muscle and mass. Both learned their lessons quite well.

So Kirk is quite prepared for the Lutin as he charges into it, axe first, flinging it by the top of the axe's head nearly twenty feet into the air with a mighty bellow. Then he turns, rotates the axe, and sends another leading Lutin flying into the sky, this time with the blade, showering droplets of Lutin over the platoon behind.

The platoon, predictably, scatters.

"MOVE!" the giant bull morph screams to the two keepers. In reply, Jono reaches down and scoops up Derek, then charges as fast as he can possibly go for the gate, archers standing by and watching them run, arrows at the ready. Kirk follows up right behind them, bellowing defiance at the Lutins to try and keep them spooked a little longer. But the Lutins are a little too swift for that to work forever; they're already regrouping and starting to move.

Kirk does not have to bellow orders to his archers; he gave orders before he moved out. They hold their fire still, knowing that the wind is likely to throw off their aim a great deal and unwilling to endanger their commander and his two charges. But the Lutins are very, very close...

Then Jono and Derek charge through the gates, and Kirk is close enough that they don't have to worry. Instantly four arrows fly into the small mass of Lutins, wounding at least two of them. This doesn't slow them down, but the next two volleys come off almost on top of each other, and this does scatter them long enough for Kirk and another guard to shove the doors closed and drop the bar to keep them shut.

"Good work, everyone," says Kirk, watching as Jono and Derek fall to the ground, both gasping for air after the hard run.

It's at about this time that they hear the explosion.

---

Jo also very clearly hears the explosion, given that it's right behind her. Naturally, she turns around. And there she sees the one Keeper who she saw fall just a few minutes earlier, half sitting up, hand extended, watching a fireball — obviously the result of said explosion — dissipate.

So she starts running in that direction. "Hold on, I'm coming!" she yells, watching as a few charred-looking Lutins get back up, a little wobbly on their feet, and start towards the Keeper mage, reaching for her daggers as she does so...

---

Jono's ears prick as he hears something familiar. "Jo!" He hands Derek over to the bull morph. "Get him to my rooms; you know which ones they are. I'm going to get Jo."

Kirk nods, picking up the still-exhausted Derek easily, and then heads in the same direction as the cat as he charges towards his companion.

---

Three flashes of the dagger and the charred Lutins are no longer a threat as Jo drops down, skidding a bit on her legs to get to the mage, her herbary bag already off her shoulder. "Okay, I'm here, you're going to be all ri—" Then she recognizes the face.

"Er... hello again. I trust Jeremy's all right?" Kevin asks, looking a little worse for his usage from the wounds around his arms and muzzle.

Jo nods quickly, getting out a small vial from her bag. "He's in Jono's rooms with Dana and Perry. They should be okay," she says as she opens the vial. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt," she warns the mouse as she dabs a bit of the vial's contents over the mouse's wounds.

Kevin breathes in sharply, clenching his eyes closed and grinding his teeth together with each contact against a wound... then opens an eye again, and tenses up, this time definitely not from pain. "Ummm... Jo..."

Joanne looks up to see two more Lutins virtually right on top of them.

---

Jono turns the corner that instant just in time to see Jo pull one of her daggers and send it through the nearest Lutin. But the second is much, much faster than anyone suspected, and so Jo has barely gotten the knife back when it's already swinging at her. She has time enough to catch the sword hand — with both paws — but that's it.

"JO!" Jono yells, spotting his whip next to her herbary bag, right behind her. "Kick the whip towards me!"

She braces, then thrusts her leg backward, kicking the whip and sending it skidding towards Jono, just before one punch from the Lutin's unoccupied arm stuns her briefly, dropping her to the ground, leaving the Lutin free to swing.

But Jono has already leapt forward into a somersault and grabbed the skidding whip.

Jono's whip is one of the more curious weapons they own. On first glance, one might think it a relatively normal rope whip, of the type usually used to control unruly beasts (or, in the darker parts of the world, slaves — something neither Jono nor Jo ever condone). But this whip has hundreds of strands of very flexible but immensely strong metal woven into it, making it virtually impossible to cut.

That and at the end there isn't one strand of rope, but three six-inch strands, each terminating in a large steel bearing.

One stroke with the whip and a loud crack comes from the bearings as they meet roughly in the center of the Lutin's skull, crushing it completely. It falls to earth with an equally loud THUD.

By this time Jono has already recoiled the whip and is helping Joanne drag Kevin away to safety.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:30 PM

As Ryuo ran through the courtyard, following the faint sounds of clashing metal, his mind raced with what he had to do. His first thought was to head for the gate into the lower town, and he headed in that general direction, or at least as close as he could follow in the pure white conditions. Ice and snow flew at him, the storm pelting him with debris.

Peering through the snow, something seemed to glint in the distance. Ryuo hurried forward and saw that it was a building that seemed to have caught on fire. In a brief moment of clarity through the whipping snows, Ryuo realized it was the Keep's stables; the whinny of panicked horses reached Ryuo's ears from the burning buildings. Realizing that his own steed was trapped in the blazing inferno, Ryuo knew there was not a moment to lose.

Running at full tilt towards the orange glow in the night, Ryuo almost tripped over the Lutins who waited outside. The green goblins were just as surprised, and their reactions were sluggish in the blizzard conditions.

Ryuo cut down two before they could turn about, and a third was caught with a downward strike as he began to raise a weapon to strike. Hurrying past the bodies, Ryuo ignored the others outside for the moment, rushing into the stables, his attention focused on Kaze, with whom he had crossed half a continent.

As he came upon the front of the stables, Ryuo could see several horses lying dead in the snow, having been the victims of Lutin weapons. Though already covered in a thin layer of snow, Ryuo could see that neither of them were his own precious steed.

Inside the burning stables, it was a mess. Horses were obviously panicked, and Ryuo could see a band of Keepers, led by a rooster, it appeared, speaking soothing words to some of the panicked animals. So intent was the rooster on calming the great beasts that he did not see the saber-wielding Lutin about to slice into him. The creature had apparently snuck into the burning stables for some inane reason—perhaps a dare, or perhaps just suicidal.

Ryuo gave a shout, and the rooster turned, his beak dropping open as his eyes went wide. The Lutin's saber flashed downwards, but it never reached its intended target. Instead, Ryuo's own tanto sprouted from its back, causing it to falter and fall to the ground. Ryuo finished it off with his long sword, and then took up the tanto, wiping it off quickly and resheathing it.

The rooster said something that Ryuo could not understand. The rooster pointed to the horse, and then pointed outside, making an image of a house. Ryuo simply nodded, realizing that the horses would need to be evacuated from the burning building. That couldn't happen with the Lutins outside, however. Ryuo ran through the stables, and found his own steed. Patting him on the neck, Ryuo grimaced as he realized that he would probably lose his tack in the blaze, but there was little time. Ryuo opened the paddock where Kaze stood, and led him to the door.

"Wait!" Whispered Ryuo to his steed. Kaze stood stock still despite the flames, just has he had been taught. Ryuo grinned and gave Kaze a reassuring pat, and then turned to the rooster. "Ready. After us... go," he said with his broken speech.

Suddenly, Ryuo jumped back out into the cold. The Lutins had formed up a half-circle around the stable, but Ryuo's charge broke their formation. Shining steel flashed from the darkness, cutting through a raised spear and into the bony skull below. A sword missed as he stepped back to withdraw the blade, and then a circular, continuous sweep took out four more of the creatures. Turning around he could see that he had made it through the line, and now, all of the green heads turned towards Ryuo. It was exactly as he planned.

"Come!" he yelled in his native Yamato tongue. As he cut down another Lutin, a shape resolved itself from the darkness. Like a night-mare of legend, Kaze rushed outside and began attacking the surprised Lutins, many of whom threw up their hands as Kaze's hooves rained down on them, trampling green bodies underfoot. As rider and steed worked together in the snow, both fighting as best they could, Ryuo yelled out again into the storm. "Now!" he cried in the vulgar language of Metamor.

The hooves were thunderous as horses were rushed from the building, following along the path Ryuo and Kaze had cleared. As the last of the first wave left, Ryuo cleared the attackers from Kaze and made a motion with one hand. Kaze broke from the fighting, following the rest of the horses off to safety. As they disappeared into the white darkness, Ryuo continued his own fight.

The white snow was blinding, and the roar of the wind deafening. Ryuo had never before faced such adverse conditions; no opponent before had been so suicidal as to attack in the middle of a blizzard. Ryuo sliced downwards, severing through a Lutin's arm, he then turned and brought the blade up to the creatures face, slicing through the lower half of its jaw and sending it screaming to the winter snow's icy grasp.

If Ryuo was having trouble, he could at least console himself that the Lutins were just as bad off, if not worse. They had not practiced blind-fighting in light-forsaken caves, nor had they the discipline of his own training. His sword flashed out into the night, and it seemed to catch the Lutins just as they came into view. Two sets of eyes went wide as the sword swung horizontally towards them. Then, the four eyes sailed into the darkness, freed from the headless bodies that slumped to the ground.

Ryuo gave little thought to their deaths, but rammed the sword backwards, catching another Lutin in the gut, he then stepped to his left and rose, causing another Lutin to fly past him; Ryuo caught him in the back with the down stroke of his raised sword.

Ryuo could not see the blood that he had spilt, but he could smell it faintly from the quickly cooling bodies of the Lutin corpses. If this many Lutins were already inside the walls, they must have made it inside the Keep by now as well, Ryuo figured. That meant the Duke was in danger. Glancing once more to make sure that there were no more Lutins in the immediate area, Ryuo turned back towards the snow-obscured spires of the Keep, racing for the nearest gate, and hoping he was not already too late.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:30 PM

The wind was like a hard slap in the face as soon as Rickkter stepped through the door. While he would have preferred that it helped to sober him up, all it served to do was remind him how rather underdressed he was and set his teeth chattering. Pulling his tunic tighter about his neck, Rickkter hunched his shoulders and continued onwards through the snow. The light from the door behind him was fading quickly and the large braziers that designated the main gates beyond the stables were hardly more than indistinct orange blotches in the night. At least when they passed through the long archway Rickkter saw other soldiers scrambling to man the walls. Well, that’ll help should any Lutins get by, he reflected briefly.

The wind outside the walls was worse than inside, and Rickkter made a vain attempt to block it with a paw as he turned his head away from it and hunched over. Fighting in this was going to be a royal bitch. Especially considering they had made their way a good distance into the woods. Well, hopefully his magic would offset that. Reaching out with his mind he began to draw in the manna.

No, that wasn’t right, thought Rickkter as he pulled the energy to himself. Something else was consuming manna from the whole region and in quantities he could scarcely believe possible. It was also impairing his own ability to draw on that energy. He was about to cast out his probes to determine where it was coming from when the captain snapped him out of it.

“Well, mage,” she hollered over the wind, “time for you to do your thing. Where the hell are they?!”

Nodding, Rickkter closed his eyes and turned his back to the wind in order to concentrate. A small snarl came to his muzzle and he twisted his head more to the side, forcing himself to scan further into the darkness. Marcusson was about to ask if anything was wrong when the raccoon snapped up his head and sucked in a breath through his teeth. His sword was out in a blink and he started backpedaling through the snow, his head whipping around. “Captain, get your men back to the walls now. Before we’re all killed.”

Captain Marcusson turned and peered out into the darkness and snow. “Damn, are you sure it’s that bad? How many of them are there out there?”

“That’s the whole problem,” Rickkter hollered at her. “I don’t know how many are out there! I can’t sense anything six feet in front of my fucking face! And even that’s a stretch. This whole blizzard is one gigantic spell designed to inhibit any magic besides its own and probably its casters. That’s why we never heard anything of this army from the outposts and watchtowers; they couldn’t tell us, even if the wanted to!”

He could barely hear the captain curse over the wind. “That’s definitely going to complicate things. We’ll need to set ourselves into ambush positions, using the drifts for cover.”

“What?!”

“You heard me! We’re staying out here and we’re going to meet them. The snow may limit sight and magic, but they’re under the same limitations. Now I suggest you find a way around this field of theirs before they show up.”

Rickkter rounded on her. “Damn it! Listen to me! You’ve got to pull back now! Fortify the walls, deploy the men along them and make the stand there!”

“NO! We’ve got to make a stand before the walls.”

“Doing it out here is crazy!” yelled Rickkter as the wind tore through his cheek fur. “They’ve got the advantage of surprise, no matter the fact that we know they’re out there; they’ve almost certainly got us out numbered; and between the snow and the dampening field that they control, they’ve effectively blinded us! Turn back now before the men are all killed!”

“You said you had no experience with winter warfare, Rickkter, which is why you should let me handle it!”

“Even the blindest grunt can see that this is suicide! Now pull the men back now, Captain! Before I make that an order.”

Marcusson opened her mouth as if to counter, only to have her attention diverted like everyone else by the sudden disappearance of the blinding snow. Left in its place was a line of Lutin warriors holding torches and gazing at the bedraggled keepers. Their line was more a mob as they looked into the momentary lull and met the angry stares of the attacking army. In the shadows close at his left Rick could see the walls of the keep, defined by the line of unwavering mage-lights along the crenellations. Among the steady white glow of the magical illuminations Rick could see the dimmer, flickering motes of torches.

“Ah, shit,” Rickkter muttered.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 8:45 PM

As Ryuo approached the gates he found them slightly ajar. Rushing forward, he sensed an aggressive presence to his right side. Unsure whether it was friend or foe, he blocked upwards, twisting around and rolling into the Keep. Metal caught metal and flashed briefly. As Ryuo rose, the attacker pushed his advantage, and Ryuo had no choice but to defend himself.

The man appeared to be a human, although he was dressed in furs from head to foot. In one hand was a broadsword, the favored weapon of most westerners, it seemed. This one was slightly larger than others Ryuo had seen, and the man wielded it with two hands. One of those hands had a small, round shield attached to it just below the wrist, as Ryuo deflected the blow with a wrist cut, the shield caught his blade, the man then raised his arms to block the blow to his head. However, his arms were out too wide, and Ryuo's sword was deflected only partially, cutting into the upper flesh of the muscled appendage.

The man screamed — whether in rage or pain, Ryuo could not tell — and brought down his sword with a speed that almost caught Ryuo off-guard. Built-in reflexes saved the eastern warrior as he stepped to the side, letting the great sword miss him by barely an inch. Taking the warrior's momentum, Ryuo reached out with his hilt and pulled slightly down and back.

Arms foundering, the warrior's eyes opened wide in surprise as his center of balance was lost. Pitching forward, he had to throw his hands out to catch his fall. In this moment of weakness, Ryuo struck, his sword cutting deep into the man's neck, as though he were the second at a ritual suicide. The man's head bowed forward, the vertebrae disconnected, and his head hanging on by no more than a flap of skin and his exposed trachea. His arms went limp, and he fell completely to the floor.

Ryuo took only a brief moment to close the doors, of the gates. He could see that the doors had been forced in, and could not now be properly barred against intrusion. Cursing under his breath, Ryuo toppled a nearby statue in front of the doors, hoping that would hold any more invaders for at least a while. He then headed off into the belly of the Keep.

As Ryuo ran through the halls, he could see they were soaked with blood. Lutin and Keeper bodies littered the floor; most of the Keepers appeared to have been caught completely be surprise.

Glancing down at the blood-soaked floor, Ryuo could see some faces that he recognized; almost all of them people he had seen on patrols, or guarding the walls of the Keep. He didn't know their names, but the death of each one was another blow to his sense of honor.

It was not that they were gone that upset the bold Inari; he had hardly known most of them, and besides, death was only the inevitable conclusion of Life that all warriors shared. It was, instead, how each death seemed an affront to him and the promise he had made when he had first arrived at the Keep. He felt somehow responsible—perhaps if he had only paid more attention to the signal, and recognized it for what it was, he could have stopped some of this.

A grunt ahead of him brought him to a halt, his battle-sense freeing him from his moment of self-deprecation. Ahead was a band of Lutins, licking their bloodied weapons. A pile of Keeper bodies lay beneath them. They seemed to be trying to decide which passageway they should follow when one turned to see Ryuo. Twin golden orbs of hateful spite turned towards the fox, and a sadistic grin exposed bloodstained teeth. Laughing, it knocked one of its companions with a backhand, and the rest of the Lutins turned to look down the corridor as well, the grin spreading to all of their faces. Gleefully, they advanced, hoping that the Keeper would run, so that they could revel in the chase.

Ryuo stood his ground. The first two creatures that approached carried short spears, just small enough to be of use in the tight confines of the inner hallways. Working with amazing coordination, for Lutins, the pair advanced, causing Ryuo to take a quick step backwards. The retreat only encouraged the bloodthirsty fiends.

Shooting out from the left, the first Lutin lunged at a perceived opening in Ryuo's defenses. Having anticipated the move, Ryuo pivoted to his right, opening a path for the spear to continue forward unimpeded. Grabbing the haft of the spear with his left hand, Ryuo extended along its chosen path. Using the creature's moment of imbalance, Ryuo pivoted once more, coming behind the creature and throwing an arm around its scrawny neck. His right hand struck with his long sword at the second spear-wielder. As the Lutin's skull split open, Ryuo twisted quickly, breaking the first Lutin's neck.

Yet even as their comrades fell, the others rushed forward. The hallway left precious little room for any lateral maneuvers as a third Lutin's sword struck down. Ryuo raised his right hand, dropping the katana's blade as he did so. Stepping forward, he caught the Lutin's blow and used its momentum to turn his own in a wide circle. Bringing up his left hand for added power, Ryuo stepped forward and to the right, bringing the blade down to cut into the flesh of the Lutin's back.

Raising his sword to the ready once more, Ryuo was forced to step back again to dodge a spiked mace. As the mace swung past, Ryuo reversed his momentum, taking the offensive. His sword trailed off to his right as he stepped into another Lutin's sword, catching the attacker at the hilt. Drawing the sword and wrist down and around, he brought it up to parry a second swing of the spiked mace, trapping both weapons in the air. Pressing both weapons high, he shifted his grip on the katana and turned, simultaneously slicing through both bellies, spilling gray-green intestines onto the floor like a nest of writhing worms.

Standing victorious above the five bodies, Ryuo spared only a moment to look at the many bodies lying about. A fair number of Lutins had been killed before Ryuo had arrived, but it had not been enough. Looking over the dead Keepers, he saw there was nothing he could do for them anymore. Quickly and smoothly he wiped clean the gleaming steel of his death-dealing blade, and continued on into the Keep.

---

Oren was still small when he came bounding down the stairs. He motioned for Gornul, who followed him into the minister's chamber.

Once inside, Oren closed the door and shifted back to his taller, humanoid form. "Gornul," he said. "I want you to go into the Keep and to the Follower sanctuary. Find Father Hough. Tell him that I will be sending our congregation in a few minutes. They will be arriving believing that he has sent us a special invitation to meet together."

Gornul projected an image of a knife held by a clenched fist; his symbol for danger.

"Yes," Oren replied. "Although we don't know the nature yet. I don't want to panic anyone. Tell Father Hough to get ready to receive visitors. I'll send them over in a few minutes."

A few minutes later he was standing in the entrance to the tower’s main room. "Attention everyone! Can I have your attention, please? I've just received word that our brothers, the Followers, have asked our Immerser congregation to join them for a special celebratory service. They'll be starting in an hour or so. If anyone wants to attend, I'd recommend heading over now."

As Oren had hoped, the assembly began shrinking as one by one, the celebrants made their way to the door. Each time one of the Hipocci warriors came by, he'd politely ask them to wait around a bit.

There were a few stragglers who simply wouldn't take the hint. Blake and Shamgar stood around being snugly. Desuka stayed behind, demanding to know why, as the worship leader, he had not been informed of such an invitation.

Oren, when he was satisfied that all had left who were going to, got set to announce what he had learned from Leo.

He didn't speak, he was silenced by the ringing of a distant bell.

"The alarm!" cried Shamgar. "We're being attacked!"

"TO ARMS!" Oren ordered, but it was too late. The door gave a sudden thunderous crash and burst open, spilling a disjointed flood of little green murderers into the building.

Oren was cut off from his friends by the Lutins. There was no way he could fight them all, especially unarmed. He had no choice but to flee up the stairway and hope that the others found their own way out.

Upward the otter ran, Lutins hot on his heels. There was no time to even stop at the armory to obtain a weapon.

When he reached the sixth floor, the tower shook, as though it had been thumped by a giant hand. This made the Lutins stumble, allowing Oren a few precious seconds to put distance between himself and his attackers.

"Oren!" called Natalie from the top level. "What is going... OH!"

"MORPH! QUICK!"

The lass obeyed, rapidly changing from a small draconian to a ten-foot tall dragon. Oren trusted her to read his intentions, and so, becoming as small an otter as he could, he ran and leaped out over the side of the tower. Fear gripping his heart, he could only watch as the snowy ground loomed ever closer.

A pair of enormous hands saved Oren from certain death. He let out an adrenaline-powered whoop as he zoomed over the landscape, hang-gliding from a dragon.

"Where do we go?" called Natalie, her voice quaking.

"To the river! There's an emergency meeting place there!"

She soon saw what the otter meant. He directed her to a very carefully concealed cave near the bank of the river. It was so covered in growth that, even with the leaves long gone, it would have been impossible to spot from any distance.

Inside they were relieved to find their friends and allies. A few were trembling with fear, Blake was holding a little green hand in front of her face and chanting "I got one! I got one!" like a mad woman.

"Oren!" called Jesse.

"Thank Yahweh, you're all right!"

"Me? I was afraid I wouldn't see YOU again! That earthquake..."

"Was me making an escape route," Jesse said with a smile. His smile quickly faded, however, when he looked past Oren at the keep. The others came to stand beside him, one by one, gawking at the sheer horror of the scene before them.

Metamor Keep was being invaded by the armies of Nasoj.

And in the lighthouse which the Hipocci called home, the light flickered and died.

"Our home," whispered Sambrea, one of the younger warriors. "It's the fall of Hipocc all over again, and we were powerless to stop it."

"NO!"

The cry came from Alyxander, Oren's nephew, a lad even younger than Sambrea, who was not even of age to be changed by the curse. Finding all eyes upon him, Xan explained his outburst. "When our village fell to Devil's Strand, we ran away and hid in caves in the wilderness. What did that get us? Nothing! It sure didn't do a thing to rebuild Hipocc. Now we have a second chance. I for one know what I'm going to do. I'm going to get me a weapon, and I'm going to go in there and TAKE BACK OUR LIGHTHOUSE!"

"He's right," said one of the older Hipoccians. "We've got to take it back. For Metamor!"

"For Metamor!" Shamgar echoed.

"For Metamor!" voices chorused.

"Heh heh!" Blake chuckled as she waved her trophy about. "Let's stick it to them little green guys!"

And so the planning began.

---

The sharp peals of the bell barely penetrated through the thick walls of the Keep into the library and through the thinner ones of Fox Cutter’s personal office, so normally he never heard them. Sitting where he was, in one of the overstuffed chairs near the back of the bottom level of the library, contentedly reading over a few favorite tales in the children’s storybook that he had been using all day, it took a few minutes for the bells to impress their purpose on him. His first reaction was one of baffled disbelief. Alarm bells on Christmas Eve? Who in their right mind would be attacking now, and in the middle of a blizzard of all things?

Fox closed the heavy tome and set it beside his chair, focusing more of his attention on the bells. No, they were still ringing. That would mean it wasn’t some sort of drunken prank. But the alternative was equally unthinkable.

Leaving the sanctuary of the brightly burning reading lamps behind, Fox made his way though the well known maze of shelves up towards the large windows that went all around the third level of the library itself. It was a long trek up the flights of stairs, but not something unusual for him. He was thankful that the rest of the lights in the library at this level had been extinguished when he had chased the last few people out a half hour ago or so, so it was easier for him to see the outside.

Not that there was a lot to see. White. Everywhere he looked, blowing white. Damn, this was a full fledged blizzard, who in their right minds would be out in that? he wondered yet again. Perhaps Nasoj was crazier than anyone else had him figured for. Finally reaching the window itself, Fox cupped his hands over his eyes and pressed up against the ancient glass. Patiently he stood there gazing into the blackness and blowing white, hoping that his eyes would adjust enough to pick up something of what was going on outside.

The alarm bells still hadn’t stopped ringing. And Fox had a bad feeling of what would happen when they finally did.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 9 PM

"Okay, where do we go from here?"

The scene is a muddled one at best. In one corner are huddled some two score children of the Keep, a few of then cowering and shaken, many of them puzzled and not knowing what's going on but silenced by the appearance of Jeremy's dad. Kevin is in the opposite corner, looking like he's been in pretty bad shape, but getting slowly better as Joanne binds his wounds — Daemion watching closely as she does so. Derek is clinging to Kirk and refusing to let go; Kirk himself is standing awkwardly in the corner, uncertain of how to deal with Derek and just holding. Dana is next to her brother, patting at Derek's head and cooing, trying to make sure he's all right. Perry is at the door, sword at the ready, a grim look on his face, clearly ready to deal with anything that might come through that door with evil intent.

And pacing back and forth at the front of the room is Jono, hands behind his back, looking most worried and uncertain. It is he who has just spoken, and is continuing to speak.

"We can't get to the Lothanasi temple from here; the Lutins almost certainly have that place surrounded by now and we can't keep track of all the kids while fighting. Likewise for the Ecclesian Chapel; it's even farther away, and also likely to have been an early target. Long House is probably going to be in dire straits as all the Longs were partying and so probably aren't fully prepared for an invasion. The Banquet Hall is going to be locked up tighter than a Seuliman ruin, the village can easily be burned down, and the Duke's Tower will probably be rubble before we get there. That blocks all the major defensible points in the Keep."

"There's the network of tunnels under the Keep," Kirk points out. "The Lutins aren't likely to go deep into there; it gets pretty dangerous for them."

"What's dangerous for the Lutins is also dangerous for our kids," Jo points out, looking up briefly from the mouse's wounds. "We have to keep that in mind."

"Right," Jono says. "We can't stay in the tunnels, but they're probably safer than this room. We can keep that option open as a possible exit path if necessary. What else?"

"Towers along the southern walls are likely to be pretty well defended," says Perry, barely even looking up. "The gatehouse and killing ground area are always well manned. They're also more likely to be attacked, but at least there'll be more good troops there to keep the enemy busy."

"So we head south?" Dana asks.

Kirk nods. "Would make sense that the Lutins would come from the north and get in earliest way possible any ways, especially in this weather. South is likely to be the safest direction."

"Okay," says the cat, standing up straight. "Here's my plan. We'll have to be exposed for a bit, but we can probably make it. We're within about fifty yards of the Inner Gate when we start from the South Gate, so we can probably make it, and there's almost certainly an entrance to the tunnels there that we can reach. Once we're there, we take the tunnels as far south as we can go 'till we find a good resting spot, and we all take watches while the kids get some sleep. Then, Christmas morning, we get back up, keep taking the tunnels until we get to the Killing Ground area. We ought to be pretty safe there. If not, we can keep going along the tunnels and, Kyia willing, that'll get us to the nearest fortress outpost; we can certainly hole up in there. Anyone have anything to add?"

"Fifty yards across the snow? That's going to be a bit of a stretch, especially for the children," Jo says.

"I know it's risky, but it looks like the best option we have," counters Jono. "The Lutins are going to want to spend less time fighting and more time pillaging, so we may have a better chance of it if we move while they're doing so."

Kirk nods. "Agreed. The Lutins are mainly cowards at heart; they prefer to spend their time stealing."

"All right..." Jono takes in a deep breath, then heads over to the kids and kneels before them. "Okay, everybody, we're going to have a bit more trouble before we're through, but then we're going to be safe. But it's really, really important that the bad guys don't hear us. So I'm going to make a deal with you all."

He spreads his paws wide — this is going to be something of wonderment. "When we get out of this, and all the bad guys are away from Metamor, if all of you — every single child — manages to stay quiet and not disturb the bad guys, Everybody gets a Big slice of blueberry pie when we get back!" He grins widely, trying to downplay the danger. Can't let them get frightened...

One child speaks up. "Um... Uncle Jono?" Her voice sounds rather shaky.

Jono looks at her concernedly. "Yes, Sara?"

"I... I don't like blueberry.." she says in a timid voice.

Jono chuckles, smiling again. "Okay, any kind of pie you like!"

The faces of all the children in general become Much brighter. Success. Now for the hard part...

"Okay, I have to go work with the other grown-ups; we have to get ready to go. When we get outside, I need you to run and run and run as fast as you possibly can along with Dana over there and Jo all the way to the Inner Gate, you understand? You need to keep up, because there are lots of bad guys who like to eat little kids who will try to get you if you slow down. But Kirk and Perry and Jo and I are all going to do our best to make sure that none of you get eaten, because you all have big pieces of pie that need to get eaten and so we can't let the bakers down. Okay?"

There is a chorus of nods. Some of the kids look a little more worried now, but not too much - this is big Uncle Jono, he's been part of lots of stories that he's told us, he just saved Derek from getting eaten, sure he can take care of me.

"Okay? Great!" Jono gets back up. "All right, folks, let's start gearing up. We leave in ten minutes."

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 9:15 PM

Perry opens the door a crack and peeks out one way. Then he opens the door a little more and looks around it.

"No Lutins. We're clear," he whispers.

"Okay," comes Jono's whisper from behind. Perry steps out, followed closely behind by Jono. They both take up positions each watching an end of the corridor. Then Kirk starts heading out, followed by a stream of children, Kevin walking among them, with Jono staying in front while Perry stays in place. Dana and Jo bring up the rear of the stream, Jo closing the door behind her, and then they head off, with Perry bringing up the rear.

Each of the children keeps completely silent as they move along — nobody wants to miss out on their chance at a slice of pie. Kirk and Jono trade positions, Jono now slinks along as quietly as any cat, coiled whip in one hand, while Kirk stays in front, ready to greet either his fellow troops at the gate, or an ill-fated horde of Lutins. Jo has one of her daggers out and Dana has her sword drawn; Perry doesn't, but his paw stays on the hilt, just in case.

As soon as they turn the corner, a "Who goes there?" comes from the direction of the gate.

Kirk relaxes. "That's Barklund. We almost certainly still own the gate." Then he calls back. "Commander Kirkland Russell, with party of over two score."

There's an audible sigh of relief, and then three soldiers appear from various places of concealment. "Commander, glad to see you're still all right."

"Likewise for yourself, Corporal. What state is the gate in?"

"Holding, sir," the soldier reports. "They stopped banging on it about five minutes after you left; we think they were ordered to the Duke's Keep instead. We're not terribly close to any major gathering spots, so we think it likely they want the manpower elsewhere, sir."

Kirk nods, then waves everyone forward. Kevin notes the signal, gives the same to the trio in back, and they head for the Gate, Kirk explaining their plan to Barklund all the while. Jono turns to the kids and puts his paw to his lips, indicating silence. The game is still going, and so the kids don't speak.

---

The doors don't look damaged at all when they finally get there, and nobody is banging on them. "So far so good..." Jono says softly as Dana moves up to join him. "Everyone ready to get moving?"

"Just about." Kirk turns to Barklund. "Okay. You're in charge of this gate while I'm away. Hold it as long as you can until relieved. If this proves impossible at any point, you are to abandon this place and take all available weapons and men to the Banquet Hall, where you should receive new orders. If the Banquet Hall has been evacuated, your next destination should be the Chapel. Is this understood?"

"Sir!" Barklund says, standing at attention. "Orders will be carried out exactly as you say, sir."

"Good." Kirk nods to the Corporal, then turns towards the doors. "Be prepared to open the doors on my order, and reclose them on Corporal Barklund's!" he yells to the gate crew. There is a chorus of "Yes Sirs!” as the orders are acknowledged.

"Everybody get ready to run!" Jono says to the kids, who are even now gathering up into threes as discussed before, several of them very scared, but all of them determined not to let Uncle Jono down. "All ready?" There's a chorus of nods. "Ready in back?" Jono calls to Perry and Jo, who also nod. "Dana?" She nods. "Okay, Kevin, do your thing..."

Kevin closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and then begins to chant, recasting the warming spell he'd had running earlier. "Got it. We're all ready to go..."

Kirk lowers himself down so his horns are pointed outward, breathing heavily, preparing himself. "Barklund?"

"Sir. Good luck, sir."

Kirk nods, then calls out.

"OPEN THE GATES!"

The doors have barely swung open before Kirk has taken off, bellowing and charging like any other enraged bull, clearing a path for the children.

"LET'S GO!" screams Jono, and with that he and Dana are off, with nearly two score children running as fast as they have ever flown in their lives after Uncle Jono.

---

Rickkter’s ears rang with the peal as his sword connected with the cheap steel of a Lutin sword. The Lutin swung again and Rickkter blocked again. This time, though, he was able to get his sword past his opponent’s and bring it down right into the Lutin’s little green face. The jarring feel of cracking the thick skull was still lingering in Rickkter’s arms as he pulled the blade free and ducked another attack, using the katana to slice open that Lutin’s belly.

The guts of that one steamed on the fresh snow at the raccoon’s feet as Rickkter straightened up. Around him were the bodies of almost ten Lutins, but also three keepers. Fortunately he was able to catch his breath and make a quick survey of the battle. And his only impression was that it was turning into a slaughter; for both sides. The snow was swift returning as well, beginning to reduce visibility once more, the cold wind howling against the unyielding stone of Metamor’s walls.

Growling, Rickkter threw up his arms and cast a quick lightening spell into the enemy horde. It was both a good and bad thing that he didn’t have to aim. The strike arched from his fingers and into the Lutins, throwing up bodies from the impact. But this was a special lightening spell, a particularly nasty one. Instead of just hitting once, it kept bouncing along in a line, further devastating the opposing army. He couldn’t admire his work any further, as a group of seven Lutins demanded his attention. Growling curses in human tongues and as a simple raccoon, Rickkter fended off two of them as the rest attempted to circle. A feline growl behind him heralded the arrival of a cheetah morph, who took on three more himself. The cat’s lighting reflexes and light sword were probably what saved him long enough for Rickkter to come to his aid. The two proceeded to finish off the last Lutins without a great deal of difficulty. Nodding to each other, the two soldiers departed for new battles.

Drawing in some more manna, though not even close to what he would have liked, Rickkter cast off a half dozen fireballs. His reasons for using fire were twofold: first that burning soldiers created wonderful disorder amongst an attacking army, and second that he needed the light. What that light showed him was that his own forces were being totally and utterly overwhelmed. He saw a burly keeper drive his sword into the chest of some poor Lutin only to have a much larger Lutin come in and cut off his arm with a battle axe. Not more than ten feet away a stallion was dueling a human mercenary. The mercenary managed to work his sword above the stallion’s and drive it down through the horse’s muzzle. With a horrified scream, the keeper dropped his weapon and sank to his knees, his hoof-like hands reaching for his shattered face and past the crimson waterfall that had sprung from it. The stallion’s screams were quickly silenced as the merc’s sword plunged into his chest. Turning his head to the other direction, Rick saw a mink dueling a Lutin with a pair of swords. Aiming high with one sword, the Lutin forced the mink to block and one, allowing him to stab into the keeper’s side, between the plates of her amour. She feel to one knees with a shriek that was cut short when the Lutin yanked free that sword and used both to cleave her head from her body. The head had not even bounced twice before he was dropped as well by a bolt of pyrokenetic magic launched from Rickkter’s fingertips.

The raccoon shook his head at the scene, his feet taking him backwards over the crimsoned snow. No, no, this was all turning into one monumental foul-up. Damn near tripping on a body, Rickkter looked down to see the face of captain Marcusson. Her breastplate had an ugly gaping wound made by a battleaxe. A curse wuffed past his lips before a Lutin battle cry snapped his head up. Bracing his katana horizontally with both paws, Rickkter blocked the blow, then dropped his right arm and swung the blade around, angling right between the lose plates of his attacker’s hardened leather armor. That was it, no more.

Turning, Rick grabbed a woman by the sleeve as she ran by him. He made out her rank, two arrows, one facing up the other down. “Corporal, were you are you going in such a hurry?”

“To the east front,” she replied. “My lieutenant ordered it.”

Rickkter shook his head. “No, negative. Your orders are now changed. Continue on, but pass on word of a retreat to all those you see. Fall back to the keep as fast as they can. Most of the command has been killed and the rest of us are about to follow suit, do you understand?”

Her eyes were huge as she nodded her head.

“Good, now go!” Rickkter waved out his arm, a monstrous tongue of flame leaping from it to engulf a good fifty feet of the enemy army and leave the ground flaming in its wake. Taking the cover for what it was, the corporal ran off, shouting her new orders to any she encountered.

Snarling, Rickkter did something he had done often enough in his life: he turned tail and ran, vanishing into the darkness.

---

There's certainly more than a few Lutins around the Inner Gate when they get near.

"Not far now!" Jono cries to the children, some of whom are stumbling occasionally but always helped up by his or her fellows. "The bad guys are over there, but we're almost at the end!"

The kids keep running, many of them very frightened now. This must have been what Derek felt like, many of them think, when he was getting away from the bad guys with Jono. Running as fast as he could to get to safety. Nobody is questioning the King of the Snowfields' courage now.

Derek, for his part, is keeping up admirably. This is now practically old hat; he's been here before. He knows that none of the grownups are going to leave him behind. Inexplicably, though, he's still frightened, and he wonders about that. Aren't the grownups going to keep them safe?

Then he realizes just how hard that would be for them when he sees the platoon from before. Coming RIGHT BACK AT THEM.

He turns to Uncle Jono, to warn him, but Jono's already seen them and is shouting to someone. "Perry! Jo! The platoon over there... need them dealt with!"

Jo and Jono have prepared for this, of course. She's already reaching for one of the vials.

Joanne is, of course, ultimately a kind of alchemist. Not a true mystical alchemist like Pascal, but she can do similar effects with various combinations of natural ingredients. One of the most potent she's ever discovered involves something that she found quite by accident when researching into something that would be much more effective at creating a smokescreen — smokescreens are useful tools to a showman like Jono. The end result did produce smoke, ultimately, but only after a spectacular show

Take a bit of Daemon's Ash and add a tiny amount of powdered Northern Fireleaf. Add a small amount of liquid as a mixing base, close up so no more air gets in, shake up to mix, and then get it as far away from you as you can, unless you want to be singed by the result.

Said result is a wildly colorful display of lights and flashes that can very easily temporarily blind at least anyone looking directly at it. It won't really injure anyone unless you're touching it as it goes off (in which case you might get mildly singed), and in this case there's the additional danger of getting cut by shards of flying glass as the vial explodes, but beyond that it's a psychological weapon, meant to make the enemy think that they're just about to die spectacularly.

It is one of these that Joanne tosses at the approaching platoon when they get within ten yards, causing the Lutins to temporarily vanish under a maelstrom of loud crackles and bangs and flashing lights.

...But these Lutins have already faced down Kirk, and are no longer that easily intimidated. Or at least that's what has to be assumed when it's clear that they haven't stopped coming.

"PERRY!" Jo screams, stopping to pull both her daggers and let them fly, cutting down two of the approaching Lutins. The hedgehog is already going to work, though, barreling into them at high speed with a battle cry in his throat.

He leaps, starts to roll, and manages to get about ten or so feet before the snow stops him, right in the middle of the Lutin platoon, of whom about four start hacking away at the quills while he stays curled up, unable to uncurl without getting stabbed...

Joanne curses loudly, putting her dagger through one of the pairs approaching her. "Jono! Trouble!"

Jono turns, curses as well and starts running past the kids, yelling to them, "Keep going! Follow Kirk, he'll get you to safety!"

Jo manages to take down one of the four assaulting Perry with another toss before the Lutins close... five of them left for her. Her first move is to leap and somersault backwards, gaining a little more space to toss both her knives again, dropping two as the other three come on. She fakes to the left, then starts for the right and throws again, dropping another Lutin... and then the other two pounce.

Jono is too busy heading for Perry, whose spines still haven't taken much damage but who himself is beginning to look a little worn; the heating spell is getting taxed, and he can't keep warm if he's staying still. So Jono helps him out by pouncing on one of the Lutins, keeping it occupied, freeing Perry to make his move.

And quite the move it is - he uncurls just enough to get his feet on the ground, then somersaults backward, impaling the Lutin behind him on his spines and rolling back before the one in front can strike at his belly. By the time the front Lutin has caught up with Perry, he has his own sword out and is swinging. One blow, and the cheap metal of the Lutin's sword breaks. Perry's sword doesn't, even as it goes through the Lutin's windpipe.

Joanne during this time is dropping down and leaping forward, going between the two Lutins to try to neatly evade them. They're not That dumb, though - one of them catches her with a blow - but they're not swift enough to take full advantage, either - the blow is merely with a fist, not a sword. She goes down into the snow, but manages to right herself, flinging one of the daggers again as she turns and dropping another Lutin. One more left, stabbing down at her... she rolls to the side, quickly gets to her feet and somersaults forward to avoid another swing of the blade, which gives her just enough time to throw again - and the last Lutin goes down.

Total elapsed time of battle, about forty five seconds.

Kirk finally gets to the door, and tries to pull it open; unsurprisingly, it's locked. "This is Captain Kirkland Russell from the South Gate detachment!" he bellows in the most powerful voice he cam muster. "I command you in the name of Duke Thomas to open this door!"

The door opens. "Get in! Hurry!" yells one soldier; he looks something like a rat, but Kirk isn't taking the time to watch; he's directing the children into the tower. "Hurry up, c'mon! You've almost made it!"

And then one stray arrow from the battle off to their collective right flies and strikes Jeremy in the back before he can react. And he falls to the ground, too shocked to keep running.

"JEREMY!" Kevin screams! "Gods no... Jono! Get Jeremy!" He starts to summon up another fireball to fling at the Lutins... but... “It's not working? ...Oh, gods, the blizzard,”

"Get in! We have to get in now!" the mage then screams as Jono runs by Jeremy, scooping him up as he does so, Jo and Perry in last pursuit, the last few kids right in front of them. Two more arrows land among them... no... the Lutins are Aiming for them...

And then Josh and the last three make it in, then Jono and Jo and Perry, and Kevin can rush in while Kirk throws the door shut once more.

---

With the acolytes faithfully obeying Raven's instructions, it took slightly less than half an hour to move all of the townspeople to the first two levels of the Archives. Half an hour after that, the acolytes had taken stock of the supplies available to them and distributed blankets to those most in need of them. That task completed, Raven called Merai and the temple assistants together in the now-empty temple hall.

"The larders are nearly full and well-protected with preservative spells," Celine reported. "We can feed these people for as long as a week, if we ration it properly."

"The cisterns are all clean, as well," Merai added. "We have plenty of drinking water, if the Keep's plumbing should somehow fail."

“We have enough clothing and blankets to go around, perhaps twice over, so some can be used as bandages if we need them.” One of the other assistants offered, “We’ve also got a good stock of medicines and herbs collected this past fall, and soap. With snowmelt we should have enough water to actually bathe.” At the odd looks she received from some of the other assistants the young ocelot hunched her shoulders and frowned, “We are all going to need to bathe, or we’ll start getting sick.” She said quietly, defending her statements.

“She’s right.” Raven countered quietly as she placed her hands upon the altar. "Excellent," she continued with a small nod of satisfaction. "We are well-prepared, as I had hoped. You have done well, my friends, all of you."

"Mistress?" Jonathan Caroway raised his boyish hand, an uncertain expression on his face.

"Aye, Jon?"

"What shall we do if the battle lasts more than a week? Or if the rest of Metamor falls?"

Raven bit her lip in a solemn frown. "Metamor shall not fall," she said firmly. "Kyia will see to that. No army has ever occupied this castle uninvited for long. If the battle lasts for more than a week, we shall have to look for provisions elsewhere — but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

"Will we truly be safe here, Mistress?" an older-looking horse-woman asked. "You know what befell us the last time Nasoj attacked." Her expressive ears twitched, backing as she swished her ornately braided tail pointedly.

A sudden chill fell on the circle of Lightbringers. Most of them remembered all too well how the priests and acolytes left behind in the temple had been slaughtered while the survivors were out working as field clerics. No one was quite sure how it had happened, but it seemed likely that a wraith had somehow eluded Kyia's watchful gaze and snuck inside the temple chambers.

"We're safer than anywhere else we could be, Mabel," Raven said with a sigh. "Make no mistake, we will all be targets in this battle. The wards Kyia has placed around the temple this time are powerful, and should be enough to discourage any opportunistic wraiths or other fell creatures. Merai, you and I will place protective blessings on the acolytes as an added measure of protection."

"As you say, Sister Raven," Merai agreed, nodding. "Mayhap we should also place a watch on this level, since this is the only place that an enemy could enter. A wraith is easily dealt with if it is spotted in time."

"A good idea," the wolf-woman said. "Celine, appoint someone to draft a schedule of guard duty, and see what we have in the way of weapons. Schedule acolytes to serve meals to the congregation, as well."

"Aye, Mistress. I'll have a schedule for you before dawn."

"Thank you. After Merai and I have finished the blessings, I'll be giving her charge of the temple for the time being."

"Where will you be?" the younger priestess asked, frowning.

"In my chambers. I shall consult with my sources and do my best to gain a clear picture of what is happening. If possible, and the gods willing, I shall summon aid for Metamor, as well."

Merai nodded, clearly not quite understanding the specifics of what Raven had in mind but not wishing to debate the matter further in front of the acolytes. Of course, Raven had not yet told her of the secret lines of communication used by the Lightbringer High Priests, so she did not expect the young cat-woman to grasp all of it.

"Are there any other questions?" Raven asked, looking around the group.

Some of the acolytes exchanged glances. "What should we do when we are off-duty?" someone asked.

"Pray," the high priestess said firmly. "Spend time with your families, if they are here. Comfort and console those who need it. See if there are any storytellers or other entertainers among the congregation that can keep the people distracted to some degree. There’s more than enough reading material in the archives to go around. Most of all, keep an air of optimism about you — those people down there need to see your strength, not your fear. Anyone else?"

There was a moment's silence. "Very well, then — everyone line up. Merai, let us see how quickly we can do this."

---

Dan pushed his way through the mass of people hurrying though the winter darkened hallways of the Keep. Incredulous as it had seemed to the insect morph, the alarms had sounded. The idea that someone was stupid enough to attack Metamor in mid-winter, let alone in the middle of the blizzard that was raging outside the stone walls was ludicrous. Yet the bells and horns were sounding. Someone, or something, was trying to breach the outer walls.

The alarm had interrupted a planning meeting between the botanist and one of the Duke's bureaucrats, discussing some plans for a new garden to be constructed on the grounds of the Upper Keep. Plans that Dan felt could safely be shelved until after the holiday season. Yet, as if there was nothing special about the time of year, the bureaucrat had insisted that the meeting had to be held on that day. He felt almost sorry for the clerk, seemingly having nothing better to do then spend the holiday season working. Though he had not planned anything special for the Christmas. Just a quiet dinner with a few friends. Still, Dan was annoyed that the man had little enough of a life that he scheduled work in what was a time for celebration. Dan had almost been glad when the bells started to sound. It gave him an excuse to escape from the annoying child whose only purpose seemed to be telling Dan how the gardens must look.

Now he was pushing through the corridors, making his way through the multitudes of others. Soldiers rushing to their posts, some with armor half on, covering gaily colored holiday dress. Messengers scrambling to deliver news and reports. Civilians moving to the secure shelters, safe havens in case the walls fell. A general sense of panic and fear filled the air as people rushed around, not quite sure what was happening outside. Through this chaos Dan moved, making his way towards the Lower Keep and the armory.

The armory, where he'd meet up with his reserve unit, be issued weapons and, if needed, join the regular guard in the defense of his home. If he could even make it across the Keep, through the throngs of people choking the halls. With a grimace, Dan shoved past a bottleneck as people crowded around the door leading to one of the cellars designated as a shelter.

As he approached the junction connecting the Upper Keep to the lower, a hand grabbed Dan's shoulder as he struggled through the crowd. Turning, he found himself facing an angry looking cat in the uniform of a keep guard.

"Get to the shelter. No time to get personal belongings." shouted the solider over the crowd, in a voice that sounded as if he had been yelling the same phrase a lot recently.

"I'm trying to get to the armory. To join up with my unit." explained Dan, shouting to be heard over the throng of the crowd around them.

"Sheesh. Haven't you heard? They say the outer walls aren't going to hold much longer. We've got a full scale assault going on here. You don't have time to make it to your unit." said the guard, before turning to a large man wearing the uniform of an officer of the Metamor guard. "Captain Christoff, Sir. We've got a soldier separated from his squad here. What should we do?"

The officer walked over to join Dan and the guard. Looking the insectoid over, Christoff asked "What is your name and what unit are you with?"

"Dan D'Alimonte, with the 33rd irregular infantry, Sir."

"A reservist?"

"Yes, Sir."

Christoff seemed to ponder for a moment before continuing. "Well, we're going to need every warrior we can get." he decided, then turned to the guard. "Jace, see that he gets a weapon. We're almost done here. Once everyone is in the shelter, we'll head over to the entrance to the Upper Keep and join the defenders there."

"Sir, are we not going to help the men on the walls?" asked Jace.

"The walls aren't going to hold much longer. Apparently, there is a whole Lutin army hitting them hard. I've gotten orders not to leave the Keep. We'll fall back and leave it to the stones of Metamor herself to protect us."

"And the grounds?" added Dan.

"Not in this weather. Too cold, and in the dark, with the snow flying it would be almost impossible to tell friend from foe until you stuck a sword into them. We're going to force the invaders to stay out in the storm. By the time they could breach a gate, they should be half dead."

Dan was hastily equipped with a spare spear and a few scraps of armor that he could make use of. He began to help get the last of the stragglers into one of the many cellars designated as emergency shelters. As he directed people down the narrow stairway and through the heavy wood and iron doors, a thought of something forgotten nagged at the back of his mind. Busy, Dan pushed the thought from his mind as he occupied himself with his duty.

They had cleared that halls, and Christoff was splitting his company into two squads, one to stay and guard the shelter and one to join the defenders at the doors to the Lower Keep. In a flash of realization, Dan's heart dropped. The nagging thought flooded back into his head and made itself clear.

"Captain! Captain!" he called out suddenly. "There is still someone trapped outside. One of my friends."

"What do you mean?" asked Christoff, looking up from consulting with one of his lieutenants. "Anyone with any common sense wouldn't be outside in this weather, and even if they were, they should know enough to get inside when the alarms go off."

"Not if they don't have that choice." said Dan, hastily explaining to the solider about Laracin. The treemorph, asleep for the winter and trapped in the soil by his roots, would be an easy target for the invaders.

"Maybe they will overlook him, thinking he is only a regular tree or something?" suggested Jace.

"No. Dan is right." said Christoff. "If they have to lay siege to the gates for any length of time, then they are going to need firewood for warmth. Anything burnable will be burned."

Dan only nodded in agreement.

"So, what are we going to do?" asked Jace.

Christoff turned to face his men, raising his voice to be heard.

"There is still one Keeper stuck out in the cold, folks." He called out. "I'll be damned if I am going to leave him to die at the hands of some dirty Lutin. Any more volunteers?"

The captain's face broke into a smile as all around him hands, paws and weapons were raised. Every solider not entrusted with the safety of the shelter had volunteered. Forming them up, Christoff began to lead the small band towards the nearest door outside, proud of the courage shown by the fifteen men behind him.

---

Nestled in the crook of the overhanging banister in the choir loft, Vinsah stared down at the assembled Keepers filling the pews. His brown animal eyes scanned along the floor of the Chapel in Metamor and found the boy priest Father Hough dressed in the bright purple robes of the Advent. He was standing before the altar, the phylacteries spewing incense about him, a familiar aroma that was strangely sweeter than the raccoon recalled it. His small hands lifted aloft the wafer of bread, and began to call out the traditional blessing, and Vinsah found his own muzzle moving with the words, long since committed to memory.

He’d left Healer Coe’s apartments several hours earlier, sneaking along a small railing outside his window to a parapet a few ells away. With the wind and snow howling about him, he’d barely made it across without slipping, but his sharp claws had a firm grip, and for once he was grateful of the form Metamor had given him. However, this ceremony was special — the Yahvice as it was called still in Yesulam — the celebration of the birth of their Saviour Yahshua.

Though he mouthed the words, as best as his full animal shape allowed, his mind was not upon them. It was a week more before the New Year was upon them all, and he still had yet to decide what to do. Healer Coe’s demand that he rejoin the world by then was his only concern, and the two options that lay before him were not ones that he wished to employ. The first was to reveal that he was indeed the Bishop of Abaef, transformed into a raccoon, a mere animal. Yesulam would likely condemn Metamor in fury, himself as well as Akabaieth’s mission.

Of course, it did not help matters that the former Patriarch had been murdered on Metamor’s soil. Whoever the new Patriarch was — and with a tinge of regret he realised that if he was still human, it would have been him — he was surely not going to look favourably on this northern province of the Midlands, no matter what Vinsah did. Yet, to have a Bishop be struck down as he was, would be interpreted as a sign from Eli that this place should be destroyed or at least something akin to that. Grimacing, his dark nose turning in distaste, he realized that had he been in their position, he probably would have done the same thing.

Pushing such unpleasant thoughts to one side, the other possibility that he could embrace began to fill his mind. Brian Coe had suggested he abandon his old self and take on a new identity. Nobody would question it, and even if they realised that it was a lie, most would respect his wishes to keep the reality a secret. It was an attractive idea, except for the fact that it involved him telling lies — though apparently he was halfway decent at it — and choosing a new name. The one that instantly sprang to the front of his mind was one that he wished to avoid.

The worst part about it all was that he had already called himself by that name, by Elvmere. That other raccoon Rickkter had been most insistent that he give a name, and that had been the only one that would come to his lips, as if it had pushed its way to the front of his tongue, keeping the rest back. How many would remember that name and his face? How often would people call him that after he did reveal himself? The thought of such was unbearable.

And so, Vinsah had come here to the Chapel for the Yahvice, hoping that the familiar ceremony would calm his mind, and focus his thoughts. Yet, all it managed to do was bundle them tighter and tighter into knots, and get his fur soaked! He did not know how much snow he’d shaken from his grey coat when he’d settled himself in the choir loft. He’d spent the first ten minutes of the service shivering and curled up as tightly as he could as it was!

How he longed for the warm sun of Yesulam, it would dry his fur quickly. Of course, were he in Yesulam, he would not have fur to dry. He would still be a man, Vinsah, the Bishop of Abaef. Yahvice would have come and gone already, for the day comes sooner in that land than in Metamor, being many leagues eastward. In fact, he would have been standing out on the streets of Abaef, facing the desert with his congregation all about him, holding bright white candles to the stars and singing praises until the morning sun diminished those twinkling lights.

With a bit of a chuckle, he recalled how one Bishop had thought that such festivals should be done away with, as their origins were found in other false religions. While the Festival of Lights was something that existed elsewhere, Vinsah always enjoyed standing with his people in choruses of affirmation for Eli. The Christmas time may have been decided upon to coincide with pagan holidays, as had been accused, but what better time to bring the light of Eli into the world than upon the day of the year with the longest night?

Even as he dwelled on that bit of symmetry, he felt a cold shiver race up his tail and spine, settling behind his rounded ears like an uncomfortable itch. It was not the same chill that permeated the air outside, and throughout much of the Keep, at least, where there were no fireplaces. His own room was a bastion of frost, despite the abundance of covers and cloth that he draped himself in while there. Many nights he would bundle tightly, shifting into a smaller more compact form to hold in his own body heat, sharp teeth chattering while his black nose peeked out from under the agglomeration of quilts that nearly threatened to smother him.

Yet Vinsah knew that the bit of ice that had come across his back was not the sort brought on by the weather, no matter how far north one travelled. This was a different sort, the kind that presaged the arrival of things that were best not mentioned. He scanned his dark brown eyes about, the whites showing at the corner of the mask he wore. Placing his small five fingered paws atop the granite railing, he peered about the Chapel, scanning the dark stained glass windows and the colonnades before them. Things stirred about them, silent, silvery shapes that twirled about their crenulated surface, darting and winding down towards the base and the pews where sat the Keepers, unaware of their presence.

Vinsah opened his muzzle, fright filling him with that same icy, leprous touch. All eyes in the Chapel were on Father Hough, or towards the floor, or simply closed while the prayers over the sacraments were given. None save Vinsah could see these abominations slipping unmolested through their ranks, brushing them by, filling them with that same cold dread that had come upon the procyonid Bishop. With a start, that lone animal watching from the choir loft knew the target of these incorporeal spirit’s malice — they were striding towards the young priest, towards Father Hough.

Vinsah nearly gasped aloud once he knew that, but he kept his animal cry in check. It was likely that Father Hough would notice them before they came too close, but that was not a chance that he could take and still respect himself afterwards. He was, despite his bestial appearance and sometimes demeanour, still a priest, nay a Bishop, of Eli. He had responsibilities as such to see to the care of his Follower brethren. This included protecting them from the world of the unseen, of the spirits.

It also helped if he could speak aloud, and so Vinsah willed himself to change, to rise up above his animal shape and into something resembling a man. Though he still possessed the fur, the long striped tail that would dangle about his ankles, and the teeth and claws, as well as the face of a raccoon, he cared not, for he was still a man, and could speak like a man, and think like a man. And in the end, that was all the he would need. There was little question in Vinsah’s mind at that moment that Eli would know his voice no matter how oddly it was formed.

Standing before that granite rail, he peered out over the Chapel, gripping the stone tight between his paws, naked and bare for all to see, including the spirits. But he did not concern himself with modesty now, for the spirits were nearly upon Hough, who appeared to only just now notice them as he lowered the sacraments once more to the altar, the prayer finished. Their filmy substance avoided the altar, circling around behind it as if it repelled them, viscous fangs appearing in their nature, as if formed from the very air.

And then, the back door burst wide, an explosion of wrath as men poured through, bearing weapons and terrible malice. They advanced on the young priest, and the rest in the Chapel. The knights who were seated among the congregation rose in a shuffle of boots, hooves, and claw tipped paws, shouting cries of anger at the blasphemy this represented, and rushed to engage them. Their weapons left in the apse by the great, vaulted doors, the knights and soldiers of Metamor were unarmed, but that did nothing to deter their swift reaction to this new threat. They snatched up whatever was convenient as they surged toward the intruders, slowed only by the terrified retreat of non-combatants. Looking over it all from his vantage the Bishop realised there was nothing he could do to counter this new threat, even if he did have a weapon. He did have claws and teeth, he reflected momentarily, but quickly diverted such things from his mind. The thought of sinking either in a man’s flesh was too terrible to contemplate.

His voice however, betrayed none of the anxiety his mind felt. “Hear me spirits of darkness! You seek the wrong man, for I am a Bishop of the Ecclesia, and can destroy you! Leave the boy alone, but come for me, if you dare!” Over the sounds of swords clashing, it was clear that the people in the Chapel, crying out in terror and clutching together for protection did not hear him. Yet, the spirits were not of flesh and blood, and turned ghastly apparitions in his direction, sifting through the air towards the choir loft while Hough ducked behind the altar, crying out in the name of Eli.

Suddenly, that chill raced down his spine as he felt something unholy draw across the fur of his back, making it stand up as if called to attention. Turning his head to one side, brown eyes gleaming with the frost and the leap of terror, he saw another such apparition, a mocking visage that parodied man. A simulacrum whose façade had been tortured with hate. Foul eyes formed from the mist laughed at him, and a voice whose utterance must have originated in Hell spoke with wintry touch to him. “A beast pretends to be a priest! You have no power over us Elvmere, for your Ecclesia has cast you out.”

The use of that other name startled him, making his fur shiver even more. The raccoon trembled even as the gaseous tendrils roped about his tail and hest, stroking the grey flesh beneath his pelt. They nearly wrapped themselves completely about him, massaging insidiously every aspect of his body, sending erotic thrills through him as they excited parts of his flesh that had been denied for thirty years. Yet, he caught such flaring emotions in his throat and spoke, “They have not, you lie! You are servants of something unholy, and I will not tolerate your presence in the House of Eli! Be gone from this place, in the name of Yahshua I cast you out!”

The spirit gave a mocking laugh then, coating his extremities in that greyish translucence. Something spectral tapped his nose, and those baleful eyes filled his own. “No, Elvmere, you do not possess that power anymore. You wanted to face us, and so you shall. We will turn you into that beast and leave you raving inside this flesh before we finish with you and turn to the others.”

Vinsah could see the other ghostly apparitions crawling in and out of the choir loft railing, snaking their way towards him, encircling his flesh as this first had done. He shuddered, the overwhelming urge to give into the bestial urges that began to course through his body was terrifying his mind and his heart. A swelling in his loins caused him to cry out in anguish, as the flesh rebelled against his will, desire overflowing reason. And yet, on some carnal level, he yearned for it, yearned for this release, this breaking of oaths which had bound him, to truly embrace the feral nature Metamor had blessed him with.

With the spirits clustered so close, obscuring all other vision but what they wanted him to see, he could feel a single hand reaching out for him a single image cascading from outside of them, offering a slender ray of hope. There, amidst the turmoil that coalesced on all sides came a brilliant light, a visage of austere beauty that made his heart cry in joy, for it was his relief and sanctuary even more than this Chapel could be. Another face came to him, that of a woman, radiant with dark silvery hair that billowed about her shoulders. Her hand was burning with a white nimbus, and he reached out for it with his paw, the grey-black fur appearing to whiten as it approached.

Then they clasped, and that surging sexual frustration fell away, his loins irrelevant once again. From out of the well of his heart and her presence he cried out, breaking the lustful enchantment that had been woven about him. “No! Deceivers!” They flinched at the power in his throat, the terrible caresses ceasing. “You fools, no man can take from me what Eli has given! That is Eli’s purview only! Begone I command you, in the name of Eli and his Son Yahshua, I command you to begone from this place and return to your master in Hell! Begone!”

The baleful eyes, at once full of contempt and malice, were filled with fear and despair as they recoiled from him, flinging their insubstantial forms from his flesh, crawling like sick beasts from a predator. The milky shades began to whither, until even their cries dwindled into incoherency. “Begone! In the name of Yahshua son of Eli, begone!” Vinsah repeated, his voice hot with sudden passion, even as he continued to view that radiant face, smiling down upon his mask.

With final shrieks of anguish, the spirits disintegrated into the walls, the film dispersing into nothingness, and warmth filling his body once again. He breathed a sigh of relief, his chest heaving as he leaned against the choir loft railing. Strangely, the granite was warm beneath his palms, as if by a fire. Her face was still there, that nameless woman smiling down upon him, her hand gently cradling his muzzle by the chin. “My Elvmere,” was all she said, and then, she too was gone.

Gasping again, he peered out over the Chapel, his eyes seeing the world as it was once more. The fight appeared to have been finished, Father Hough still clutching one side of the altar, while the knights and soldiers were carrying the bodies of the slain to one side. There were also those in the crowd who were looking up at him, their faces curious. Though many wore the heads of animals, he could still see that all too human expression in their eyes.

A moment later, and Father Hough was noticing him, staring up at the raccoon perched in the choir loft where there had been nobody before. “Who are you?” the boy called out, his high tenor nervous.

The moment of his decision had finally come, and with a start, Vinsah knew there was only one choice he could make. His muzzle broke into a wry grin as he peered down at his junior colleague, pondering for a moment at the boy’s real age. If he did not say it, how could they ever guess his now?

Summoning his voice once more, the rasp of his tongue against his pointed teeth clear, he cried out so that everyone in the Chapel might hear him, and know who he was. “I am Vinsah, the Bishop of Abaef! And I stand with you now, as a Metamorian, a Keeper for all time.” The sudden look of joy on their faces reminded him of the very first day of the Patriarch’s visit. And in fact, he felt as his former master Akabaieth were not also smiling fondly down upon him from some heavenly sea as he sailed the course of his afterlife.

Finding a similar smile perched upon his muzzle, he descended the stairs at the back of the choir loft to join his comrades in the Chapel, not as a priest of a foreign land, but as their brother. Despite the peace that came from the resolution of his personal conflicts, Vinsah found exultation fleeting, for from beyond the walls of the chapel came the muted tones of a ringing bell, swiftly joined by others as alarms rang across the Keep.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 10:20 PM

“Don’t worry, son. It’ll be alright.”

“But it hurts so much,” whined Tim through his clenched muzzle. The wolf’s ears were pressed flat to his skull and his eyes were screwed shut with the unrelenting pain. His paws clutched tightly at his side, where no wound was visible.

“I know, I know,” whispered the handmaid as she stroked the thin grey fur of his head. She had been caring for the poor boy for the last little while, ever since they had last attempted to break the siege on the throne room. He had been one of the lucky ones, suffering no wounds in the assault. He was also the personal page of Duke Thomas and she was there under his orders. Still, she wished there was something she could do to alleviate his suffering.

A light equine musk filled their nostrils and she turned around. “How is he doing?” asked the very noble she had been thinking of.

“Getting worse, I’m sorry to say. Is there nothing that can be done?”

“We’ve seen to Ayeoys’ wound as best we can in these conditions.” Thomas shook his head, his once pristinely combed mane shaking about. “If there just weren’t so many of those little bastards outside we might have been able to push through and get out of here. As it is, we’re barely holding our own.” He snorted in disgust.

“It is really... really that bad, m’lord?” Tim asked, his voice tight with pain.

Thomas immediately realized his gaff, though while he managed a half smile on his face, he couldn’t keep his tail from flicking in agitation. “No, it’s not really that bad, Tim. I’m just... angry and frustrated at what’s happened, that’s all.” He saw the wolf convulse in pain and clutch tightly at his side again. “I’m going to check on Ayeoys again. Gabriel will stay here with you and try and keep you comfortable.”

Tim could only nod in reply, his face a total mask of pain. His lips were drawn up over his teeth and his ears were flat against his head, the pain causing him to ball up further, his tail curling between his legs. Thomas sighed to himself as he turned away.

When he had ordered that attack, he had had a sinking feeling that it would be a bad idea to send the twins along with it. But they had needed all the swords they could get. Almost all at the formal dinner had been nobles and none were dressed for a fight. A few had swords, but even the majority of those were for show only. It was a credit to the regular guards that they were able to hold off the attackers. But even so, they had been badly beaten. Six had died between their initial assault and the Lutin’s two subsequent retaliatory ones. Just over twice that were wounded and being tended to as best they could be given that none in the room had any healing skills beyond that of a half-trained field medic, or possessed had any magic that would help things. They had to make good with the rags of once rich dresses and good intentions.

As he walked across the room he encountered Corvin, a baron out near Mycransburg and old friend. And the schnauzer was also a renowned drinker, partaking rather heavily ever since the siege started. Which gave the stallion lord an idea.

“Corvin, come here.”

The dog perked up his ears and sauntered over, a half filled bottle of wine clutched in one par. “Yesh, m’lord?” he slurred.

“I want you to do me a favor. There is a wolf over there,” he gestured at Tim, “who is a lot of pain right now. I want you to see to it that in a little while he’s too drunk to feel anything. Understand?”

Covin bobbed his head up and down, his floppy ears shaking. “‘Course m’lord. Always said that a drink can cures what ails ya.” He patted Thomas on the arm and meandered his way over to Tim and the handmaid. Thomas just sighed and continued on his previous journey.

The heavy, coppery tang of blood reached Thomas’ nostrils as he neared the section of the throne room they had set aside for the critically wounded. There were too many here, he sighed, too many old friends and loyal protectors. Of his personal guard one had lost the use of his hand, another had lost an eye. Amongst the others there were various stab wounds, slashes, broken limbs. Thomas stopped and looked down at the young tiger at his feet.

Ayeoys looked worse than Thomas remembered from the last time. The puncture wound on his side had soaked another of the thick makeshift bandages, which was currently being replaced by their one real medic, Maxwell. The young female soldier spared him a quick glance from her work to nod and mutter a simple greeting before returning to her grisly task.

The page had not been in the vanguard of the attack, and he had even managed to kill a few Lutins before the retreat was sounded. It was as Ayeoys was running back to the safer confines of the throne room that he had been caught in the back by a Lutin spear. It had been a poorly aimed shot, but nevertheless it had speared him through his gut on the right side of his body. At least it had gone all the way through and had a smooth shaft, so it had not been a difficult task to pull it from his body. Ayeoys only screamed once before passing out, along with Tim.

Healing the wound, though, was another matter entirely, Thomas recalled as he squatted down next to the boy. There had been a lot of bleeding at first, but through judicious use of the thick cotton liners from the dresses of several of the patrons of the evening’s feast they had managed to stop the worst of it. But looking at the round hole in the soft white of the tiger’s belly as Max cleaned it with water, Thomas saw that the bleeding had not stopped altogether. It was still lightly oozing, even several hours later. Damn, why did this have to happen to one of his pages? They were barely men yet; newly changed and unused to their new bodies. Clumsy, hardly any real threat. He frowned and shook his head slowly. That made them easy pickings for a mob of savage Lutins.

“How are you feeling, Ayeoys?” he eventually managed to ask as he hunched down and took the page’s paw in his own three-fingered hoof.

“It hurts, m’lord,” he mumbled. His eyes were closed, but not tightly, though his ears were flush with his skull. “Feels like my whole belly is on fire.”

Thomas was saved replying when Max spoke up. “Well, I’m done with the bandages. You’ll be glad to know that the bleeding’s almost stopped. Just hold on a little while longer and we’ll get you some help.” She looked up briefly at the duke. “I have to go check on the others now, Ayeoys. I’ll leave you two for the moment.”

“Well, that certainly sounds encouraging, doesn’t it?” said Thomas as he turned back to his page.

“She says that to everyone,” Ayeoys whispered. He tried to jerk his paw away. “I’m very tired, m‘lord. Please, I just want to sleep.”

“Call me Thomas. And you can’t go to sleep right now. I need someone to talk to. I’m weary of listening to these nobles around us bicker and argue.”

Ayeoys’ whiskers twitched in a failed smile. “Rather you don’t want me to fall asleep, because you’re afraid I won’t wake up. Max has had to keep stopping by to make sure I don’t drift off.” The tiger tilted his head over and opened his eyes, looking in the direction of his brother. “Tim’s still feeling it, isn’t he?”

Thomas nodded once and swallowed. “He is. Are you... are you sure there’s nothing you can do to block it?”

Panting lightly, Ayeoys shook his head. “I’ve told you we’ve always been linked like this. Everything I think, he knows. Even things I see and hear and... feel.” Ayeoys closed his eyes and moved his head back. “I wish there was something I could do, but.... I can’t.”

“That’s alright, Ayeoys. You just have to stay there and keep awake. We’ll be out of here and find someone who can help you before you know it.”

“You may be able to lie to Tim about that, Thomas, but you can’t lie to me. It’s my body, I know that I can’t last much longer.”

“Don’t say that, Ayeoys.”

Ayeoys opened his eyes, deep amber like most tigers. Thomas saw they had an unfocused quality to them. “I don’t want to die, Thomas.”

“I know, son.”

“What’s going to happen to my brother? We’ve been linked like this since we were born. What’s going to happen when I’m no longer here?”

Thomas tried to bite his lip. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think any of us will survive?”

“I don’t know.”

Ayeoys turned his head away. “Then just leave me to sleep,” mumbled the tiger, the very tip of his tongue darting out to lick his nose before his eyes closed once more.

Thomas opened his mouth as if to respond but no words came out. Instead he closed it and looked away, back at the room half full of ragged nobility and disarrayed remains of their once party. It was once a bright and gay event, but now the torches and lamps showed a room of frightened and entrapped people.

The duke felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at the face of one of his personal guards, one of the red stallions. “My lord, the ambassador wishes to speak with you. I’ll take over here.” Thomas looked past the guard at the lemur then back, nodding. “Hey, Ayeoys, did I tell you this joke I heard the other day?” said the guard as he sat down to replace Thomas.

The horse king offered the young tiger a pat on the paw before wishing him well and standing to depart. As he headed over to Yonson he kept looking back at the two soldiers, the one dying and the one trying to keep the first one’s mind off it. His hoof went to rub at his mouth in a very human gesture.

“I wish I could have done more for him, but I specialize in weather magic. I’ve never had reason to learn healing,” said a calm, rather subdued voice behind Thomas. The lemur had his arms folded across his very ornate purple tunic, cradling his oak staff in the crook of his arm. He had brought the staff with him simply from habit. He had been preparing a spell all day and had just taken it with him out when he went to the dinner. And in all honesty, he was quite glad to have it now. Thomas was still looking back at his page and rubbing his chin as his tail flicked about a little. “My lord?”

Thomas turned back, his hoof still on his muzzle. “I... I’ve never been that close someone who was dying before, Yonson. I’m not sure how to deal with such a thing.” His ears flicked, turning forward, then backing as he heard the subdued laugh of the soldier kneeling at the stricken page’s side, “I’ve seen death, and plenty, but never before have I faced anyone in the moments of their death.” He shrugged, holding up his thick-fingered hands helplessly, “I’ve only seen the corpses or the living, never anyone half way there.” His hands dropped, “And never before one whose name I knew, whom I knew personally.”

“It never is easy to deal with.”

“I believe you had something to talk to me about, Ambassador?” said Thomas as he looked back to the lemur, clasping his hoof-like hands behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. He straightened up and assumed something of his usual, business like manner. Anything to take his mind off what he had just seen.

Yonson’s tail was arched up in a lose question mark shape and wagged slightly side to side as he talked. “I believe I may have found a solution to the problem of this blizzard they’ve blinded us with.”

“You’ve found a way to dissipate the blasted thing?”

“Um, not quite, Thomas. The storm is simply too big for that. Eliminating it in such a fashion would play utter havoc with the weather patterns around the Keep for years to come.” Thomas’ ears lowered until they were sticking out to the sides in displeasure. “But I can let the storm continue on its normal course. If I can get outside, I should be able to overcome their influence and break the anchor keeping it over Metamor.”

“But you have to be outside to do it.”

“Yes, I have to be outside to do it.”

Thomas rubbed at his chin once again. “There is one way out of this room,” he finally admitted, his voice low enough so that only the weathermonger could hear it. “It’s meant for emergencies, so that the ruler could be evacuated in case a situation like this arose.”

“So why haven’t we used it to get these people out of here before now?” Yonson asked in an equally low voice.

“Because it doesn’t lead to anywhere inside the Keep. Do you know of the small garden terrace a story above this one? The one with the large clearing that extends all the way to what most people notice is an oddly reinforced wall?”

“Yes, I’ve been there. Weyden took me there shortly after he was transformed. Jessica showed it to him, and I agree with them both, it’s a wondrous view from there. Why do you mention it?”

“Because the passage way comes out there, in a small thicket of trees off to the east side. The whole thing was designed so that a dragon could land and take off quickly. It’s situated far from any area where an enemy could gather and be a threat. Were we to use that exit, we would have no way to protect these people should the Lutins discover us.”

Yonson was nodding. “That makes sense then.”

“What I want to know is if that would be sufficient for your needs to cast the spell?”

The lemur sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, his muzzle drawing up as he did so. His ears rocked back and his large, amber eyes expanded until the whites were visible. “I... really wouldn’t want to try it. This storm, from what I’ve been able to feel trapped inside as we are, is a very complex spell. I might have been able to warn you of it earlier but I was deeply involved in my own preparations for casting a spell tonight. As you know, that’s why I have this,” he said, gesturing to his staff. “No, I want to get as close to the storm as possible first.”

“Do you think you could make it past the Lutins we have roving all over this place?”

Yonson gave him a very predatory grin, an oddity on a ring-tailed lemur. “Yes, I think that my guards and I can handle anything we run into.”

“Okay then. Get them together, I’ll show you the passage.”

The passage was located in a small alcove off to one side of the throne room. It was ill lit and contained nothing that would give anyone any real reason to spend time near it. At least no one but the Duke, the purple robed ambassador, and his four bodyguards. Thomas reached back behind the statue of the warrior king who guarded it, his thick hoof-like fingers fumbling with the catch before finally managing to trip it and let the statue swing out of place. Larssen and Maud were quick to open it the rest of the way, relieving the narrow, back entrance. Humphrey and Deth kept watch to ensure that none of the other keepers would notice the disappearance of the ambassador. Deth was leaning his shoulder against the wall and using the long, ornate dagger he kept at his belt to idly clean his fingernails. Anywhere but Metamor a fourteen old boy seen doing that might seem a little odd, or sinister.

“It’s a direct route, so just follow it and you’ll be in the garden in no time. However the door to outside can only be opened from the interior, so you won’t be able to get back in. My advice is to head to the chapel. As you know, that’s where the rest of us are planning to go, should we finally escape here.”

Yonson nodded, shifting his staff about in his paws. “I understand, Thomas. I’ll be waiting there for you when we’ve finished our end.”

“Good luck then.”

The lemur and his attendants did not even spare the noble stallion a glance back as Thomas swung the portal closed behind them.

Illumination was not a problem, at least not for Yonson. He raised his staff up above their heads, a ball of white witchlight igniting at its tip. Maud was quite thankful for that, as it made her job of walking point easier. Not that she needed much guiding. The corridor was made up of solid blocks of the same masonry that made up the exterior of Metamor and was only wide enough for them to proceed single file. Behind her was Larssen, the ambassador behind him, then Humphrey and Deth. Larssen had to crane his neck over, as the ceiling was not quite high enough for the giraffe morph to walk comfortably erect. They walked for a short while before encountering the winding stairway to the next level. After reaching the top, the door was just within sight. The release mechanism was simple enough to trip and soon all five were standing out in a grove of small cedars, being buffeted by swirling winds and snows.

They resumed their previous positions, each flanked out to protect their ambassador, all with steel drawn. Yonson was somewhat thankful for the protection Humphrey provided from the winds as he raised a paw to keep the flurries out of his eyes. Having been turned into a husky, Humphrey was not overly bothered by the chill weather. At least the entrance back to the Keep was just across the open courtyard, the lemur reflected. When he had first seen the garden, it puzzled him why the entrance would be a corridor that curved back around towards the wall before opening into the gardens. Now that he knew it to be a covert extraction point, it made perfect sense. There was less chance of an attacker or assassin spotting one before they were seen themselves.

“Where to now, Ambassador?” asked Larssen once they had reached the shelter of the corridor. All were shaking the quickly accumulated snow off their coats or robes.

“Up. Central tower if we can get to it, any other one if not. I want to be close to that storm.” He turned about and brushed off a little that still clung to his tail. “I also want us to stick to servant’s passages and any hidden passages that we know. Maud, are you familiar with those parts of this level, can you get us to a passage quickly?”

She nodded, tucking a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Kyia is usually good about that kind of thing. Also, I have a sinking suspicion that all might not be well with her. Else why would that army still be outside the throne room? She’d have just transported them to another part of the Keep.”

Yonson’s tail flicked in acknowledgement, “I’ve been getting some strange feelings from the Keep as well. Our attackers have already shown they can employ some very powerful magic against us. Let’s be on our guard, even more than usual, understood?” He received nods all around. “Okay, let’s move out.”

They found the servant’s passage easily enough and quickly made their way up through several stories, Yonson’s witchlight once more lighting their way. Maud was thankful they had all chosen an elegant uniform as opposed to some form of gaudy dress for the evening, as it made such activities as these easier. But the weather had been more a factor in that; light shirts and leggings did not go well with snow and sleet. But the tailors at Metamor were quite good, fashioning fitting uniforms for such weather, complete with the emblem of du Tournemire, a white unicorn grazing in a field, emblazoned across the left chest. They all stopped upon reaching a small landing, Maud calling them up short before a doorway. She silently lifted the latch and made a speedy check of the hall beyond.

“Ambassador, I know of another passage close by that will take you to the top of the central tower. The passage turns into a maintenance access that leads directly to the roof. Some of the keepers use it for... amorous encounters.”

Yonson nodded back at her, though his head was cocked to one side and his ear folded over from that last part. “How far?”

“Down a corridor, around an intersection, then twenty to fifty yards, depending on Kyia. From there, it’s straight up to the roof of the tower.”

Giving the go ahead with a simple nod of his head, Yonson fell into formation with the rest of them. Each one was doubly alert now, as the main halls of Metamor didn’t provide anywhere close to the security of the narrow servant’s passages. Despite most being animal morphs, the five didn’t make a sound as they hurried down the hallway. Deth was taking up the rear once more, the hand holding his long, elegant dagger flicking back and forth across the hall as the kept watch for anything. As a child, he had the best reflexes and eyesight for the job. Humphrey, who was just in front of him, backed him up with hearing and smell. Larssen had an unobstructed view over Maud’s head, something the ambassador idly wished he had over the giraffe at that moment. Yonson was about to count their good fortune when they rounded the corridor into the massive Lutin patrol. The keepers all stopped dead in their tracks as the Lutins fifty feet in front of them began to advance.

“Ambassador, get behind us,” said Humphrey as he stepped in front of the lemur, his short sword braced in a defensive manner. Larssen drew his sword and joined the husky. Maud clasped Yonson on the shoulder and seconded Humphrey’s motion.

“I assure you, there’s no need for that,” Yonson said as he shrugged off Maud and shouldered his way past Humphrey and Larssen. “I can take care of this little bunch myself.”

Maud was about to protest further when Yonson swung his staff up over his head, lightning dancing up his arms and along the oak rod. Some of the attacking Lutins hesitated at this, several backing up. The purple runes upon it, which always glowed faintly, suddenly flashed into blinding white brilliance and the energies caressing the lemur and his staff began to crackle and rumble angrily. A moment later the lightening leapt from where it coiled about the staff and the mage and took to the hallway.

Maud idly wondered if her job was really all that necessary.

---

The guards at the door were surprised to see a group of armed soldiers wanting out as Dan’s small coterie arrived. At first the officer in charge refused their passage, thinking they were trying to make their way to the outer walls. After Christoff explained that they were on a rescue mission, they were reluctantly allowed to pass. The door guards informed the captain the that there were probably small bands of the enemy already roaming the grounds, though, as far as they knew, no large force had yet formed inside the curtain walls.

"As soon as we see Lutins out there this door gets locked and barred." explained the guard coldly. "No matter which side of it you are on."

The door was unbarred and opened, and two soldiers slipped out quickly to make sure the way was clear. While waiting for their return, Dan leaned his borrowed spear against the wall. Reaching into his robes, he grasped the small amulet around his neck and spoke the trigger phrase. Suddenly, he was surrounded by an aura of warmth that immediately began to sink into his skin. Dan found the heat revitalizing, though the thought of having to step out into the frigid night put a damper on the feeling. Pulling his heavy robes tighter around, Dan began to steel himself for the effects of the cold.

The scouts returned, reporting that no enemies had been seen, though visibility was extremely poor. Twenty paces at most. The snow was piling up on the lawns and pavement, and the temperature was dropping quickly. The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, leaving the yard draped in shadows. Torches were not taken lest their light attract the attention of unwanted eyes.

Stepping through the door and into the dark, the small band found themselves at the base of one of the huge spires that formed the Upper Keep. Beginning to circle the tower, they moved slowly. The snow was deep and constantly shifting under their feet as it was blown across the pavement by the winds. Across the icy stone they walked, scanning the whiteness that surrounded them for any signs of the enemy. Occasionally, someone would stop, thinking they had seen something, or maybe heard the sounds of battle over the howl of the wind. Yet the storm revealed nothing to them, alone in the frigid weather.

They slowly continued their trek through the dark, following the wall of the tower. It was a route familiar to Dan. One he had followed many times on visits to his earth-bound friend. Though never before had he made the trip in a blizzard while surrounded by the enemy. After a few minutes, a wall emerged out of the darkness.

"This is the wall of Laracin's Yard. It runs from here, and curves around to meet the main wall that divides the Palace grounds from that of the Lower Keep. I think it used to be some sort of private garden for a prince or some such." Dan explained to Christoff, speaking up to try and make himself heard over the wind. "I guess it still is, in a way."

Dan led the soldiers to a tall stone arch in the wall. Though the arch appeared to have been gated at one time in the past, the only sign that remained of the doors were some rusted hinges whose corroded bolts were barely holding them to the stone. Leaving two of the soldiers at the portal as watch, the rest of the group entered the yard.

The surrounding walls provided some shelter from the gusting winds. Even with the shelter, the storm still raging around them causing the surrounding to fade into a dull gray. The raised archway that ran around the garden was almost invisible. The garden plots that filled the yard were bare. Except for a few leafless skeleton-like trees and the short stone walls surrounding them, they were indistinguishable from the wide paths that snaked between them.

In the relatively calmer weather of the yard, the soldiers began to spread out. Most looked towards the reason that they had journeyed from the warmth and safety of the Keep. Standing in the middle of the yard, as he had for the last eight years, was Laracin. A black silhouette against the dark gray sky, his bare, knobby branches could be seen reaching into the night's sky.

"How the hell are we supposed to move that?" Dan heard one of the soldiers mutter as she looked up and down the larch morph's trunk.

Dan followed her gaze. Laracin stood the height of almost five men, stretching far above the heads of all assembled. Picking up a pick axe from a small alcove in the wall, Dan handed it to the solider. "Now we dig."

"I don't want to be stuck in a cul-de-sac like this place once the Lutins take the grounds. The other entrances will already have been sealed, and we wouldn't be able to fit the tree through them anyway." broke in Christoff. "Let's get to work people!"

Quickly distributing the few tools stored in the alcove, they prepared to start digging. Dan started by marking out a circle in the snow-covered earth.

"Dig along this circle. Hopefully that will leave Laracin enough roots to survive in the spring. The first foot or so of soil is going to be frozen solid, like rock, so let those with the picks work on it. Once we're through that, those of us using shovels, spears, swords, whatever, can join in."

Even as he gave his instructions to the soldiers, doubts began to flow through his head about whether Laracin would even survive his rescue. Even though the treemorph was asleep at the moment, the damage done to him in digging him out might be more then his system could take. Would it be better for them to 'rescue' him now, just to have Laracin die slowly as he came out of dormancy the next spring? Or would it be kinder to leave him to a quick, unconscious death in a Lutin cooking fire? Forcing those thoughts from his head, Dan cleared his mind for nothing but the task ahead.

The dirt was frozen soils making digging hard. The ice made the ground as hard as granite. The few shovels and picks were quickly pressed into service, with others hacking into the ground with what ever they had on hand. The sounds of metal clanging against the hard soil could be heard all around the leafless tree. Chunks of frozen earth began to pile up as they cut deeper into the earth. The circular pit grew around the tree. As they reached farther into the ground the soil began to soften, becoming more yielding to their efforts.

The work kept most warm, even in the bitter cold, though Dan was beginning to feel the icy tendrils slipping around his defenses. His body, unable to generate its own heat, was at the mercy of external sources; something that was in short supply where he was. If he had not been making use of the magical charm the temperature would have incapacitated him minutes after stepping through the door. Even now, he could already feel his responses begin to become sluggish.

"I don't think we're going to get it any better then that." called out Dan, inspecting the trench that encircled Laracin's trunk.

Jace pulled a canteen from his belt, took a quick swig and then offered the container to Dan. Taking a quick swig from the container, the grasshopper shuddered as the ice cold water flowed down his throat.

"So, what happens now?" asked Jace.

Dan pondered his answer while watching Captain Christoff talking with the sentries that had been left watching the door.

"We've cut through most of Laracin's roots." he explained, mentally wincing at the thought of the damage done. "Now we just have to cut under him to free the last of the roots, lower him to the ground and then carry him back to safety."

"Sounds easy enough." responded the young man.

"I hope so."

Christoff had finished checking with the sentries, and moved over to join Dan and Jace. "We don't have much time from the looks of it. We've been out here almost twenty minutes. The sentries haven't seen anything yet, but they can hear fighting all around. I think that the enemy is all but moving freely over the outer walls. Soon the grounds are going to be flooded with a Lutin horde."

"Curse Nasoj for this." swore Jace. "If it wasn't for that damned wizard then those little green bastards would have never been able to organize enough to form an army."

With only a nod in acknowledgment, the captain called the troops back to work. A pair of ropes were tied around Laracin's trunk, guidelines for his decent. While the rest of the men took up the line, Dan, Jace and Christoff worked to cut through the last pieces of earth and wood holding the treemorph in his bed.

Christoff, using the butt of a spear as a lever, began to pry Laracin from his hole in the ground. Slowly, his trunk began to tilt. The slack on the ropes disappeared as the soldiers held them taunt against an uncontrolled fall. With a shudder and final sharp crack, the earth gave up its prisoner. The full weight of the tree fell on to the ropes, dragging those holding them across the icy stones. The slow decent began to speed up, only mitigated by the mass of those on the ropes, until Laracin's body came to a rest on the cold ground.

Quickly, the ropes were wrapped around Laracin, pressing his branches as close as possible to his trunk to make carrying easier. Dan winced at the sound of wood cracking as the frozen twigs bent under the rope, some breaking. The ten largest among the small company lined up either side of the fallen Keeper, hoisting his wooden body onto their shoulders.

The remainder, Dan and Jace among them, readied their weapons. Taking the point, the seven armed Keepers passed through the gate and back into the maelstrom of the Keep grounds. Slowly leading their encumbered comrades through the snow, they began to follow the wall, leading them back to Metamor and the safety of its walls.

---

Daemion is right in the middle of a scene of disorganized chaos.

Several of the kids are crying in absolute terror right now; many of them are obviously very badly shaken from the ordeal they just had to go through. Daemion is doing better than most, though; he listened to Uncle Jono and he considered what all could happen, and he went out and did it. And Uncle Jono did help beat the bad guys, but that Perry guy and Uncle Jono's friend Jo also helped lots.

What has Daemion spooked is that even the grown ups are looking scared now. Jeremy's dad looks especially bad... but then again, Jeremy got shot, so you can kinda expect that.

"He's wounded!" Kevin is screaming. "You've got to help him!"

Jo is already pushing her way through the children over to Jono, who still has Jeremy in his arms. "Set him down, I need to get that arrow out... Jeremy, are you feeling okay?" He doesn't respond, instead looking pretty listless. This is a bad sign; patients that don't feel good usually don't end up all that good. "I need some of Jeremy's friends to help me out here," she says, looking up at the kids.

Friends, she said. She needs help! And he knows he has to. He's the one who's going to be a healer too, someday... so before anyone else can volunteer Daemion jumps forward. "Need somethin'?" he asks. This is his big chance.

Joanne has her herbal bag out already and is getting out the materials for one of her bandages. "Daemion. Kevin, you too... I need you both to talk to Jeremy, keep him talking back to you, so he doesn't think about hurting, otherwise he's going to hurt more." Kevin nods and puts his hand on Jeremy's shoulder, looking very worried.

Daemion settles down next to his fellow snowfield veteran, looking concerned. "Hey, Jeremy, you doing okay?" he asks, getting a listless shake of the head. "Harder to dodge than the snowballs?" he asks.

Jeremy manages a smile. "...yeah..."

Joanne is muttering to herself, examining the wound. "Nothing serious hit, arrow isn't poisoned just a compress, maybe. Okay, I'm going to have to pull the arrow out," she calls out. "It's going to hurt him a bit more, so he has to be ready."

"She's got to get the arrow out, and it'll hurt more, but only briefly," Kevin tells his son, hand still on shoulder.

And Daemion watches, realizing concretely for the first time that this is serious stuff.

Of course, this was pretty much set from the beginning. That's actual blood from Jeremy's back, and he's got an actual ARROW stuck in his BACK! This is definitely the Real Thing. This is what real Healers do. There's Joanne, back there preparing to help treat the wound. There's Kevin, sitting next to Daemion, hand on shoulder like Dads always do and Jeremy's sitting there, looking listless still.

And Joanne said that that was bad! That's something to do. He has to get Jeremy talking, thinking about something. What is it that Jeremy always does?

Dares. Jeremy loves to make dares with people.

So Daemion settles back down next to Jeremy, looking at him very seriously, straight in the eye, like you Always do for this sort of thing, and says just barely audibly, "Dare you to stay quiet."

Jeremy grins, then clenches his eyes shut. "You're on."

To his credit, Jeremy doesn't scream when the arrow is pulled. He visibly winces, and tears roll down from his face, but he doesn't scream. "...told ya so..." he tells Daemion. Daemion knows that this is the part where he's just lost the dare, so he does his best to look grumpy. Of course, inwardly he's grinning in triumph. I got him to keep from screaming!

"All right, now I need to put the compress on, and then bandage the wound," Joanne says. "It's going to hurt a whole heck of a lot but then it'll stop."

"She's got to make the pain stop coming, so she's going to make it All come at once, but then it's going to run out, so you're going to be fine," Kevin tells him.

"Double-dog dare ya this time," adds Daemion. If it worked once.

This time Jeremy does let out a quiet "ow!" when the compress contacts his wound, but he keeps it quiet. "Beat you again," Jeremy says, obviously worn out from the ordeal, but grinning triumphantly up at Daemion.

Daemion, however, is grinning back. "Yeah, turkey, guess you did." And I got to be a real healer. He only barely takes notice of Kevin chuckling and saying something about "now we'll Both have war wounds to remember" — his focus is completely on his friend, who he just helped.

Yeah. I'm gonna be a healer.

---

It was some time after Yonson had departed that the Lutins had made a renewed effort to force their way into the throne room. That time, though, he knew their defences could no longer hold. Thomas had ordered everyone who could to help transport the wounded out through the secret hallway. Since they would have all been dead otherwise, he saw no further reason to keep it a secret.

Aside from a small escort contingent, the rest of his guards had stayed to hold off the invaders as long as they could.

Thomas had insisted on being the last one out of the room, over the objections of his Steward, the alligator Thalberg. Duke Thomas however, had insisted. Unlike most of them, he was still capable of fighting back, should the need arise.

Besides, there would be a good number of warriors at the Cathedral, which should have only been a short distance away from the entrance to the garden.

Should have been, but strangely, was not.

---

Laracin’s rescuers had almost reached the Palace tower, coming around the last corner in the wall, when they ran into a small band of Lutin warriors. Jace, leading the escort, shouted out in surprise and warning as they appeared suddenly out of the dark. The Lutins seemed just as surprised to encounter the Keepers, and both side stood there, staring at each other for a few seconds.

Jace reacted first, swinging his spear down on to the unprotected head of the nearest Lutin. That broke the stand still as both sides readying their weapons and joined the melee.

Dan raised his spear, facing off against the Lutin closest to him. It had been almost two years since he had been in a real fight with the minions of Nasoj. He had kept up in his training as required by his limited service, but had not had to put the training to use in that time. Even the infrequent patrols he had taken had been quiet.

Now he was plunged back into battle. As the fray began, the battle around him seemed to faded out, leaving only him and his opponent. The short green monster in front of him lunged at Dan with its blade. Leaping back, Dan dodged the blow causing the sword to miss and cut a jagged hole in his robes. This brought a sudden realization to Dan. Other then the natural toughness of his shell and the several layers of wool he had on, he was not wearing any significant armor, leaving him vulnerable to a stray blade.

Parrying the Lutin's next thrust with the shaft of his spear, Dan countered and jabbed at his opponent. The spear tip glanced off of one of the few pieces of metal armor the Lutin was wearing, deflecting off and doing no damage. Off to his side, Dan saw one of his companions go down under the blow of a club. The Lutin baring the club, satisfied that the soldier wouldn't be getting up again, turned his attention to Dan.

Now facing the attention of two Lutins, Dan fell back, putting his back to the wall. Making the mistake of trying to parry a blow from the one carrying the club, Dan grimaced as the shock traveled up his arms, almost wrenching them from their sockets. The wooden shaft of the spear fared worse, shattering under the impact and falling to the ground from his nerveless fingers.

Dan could not believe it, but his opponents were laughing, taking joy in his fear. Sensing an easy kill, they moved in quickly, pushing against each other, trying to be the first to end his life. Drawing forth his belt knife, Dan stood ready to face them, a strange sense of calm settling over him. If he died on this night, he fully intended to do it with Lutin blood on his hands.

The approaching duo saw the knife. They even pointed to it and laughed. The one with the sword pointed to the knife again, then held his hands apart at the approximate length of the Keeper's blade. He then pointed to his sword and indicated the length of its blade. Both of the attackers found this highly amusing.

Their laughter was interrupted as the one holding the club found a spear jammed into his chest. The other Lutin spun around, staring at his dying companion spitted on the end of Christoff's spear. Seeing an opening, Dan leapt at the other, embedding his knife in its throat before it could react. Dan grimaced as the sticky blood ran over his hand, soaking into the wool of his glove, its heat almost burning against his skin. Then watched with morbid fascination as the life gurgled out of the Lutin, spreading out in a crimson stain in the snow.

"Come on. We have to get out of here before more come," urged Christoff, pulling the insect morph to his feet.

Dan looked around the battlefield in a detached haze. Bodies littered the ground. Mostly, noticed Dan, Lutins. He knew he should be relieved, but for some reason he was not. In fact, he did not feel much of anything. The world around him was in a haze. Suddenly a new feeling rushed over him.

"Cold." he gasped before collapsing unconscious into Christoff's arms.

---

Fox slipped through the back hall of the Keep, staying hidden from the Lutins that were swarming the place. Loud, smelly and noisy, it was a simple matter to stay out of their way well before he could even see them.

He had seemingly been on his feet all night, since the assault on his home had begun. Moving freely throughout the Keep, while others were pinned down, he was attempting to locate the major players of the Keep, hopefully to bring everything together so this battle could be ended.

The corridor he was currently in was lit by the soft light of lantern that shed it’s light over the hallway and gave an eerie quality to the stones.

He rubbed his fingers along his neck, where the small dagger hidden inside of his collar was chaffing against his fur. He hadn't worn these clothes in the years since he had arrived at the Keep, and they no longer fit him.

Nor did he fit them. He had become his new self of the Keep librarian so thoroughly that he no longer thought of him self as an assassin, or even an ex-assassin. To return to the reins of the job at this time was startling to him.

It was necessary, though. The Lutins in the Keep had most of the people pinned down, and someone had to do reconnaissance. Fox had yet to find anyone to report to, but he suspected that wouldn't last much longer. He had to run into someone with authority sometime soon.

Slipping past another wandering Lutin, he started down a short stairway. About halfway down he heard voices in the distance. Nothing he could make out, but they sounded urgent, and were definitely hushed.

He moved slowly down the rest of the steps, the pads of his bare feet making little noise. He stood in the shadows at the bottom, eyes narrowed, glad for the improved night vision his form gave him.

Five humans were huddled a hundred feet away. Crowded tightly around each other, they whispered with some force. Each one was armed with swords, and a few looked dangerous. Help from outside perhaps? Or was that too much to hope for.

The group pulled back, and a woman behind the group started giving orders, pointing in different directions. One person went down each hall, for a second leaving the woman standing by herself.

In that instant Fox got a reasonable look at her face. He almost panicked, and did jump back slightly, but landed smoothly enough that he made little noise. If she was here, this was not help! He suspected it would be a direct attack against the Duke.

And one of her men was coming right towards him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he pulled a long dagger from his belt. He had no choice, he had to kill all five of these. He was counting on his ability to navigate the Keep to take him to each one. She would be the last, though — she had to be.

Slowing his breathing down, he pressed himself against the wall. Holding perfectly still, he starting counting his heartbeats. The man came closer, and closer, then walked past without even noticing that he was there. With a single move, so practiced that it was an act of thought, not will, he lunged forward, grabbed the man by his hair, and stabbed his knife through his neck, severing both the artery and windpipe in one swift move.

Still, there was much more than the normal amount of blood. That was to be expected, he was years out of practice. It had been so long since it had been on his hands that Fox started to feel a bit ill. Placing a paw against the wall, he took deep breaths, calming himself. Now was not the time to go about getting sick; he had a job to do.

Wiping the dagger clean on the back of the man's shirt, Fox started down the hallway. Reaching the intersection where the group had split up, he picked one semi-randomly, and started down it.

He moved with as much speed as he could, while remaining stealthy, which wasn't very fast. The claws on his toes had a tendency to click when he went above a fast walk. He tried to keep it quiet, but found that it was almost impossible; it was the price he paid for moving without shoes.

It took a few minutes, but he managed to catch up with the next assassin. Slowing once he saw him, he moved as silently as he could. When he was only a few feet away, he slowed his pace further, creeping up on the lone figure, dagger held at the ready.

He must have done something wrong, because his target spun around. His hands latched onto Fox's arms, and he rolled back, throwing Fox down the hall. Fox's dagger went skittering off on the stones, but he already had another one in his paws as he rolled through the fall, and up into a crouch.

The two glared at each other over the short distance. Each one judging the other, as they both shifted their weight from side to side. Fox wasn't sure how long he could stay in this standoff. He still had three more to go; the human, on the other hand, could keep this up as long as he wanted.

So Fox acted first, faking forward, then jumping back. The human reacted fast, twisting around to block the fake attack, but in the same move lunging at where Fox should be.

Fox was a few feet away. He grabbed the assassin's arm and twisted it hard, throwing out the weapon that was in his hand.

The human spun around, twisting Fox's arm back, while wrapping his own around his neck. Fox gasped at the suddenness of the move, trying to claw at the man on his back with little luck. He resorted to more forceful methods— he threw his back against the wall.

The human gasped, the sharp sound of his head connecting with the stone wall filled the corridor. His grip relaxed around Fox's throat, but instead of moving away Fox reached for the assassin's belt, and pulled out his short sword.

Drawing it up under his shoulder, he slammed it into the human's chest. Putting his weight on the sword's hilt, he pulled it down, cutting through the man's chest plate with a snap, and burying it in his gut.

Rolling away from the body, Fox gasped. Two down, three to go... if he didn't get sick first. He held back his bile, taking a few breaths to calm himself. The smell of blood was much stronger than he remembered it ever being. An enhancement brought on by the curse no doubt. At that moment he didn't appreciate it.

Standing, he turned towards the body, intending to retrieve his dagger. At least that was the plan... instead, he found himself face to face with the assassin's leader.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling as she summoned a light. He winced slightly at the suddenness of the spell, but tried not to show it.

"You killed two of my men," she said in an accusing tone of voice, that was yet somehow playful. She stepped closer, until she was an arm's length away from him, confident that he wouldn't attack her. She was right; for now, Fox wanted this confrontation to play out before he attacked her.

He shrugged his shoulders, his tail flicking back and forth. "Not that you care," he commented, in a stern, harsh tone. She flinched like she had been hit. "I'm hurt, really I am. I do care about them... but your little game has provided me with more money."

He snorted. "Always money! I see you haven't changed at all. You still gloat to people when you should be killing them."

She tapped the bottom of his muzzle with a blade. "I'm not your normal killer, my dear animal. I have class, style—"

"And an ego the size of Mt. Kara," Fox quipped, with a smile.

That brought her up short, more than his original comment. "How dare you speak to me like that," she protested. Her reply lacked force, but clearly carried her indignation that anyone would even talk like that to her. So much so that she lowered her dagger to chest level.

Fox laughed. "What, you don't remember your husband?" he asked with a smile.

Her face fell, "Kell, is that you?" she asked in soft wonder.

"In the fur, Ki, and I'm Fox now."

She swore. "How dare you call yourself my husband," she said with a growl, "you never showed up at the wedding!"

He waved his paw down the hallway. "I got waylaid."

She snorted, stepping back, dagger in hand. "Damn it, what are you? The horse-king's private killer?"

"Nope," he said with a slight bow, producing a dagger of his own. "I'm the librarian."

Ki laughed, but it was short, and ended quickly. "I always knew you had a soft heart."

Fox shrugged, flicking his ears as well. "People change."

She nodded, "Yes people do! I take it you're not going to join me, you're going to protect the Keep." She wasn't asking a question of him, she was stating the obvious.

He nodded.

"Damn it, that means I'm going to have to kill you. And you look so good in fur," she said with another laugh.

"Or me, you," Fox answered, "It's just like they always said, isn't it? One of us will not survive this encounter."

She took a step back, glancing down the hallway. "A question first— do you still love me?"

He nodded. "Of course. But you're here to kill the Duke, and I just can't let that happen. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

"So am I," she answered, shaking her head slightly, turning out her magical light as she did so.

In the sudden darkness, Ki was just a shadow, a figure in the black. He could forget who she was, and concentrate on what he had to do.

She started running down the hallway. A good choice—right then and there was too obvious a place to start the fight. Fox went after her, moving as quietly as he could, allowing her to get ahead of him.

He wasn't too worried, though. He took a side passage, one that moved in a long curve, coming out at a place that was ahead of her. Quietly, he thanked his Gods for allowing him to easily navigate the Keep, before he moved towards her.

Ki wasn't there. She should have been, but she wasn't. It wasn't until she was attacked from the side that he realized what she had done; blended herself with the shadows.

He rolled as he fell, landing hard enough on his side that something cracked. He let out a yelp of pain, but was still able to move out of the way as Ki came down towards him slashing with her dagger. She only grazed the side of his chest, cutting open his skin.

His own blade was out and in the air, meeting her arm, and digging across the muscle. She let out a yell of her own, and punched him in the muzzle.

Fox threw his own punch, but she was gone already, on her feet and running again. "Damn it!" she called back over her shoulder. "That was my good arm."

"Of course," he called back, pulling himself to his feet, wincing as the broken rib grated against itself.

She responded with a short "Ha!" before disappearing around another corner.

He shook his head, trying to lose the pain in his muzzle from her punch, it faded slightly, but he suspected it was injured as well.

It was back to the chase. This time he decided to do something a bit different. He once again cut around her, moving though the Keep's hallways with an ease many would envy.

Once more he was in front of her, but he did not step that way. Instead he drifted back down the intersecting hallway, hiding in the shadows.

He waited quietly, holding his breath, listening to her echoing footfalls as they approached him. A second later her figure passed in the darkness; Fox didn't move, though. This was surely a trap, she would not let the sounds of her travel carry like that.

Biding his time, he continued to wait. No more than half a minute later, another figure appeared, this one moving quietly, barely touching the floor.

Fox charged, knife and claws out. Ki saw him at the last second, twisting around to defend herself. Fox arced his dagger over his chest as he landed, slicing through her clothing, and into her left breast. She rolled as he attacked her, throwing him off before he could reach her heart.

He landed in the hallway on the far side of the intersection, sliding on the stones. He was on his feet almost before he came to a stop, weapon held to attack, as he started a new charge.

There was a flash, and he was presented with a wall of flame. He tried to stop, but found the floor had become like ice, sending him sliding into the flames.

They were hotter than any normal flame, burning through his clothing, to his fur, then his skin. They left burns down his side and back as he fell through them. He crashed to the floor on his shoulder, flipping over and landing on his burnt back.

He let out a howl of pain, then Ki was on him. He rolled, and rose to a crouch, pulling a new blade from his clothing, but she wasn't above him. He twisted around, but a new attack came from the side, throwing him to the ground, as he felt a blade rip through his tail.

His first reaction was to kick at her, before he let out a new yelp of pain. She danced away, holding the bottom third of his tail in her hand.

Fox growled, pulling himself to his feet, glaring at her. She smiled, throwing up another flame wall, then another, and another. He was boxed in the intersection, no way out.

"You stay put, hon," Ki called. "Maybe once this is over we'll get together for dinner."

"You shouldn't spare my life," he growled to her, dropping to the floor, dizzy from the shock. He forced the pain down, though; he couldn't fail now. Instead he took the ragged end of his tail and shoved it into the flame. He bit back his scream of pain this time.

Ki didn't responded to his statement, but he could hear her running down the hallway. He pulled the end of the tail from the fire, finding it in even worse condition, but no longer bleeding.

Rising to his feet, he judged his new balance. Finding it lacking, but not severely so, he then turned his attention to the fire.

Only one way out, and that was through. Swearing to himself, he moved all the way back to the far wall of flame, before running and jumping through the front one.

This time the flame wasn't as hot, perhaps because it was spread thin over the four walls, but it burned him none the less. He ignored it, and hit the ground rolling, then was back in his feet, once more at a dead run.

He couldn't keep doing this— the next encounter had to be the final one. He knew they were close to where Thomas was, a place he had avoided to prevent himself from being ordered to do, well, pretty much what he was doing right now.

There was one last place he could make a stand against her; just outside of the Duke's location. It wasn't going to be easy, but there was nothing else to do.

This time he wouldn't bother trying to get ahead, it wouldn't work. Instead he was going for a simpler approach. He kept after her, slowing down a bit as he got too close, but not within seeing distance.

Ki would be expecting another attack from the front or the side, not from behind. Not after the last time. Anyway, an attack from behind wouldn't work. He had just one chance.

As they neared the proper spot, he started running again, straining to keep his claws from clicking on the floor. He got closer to her, seeing light filtering up from the stairway before her.

Finally he burst into a hard run, using all of the remainder of his strength. She heard him coming, and turned to face him, only to have his shoulder slam right into her chest, forcing her back farther down the hallway, right onto the steps.

They fell together, both fighting to get a weapon as they crashed down the stone steps. Each time they hit caused a new yelp of pain. Fox felt his leg snap as Ki fell on it, twisting in an entirely wrong way as they landed on the hard floor.

They both pulled apart, weapons drawn. Ki was panting, a long and thin dagger in the hand of her unwounded arm, her chest covered in blood. She looked unharmed from the fall, as far as he could tell.

Fox pulled out his last dagger, a squat one, made for close quarters fighting. It was then he realized that just as his dagger was once a gift from her, and the one she held had come from him. The light in the room caused it to shine slightly.

"It ends now," he whispered.

"Yes," she said, smiling. "How appropriate that it's with the weapons we gave to each other."

"A question first," he said, pulling himself to his knees. "Do you still love me?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Yes, with my heart and soul, just as I always did."

"Please surrender?" he whispered, "I don't want to kill you."

She shook her head, "You know I can't do that."

"I know," he answered, wiping away a tear that was starting to run down his face. "I will bury you at your home," he whispered.

She smiled. "I will bury you there, Kell," she answered.

He nodded, taking in a deep breath. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," she responded.

They attacked as one, both moving toward each other almost as if it was planned, daggers clashing in air as Ki punched at his heart. Fox executed his attack differently, sinking his teeth into her arm, biting deep into the tendon, and pulling his head back, tearing at the skin.

She fell back, slashing at his face before the dagger was lost from her hand. it cut up the right side of his muzzle, shearing off the center two whiskers at the root.

Fox swung his dagger down, slamming it into her chest, right into her heart. She let out a ragged scream, gasping softly as she died.

He didn't move, just stayed on her body, holding the dagger, crying to himself as blood dripped down the end of his muzzle. He told himself over and over again that he had to do it, he had no choice.

One of the large doors of the room opened, and a guard peeked out, a perplexed look on her face.

"There's two more assassins," he gasped, rolling off Ki's body.

The guard vanished, and the two doors opened wide. "I know," Thomas said, looking slightly haggard as he stepped out of the room. "We've already run into them."

Behind him, Fox could see dead bodies in the room; two he recognized as the assassins, the others he couldn't tell.

"That's good, sir," he said with a sigh. "This was their leader," he said by way of explanation for the body in the room. He sighed softly, suddenly feeling drained of all emotion, all feeling, darkness beginning to creep in around his eyes.

"We are moving to Father Hough's Cathedral," the Duke said, looking over Fox. "We will be safer there."

"Good," he said, starting to feel light-headed.

"He needs a healer," someone in the background said, Fox wasn't sure who.

He nodded in response, falling onto his hands. "Yes. Not a Lightbringer though; that would be bad." He tried to say something else, but finally fell onto his face.

As darkness wrapped around him, the last thing he heard was someone commenting on his condition. He didn't hear all of it, but they did say that none of his visible wounds were deadly.

He thought that was a good thing, as he drifted off into his dreams, to spend them with his wife.

---

Oren of Hipocc stood with his feet ice cold in the snow as he somberly took a head count to see who was currently assembled and who was available to attempt to retake the tower.

Shamgar the rhino was there. He was a tough bugger, able to take a scimitar in the brainpan and come away thinking that his opponent was being playful. Unfortunately, his head was nearly as thick inside as it was outside.

Shamgar's girlfriend, Blake was there. She was trained in the ways of the assassin. Unfortunately, she was truly bad at them, and at present, she was a blithering lunatic, all of her attention focused on the severed Lutin hand which she'd managed to claim.

Desuka was patting himself to keep warm. The panda was an indoor man, accustomed to life among artisans and scholars within the Temple of the Creator. He was a gentleman, not acclimated to cold nor warfare. Still, there was the rumor that the tinge of red in his fur was a hint at the savage beast he transformed into whenever he became enraged.

Jesse Roo stood at attention, looking very serious. This gave Oren cause to worry. The kangaroo was a formidable fighter, with a unique magical weapon few could match. However, his lack of frivolity spoke of a troubling deep down. Oren thought he knew what it was. Jesse's mother had remained in town, and might very well have already been killed.

Natalie sat perched in the bare branches of a tree, watching in the direction of the Keep and the lighthouse for any sign of activity. She was also a very valuable asset, being not only a dragon, but a magician who specialized in shrinking her enemies. Of course, Natalie wasn't a fighter. Her special power was only ever employed as a means of escape.

Xan, Leo, Sambrea, and a handful of others from Oren's homeland stood ready. They were the young Hipocci warriors, untrained and untested in battle. They were willing, but were they able?

Lastly, there was Oren himself. Would the otter be able to lead this group and retake the tower which was their home? He prayed that he could.

"All right, lads and lasses," said the otter. "We're going back into the Lighthouse to reclaim it. Now, it stands to reason that a direct assault will be no less that a total failure, so we're going to be sneaky. Here's what we'll do..." As he elaborated the plan, some people began to smile, some to frown and shake their heads in dismay. However, all agreed.

---

The soldier he saw earlier is not any kind of rat; Kirk can see that clearly now. Rats don't have wings. He's looking at a bat.

"You are?" he asks.

"Corporal Mortimer Jahnsen," the bat replies. "Serving under Captain Breckenridge. Where's the rest of the South Gate guard, sir?"

"Back at the Gate," says Kirk, peering about the tower while he fills the Lieutenant in. "They're holding it as long as possible, at which point they sync up with everyone at the Banquet Hall.

There really isn't much to see in the tower, he notes idly; most of the kids managed to discover that rather quickly. The only major points of interest consist of two sets of stairs leading upward (rotating up clockwise as always), one presumably to various archery posts in the wall of the tower, the other leading to other floors like this. There's also a heavy wooden door which they just came through, barred shut now and thankfully not being pounded on. There's also several barrels off in a corner, presumably holding water or food or similar supplies, and a staircase heading down. This last is currently populated with children as they head downwards towards the cellars, and the tunnels connected therein.

"So you're just passing through, sir?"

"Heading for the tunnels, right," Kirk tells him. "Southward bound. How're people holding out here?"

"Making it as hard as hell for them to get through, sir!" the corporal says proudly. "No way they're getting through Our gates." Jahnsen is obviously a very young soldier; perhaps he enlisted a few months back.

"Right," Kirk grins, giving the corporal a punch on the shoulder - light by his standards, but Jahnsen definitely notices. "You tell everyone I said to make it as much hell for those Lutins as you possibly can."

"Sir!" Jahnsen says, saluting smartly before heading up the stairs.

"Good kid," Kirk mutters to himself before he heads down into the tunnels.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 11 PM

They're not nearly as bad as everyone swears they are. Nearly. The walls are like black pearl, in some areas nearly reflecting the light from Kevin's pseudo-witchlight. Of course, they'd all be shrouded in utter blackness if ever the light went out, and the only sounds are those of dripping water and shuffling footsteps as they move along, so madness could very easily claim any one of them if they were alone here. At least I'm not alone, many of them think to themselves.

Several of the kids are yawning widely, clearly very tired - most of them have bedtimes around 9, and it's well past that, but they still haven't found what looks like an appropriate resting spot.

Jeremy seems to be doing okay after his small encounter; he's been in pain but it's gone, Jo has told him that he's going to be all right - she said something like how the arrow glanced off a bone and manage to miss most of the organs, but he has no clue what she's talking about there - and so he's feeling Real good. I've been in a battle, I was wounded, and I survived! has been the prevailing thought on his mind for quite a while now. At this point, though, he's thinking less and less of all the medals Duke Thomas is going to give him for being a wounded war hero, and thinking more of when they're all going to sleep. Of course, he doesn't mention this. The Deal is back on - Uncle Jono said so just before they entered the tunnels - and he doesn't want to risk losing a chance at the promised pie. And besides, no true war hero is ever tired at 11pm.

Jono, if he was aware of that thought, and thinking straight himself, would likely disagree with this notion. He's been keeping himself very busy for the past couple hours keeping kids out of harm's way as best he can - and, he hesitantly admits to himself, doing a fairly decent job, excepting the arrow that hit Jeremy but you couldn't have stopped that arrow, Jono even if you were there you wouldn't have seen it coming. Still, he feels doubt about his abilities now. He keeps focused outward, ears up and listening for any possible sign of advancing Lutins that perchance might have discovered this tunnel, determined not to lose or allow to be hurt any more of his charges. Should have seen it coming...

Derek didn't see it coming either, and he was right next to Jeremy that instant. He seems pretty recovered now from his earlier adventure out with the Lutin he pasted with a snowball (if that had been a real weapon, he'd be Long gone! he thinks to himself; he can exhibit bravado now that he's not face to face with them anymore) but still wonders about that moment from before with Jeremy. Of course he knew he had to keep running; there was nothing that he could do for Jeremy, and he knew darn well that there was no way Uncle Jono would ever leave Jeremy lying in the snow. But doesn't a real warrior defend his comrades in arms? He could have taken the arrow down with a snowball, if he'd had a little time to get the snowball together and see it coming... that and if he hadn't been particularly obsessed with running as fast as he could at the time.

Daemion is feeling no remorseful feelings whatsoever. I can be a Healer! I really can help save people! He'd certainly proved that beyond doubt... right there, with one of his best friends hurting, in front of his dad and the healer Joanne, and he did it! He feels he's got reason to be proud; the last time he asked an actual Healer about what made it so difficult, he'd been told that the biggest problem was being able to relate to the people and to have the energy to help them; mixing the compounds that did the curing was simple compared to that. And I just pulled that off! He's not thinking, of course, that the circumstances were relatively good for this sort of thing (he wasn't doing the fixing, this is a friend of his and thus someone he knows... details like that). That would only discourage, and he doesn't Want to be discouraged. He's going to be a Healer, and he knows it now.

All Kevin knows at this point is that they are all in very, VERY serious trouble. That storm is not natural! He said as much to the others while they were assembling just outside the tunnel. For the first time ever since his apprentice days, he was unable to draw on the manna needed to cast a spell. And in the same instant, it was all too clear why. They've thrown this storm at us and cut off our manna supply in the process... dear Gods, we are all doomed... He's extremely nervous because the vast majority of his ability to defend himself is through magical attacks and defenses. He's always been able to provide proper support to anyone who needed it just through his talents with the fire and lighting magics, and now... now nobody can provide magic support. Nobody except Nasoj and his friends. He sees this as (quite possibly correctly) the stroke that will kill Metamor, and so it's all playing out in his mind... the hordes sweeping over the Keep, flowing into Midtown and the Northern Midlands, then down through Ellcaran and across to Elvquelin, through Kelewair and Salinon... destroying all they see, defiling every place... dear Gods, we are all doomed...

Joanne is thinking quite the opposite. We still have hope. The Glen is still free. She's absolutely certain of it. She still clearly remembers her amazement at how well hidden the place managed to be, even After the stories she heard about it from Garigan. And I didn't even manage to check up on him yet! she realizes, wondering about what her friend might be up to. Knowing him, of course, he's almost certainly eager to check up on the Glen, even though (to her) it's perfectly obvious that there's no way Nasoj could possibly find and defeat them. After all, the villages are in ruins. He knows he destroyed the place. He wouldn't bother checking, even in the summer, and this storm would clearly mark such activity as extraneous. There's no way they could be in any danger. The Glen is still free. We'll get through this. There's still hope.

Kirk's only hope is that they'll be through with these damned tunnels soon. I swear, these things take forever! Even in the back of his mind he knows that they haven't been travelling all that far; if they were aboveground it would take just as long an amount of walking, except they'd have things to occupy their Attention so it wouldn't Seem as bad. Villagers, homes, folks on the walls to wave to and shout "Halloa!"s to... But that's in peacetime. Right now all that would occupy our attention is those foul Lutins. So even though he can't stand these tunnels, he knows it's the best option for the kids, and so he begrudgingly follows them.

Perry, as a counterpoint, follows quite willingly. These are children of the Keep. They are my Duty. He's always been one to take Duty seriously; back in the days when he was a little one not much older than these kids he remembers quite clearly how his Dad - his actual Dad before the Battle of the Three Gates, not his mom-turned-Dad - used to lecture to him. "The men, and mayhap in the future the women who have and will rule this realm shall and must always be of good heart and intention. Be it that they Are of such heart, you must follow and defend them and those they rule to the best of your ability; be it that they are otherwise, you will seek to insure that those next in line of good Heart are defended, for in time all rule reverts to the Wise and the Just. This is your responsibility and your Duty as a warrior to be, and the way of our family for generations." Perry, in keeping with these words, has loyally followed Duke Thomas for all his life ever since he was old and fit enough to join the Keep military, and he has never felt regret. He knows he is part of a greater Whole, and nothing dissuades him from his part in it.

Dana is still wondering what her part in this debacle is supposed to be. How did I get involved in this? Of course, she can think of the obvious - her younger brother (she never thinks of him as her little brother anymore) Kirk had her under his command at the South Gate - he's always been the clever, commanding one - and she kept with him when he went off to assist Jono, and thus somehow ended up tagging along. But she's not all that effective in these circumstances; since her becoming herself rather than himself, she's gotten excellent at general swordplay, and thus can easily fight off individual Lutins or even pairs of them for hours without breaking much of a sweat; thus her position as a Gate guard. But here... She only managed battle out in the open as Darren because her size at the time intimidated enough that few had the courage to charge, and now as Dana it's even more difficult for her to move in the open properly. She could probably fight in the tunnels, though. Hopefully she won't have to put this into practice.

All Josh is practicing at the moment is blank mindless terror. Josh is too young to think of much more than one thing at once, and right now that thing specifically is all the bad guys out there who are going to eat him. But Uncle Jono's here, he reminds himself. Uncle Jono can beat any bad guy! So when Uncle Jono says that they can stop here for the night, he will stop. Because it's Uncle Jono.

Jono's only just getting started about thinking about stopping when suddenly the tunnel turns a corner - for the first time in all this time - and they find themselves in what looks to be a cellar of some kind. In one of the far corners is a large pile of hay that stretches out across most of the floor; the other corners are filled by large sacks of what could be grain stacked all the way up to the ceiling. Said ceiling looks to be made of... wood? Jono gestures to Kevin, who raises the witchlight... yes, it's wood.

"Anyone know this place?" Jono asks, his voice just hovering at the whisper level.

"Cellar of the mill tower," Kirk replies, also whispering. "I think this might be a good place to stop. The kids are getting tired."

Jono nods, then turns to the kids. "Okay, everyone," he says, talking only barely above a whisper. Various kids stop and tap others on the shoulder so they can all pay close attention. "We've found ourselves a nice safe spot to sleep tonight. The Deal's still going on, though, so I need everyone to be quiet. There's a pile of hay over there so you can get some of that to sleep on. Sleep well, everyone!" He tries to keep his voice cheery, but it's difficult when you're trying to keep your voice down. Still, the spirits of the children seem to be adequately raised, and so they head over en mass to the haystack, gathering bits of hay for places to sleep.

Jono turns to the others. "Watches?"

"Dana and I, Perry and Kevin, you and Jo," Kirk says quickly. "I think you two ought to take third, Perry and Kevin take second, while the two of us take first. You're all very tired from the ordeal, and need to get your sleep."

Jono doesn't argue; instead he simply nods. "Agreed here."

Nobody else voices an objection, so Kevin sets the stone projecting the pseudo-witchlight down in the center of the room so the two on watch can see, and then Kirk and Dana each pick a spot opposite each other, leaning against the sacks of grain as everyone else settles down to sleep.

---

The four men who were still surrounding them scanned cautiously from side to side, two at his front, and two behind. Thalberg walked at the Duke’s side, his massive tail swaying nervously behind him. The alligator clutched his left arm with one hand, pressing the sleeve of his official robes against a bleeding gash. The stain appeared only as a darkening of the satin, a wound that he refused to let anyone else see. Nor would he allow Thomas out of his sight, having refused to go with the rest of the wounded from the Throne room as they were sent ahead to the cathedral. In fact, he gained that gash when he’d leapt in front of a Lutin’s blade before crushing the monster’s head in his massive jaws.

Thomas stared wanly at his friend of so many years. Though Thalberg was often cantankerous, and usually very insistent about being his Steward first, there had been times on those bitterly cold winter evenings when they had just shared a drink together and watched the festivities, or talked of the times when they were children. Posti had been with them in those days, and this would have been the first winter without him. The attack only seemed to highlight the former Prime Minister’s absence, like an open wound that had become infected and began to spread.

The hallways were dim, many of the torches that hung in the braziers had been extinguished. Kyia must have diverted the wounded to another hall, to allow them to reach the cathedral quicker. But why had she not left the way intact for him? The Duke noticed several of the tapestries had been torn down, and those that hadn’t had either been slashed to ribbons or defiled by the Lutins. Thomas grimaced as he surveyed the rampage and wanton destruction, knowing that it would tear Malqure’s heart to see it, were he still alive. Some of those tapestries had been in the Duke’s family for generations, and some had been even older. A few were untouched, but only a few.

Already, thoughts of how he could make Nasoj pay for this latest atrocity were going through his mind. He flicked his ears in greater annoyance at each work of art that he saw ruined. The damage had been not nearly so terrible the last time this had happened; the Lutins had never really managed to get into the castle itself the last time. Might they succeed in destroying them all? He hoped not, but his heart was heavy with that fear.

A glance from Thalberg and those menacing yellow eyes told him that his Steward felt the same thing. Yet, they also told him more, a worry that even should they push the Lutin hordes back, would they have enough fighting force left to strike back? And who would lead the fight? How many of his good soldiers would be gone after this was over? Those questions only made his heart sink even further.

The two guards before them moved quietly along the carpeted floors. Thomas himself had soft shoes placed over his hooves, so that he could move silently as well. The clatter of his hooves on the stonework would resound through the halls, and so many years ago he’d had these socks made to muffle that noise. The worked quite well, and aside from that one Lutin band they’d stumbled across, they’d seen nobody since.

But just as he was dwelling on that, the clinking sound of armour approaching came from one side passage. The four guards tightened their grip on their weapons, while Thalberg tensed visibly, his jaw hanging open in case he needed to bite again. The foul aftertaste of dirty Lutin still permeated the alligator’s maw, leaving him with an oily, ill sensation of disgust. The goat standing before him held up his paw, and raised one stubby finger, and then pointed around the corner, his short tail wagging in anxiety. The stoat at his side rolled his long daggers about in his paws and nodded.

The boot heels continued to sound though, and ere long, out strode a man dressed in plate armour, bearing a sword and a shield. He turned to face them, his visor down, so that all they could see of his flesh were his eyes, and wild eyes they were, consumed by some unseen desire that would not be denied. His armour was mostly ceremonial apart from the white cross emblazoned on the front, while upon the escutcheon was a white bend sinister across a solid green. It only took the Duke a moment to recognize the heraldry. The sword and shield he carried were considerably more serviceable in appearance.

“Yesulam,” he muttered as he stared at the knight in that single moment as the man had turned to face them. “Why is a knight from Yesulam here?” he called out, his voice carrying slightly, but not far enough to attract any attention the clattering of the knight’s mail had not already brought.

“I came to claim thee,” the voice inside that polished helm spoke, dull but intent, indicating the Duke with the unwavering point of his polished longsword. The two guards stiffened and advanced upon the knight, who had strode forward, his own sword fresh and without stain or nick. Thalberg interposed himself between the knight and the Duke, while the two guards at their back charged forward to meet this new adversary.

The goat swung his sword in from the side, but met the knight’s shield with a metallic whack, while the knight’s blade thrust forward towards the stoat, who parried it with both of his narrow blades. With a heave, the knight threw back the goat, sprawling him against the wall, then sliced his blade upwards, neatly severing one of the stoat’s arms just above the elbow. The mustelid cried out in agonised horror, falling backwards, blood drenching his surcoat even as he gazed at the lifeless limb that had landed with a wet smack upon the damask carpet.

The metal of his armour clanking with every movement, the mysterious knight slapped the goat’s head one more time with his shield, and then turned his attention once more upon the Duke. The other two guards however, had jumped between them all. The first, a woman, thrust at his helmet with a slender blade. The knight lifted his shield, ducking low, and let the sword ineffectually screech off its smooth surface. Thrusting his broad sword even as he blocked the woman’s strike, he speared the ankle of the spaniel that had tried to come at him from the side. Yelping at the pain, the spaniel jumped back, only to collapse as the paw gave out from underneath of him. Turning then, the knight slashed his heavy sword across the woman’s lighter blade, which shattered just above the hilt without slowing his strike, and opened her abdomen as neatly as a surgeon’s blade, spilling her entrails out in a viscid surge as she sighed and crumpled to the floor on top of the goat’s prone form.

Thalberg snatched up his own blade then, pushing the Duke back a pace, and he spread his arms wide, his jaw dropping to expose the rows of sharp teeth. The knight paused then, as he kicked the cringing spaniel’s head with his steel-toed boot. He rubbed the pommel of his blade with his gauntlet, the wild eyes narrowing as he considered this massive foe. And then, he charged forward, shield held high and his sword arm moving low.

The Steward stepped back a pace, bringing his own sword up underneath, trying to slide it around the shield. But the knight was well trained, and dropped his shield to counter the blade, as he sliced upwards, striking at the alligator’s arm. Despite the fact that he was a reptile, and covered in several layers of cloth, he was able to move out of the blade’s path, but the effort cost him his own blade as the knight changed his strike slightly, hammering the hand basket of the alligator’s blade soundly, sending it humming away as the reptile’s sword hand went suddenly numb. Hissing, Thalberg snatched that hand back before it got severed, and struck out with his other, raking his claws across the knight’s visor so hard that it twisted half around on his head.

Suddenly blinded, the knight from Yesulam stepped back several paces and slipped slightly in a pool of blood, dropping his sword as he reached up to readjust his helmet. Thalberg surged forward in that moment of weakness and grabbed at the knight’s shield with both of his hands and yanked at it, intent on dragging it off the knight’s arm, or dragging the knight of his feet if luck were with him. However, he did not expect the knight to actually give it over. Thrusting out with his arm, the knight shoved the shield into Thalberg, sending the alligator crashing into the near wall. Lifting his helmet from his head, he revealed his face, fraught with fury and pure desire. Beneath the canopy of long dark hair, amber eyes flashed.

He swung his helmet against the side of Thalberg’s head suddenly, smacking him across the cheek and red blood began to flow from beneath the yellow-green scales. The alligator was not finished however, and threw the shield off of his chest, then snapped his jaws at the knight’s face, which was now exposed. The knight took a step back, leaning away from those horrible jaws, and caught the folds of the Stewards robe with one hand. He yanked hard upon the fine, tattered robes, pulling the steward close for a brief moment, their eyes locking for a brief flash of time. Thalberg let out a sudden croak as he was spun about on his feet, falling face first against the wall, slapping his head right between the eyes. The mysterious foe then reached down, retrieved his sword, and with one swipe, sliced through the gown and into the alligator’s back.

Duke Thomas stared, aghast, as his old friend slowly slumped against the wall, leaving him to face the rogue Knight of the Ecclesia alone. He had no desire to abandon his friends and servants, yet he was no fool either. Whoever this knight was, it was clear that he meant to kill him, though Thomas could not fathom why a knight of Yesulam would desire such a thing. He cast a momentary glance at the weapons scattered about on the floor not far away, then discarded the idea. He was passably decent with a sword, but this knight was something else altogether. Thomas knew that, having dispatched four battle-hardened veterans of the Three Gates, the knight would make very short work of him. Turning on his hooves, Thomas fled down the corridor, intent on escaping the man. Surely an armoured knight could not outrun a horse who was intent on escaping. Yet a sudden pain tore into his back and he fell forward onto his face, bruising his sensitive nose.

He clambered once more to his hooves, forcing himself to run despite the terrible pain in his back. It did not feel as if he’d been stabbed, more like he’d just been hit by something. Taking a quick glance behind him, he could see the knight racing after him, retrieving his helmet, and hurling it once more at the Duke’s back. Though he tried to jump aside, he was to late, for the solid thwack sent him spinning, tumbling to the stone floor as the weighty steel slammed into his face. A new ache greeted him, one in his jaw as he moved it about. One of his teeth had been broken.

He looked back, perhaps to grab the helmet and make off with it, but as he looked up, he could see the knight only a few feet away, picking it up once more. The gaze on the broad face was one of triumph. “Thou aren’t going to make me hurt thee anymore? ‘Twould be a pity to damage a fine stallion such as thyself.”

Thomas felt fear and a great anger building in his chest as the knight stepped closer. Tensing his legs he pulled them closer to his body as he lay there, watching the knight approach smoothly, idly noting that the human was not even breathing hard yet. With a snort he kicked at the knight’s shin, but his hoof only met empty air as the man danced nimbly aside. Pulling a knife from his belt, he pressed it firmly against the Duke’s neck. “Thou art going to allow me to slip this upon thy head, or I shalt kill thee.” With his other hand, he produced a rather ordinary-looking halter.

Thomas took one look at it, and glowered, “Never!”

The knight shrugged and then pressed the blade of the knife firmer into the Duke’s neck. Wincing, Thomas let out a pitiful whinny, before he nodded softly. Instantly, the knife’s edge was drawn back a bit, and he could feel the other hand lifting up his muzzle. He open his lips and tried to bite at it, but the hand was gone in a moment, and a fist slammed down into the side of his head, making his sight swim.

While the Duke tried to resolve the multiple images of the knight into one cohesive whole, he felt the leather against his head again, and he pulled back, trying to get away from the vile thing. Yet the knight placed his other hand at the back of his head, and forced it on, tying the cinch tightly, fixing it in place. And then, even as he stared past the straps over his nose, he saw the man tracing something on his forehead with a single finger. A sullen blue nimbus filled his vision for a moment, and then his body was on fire! Agony raced through his limbs, wringing an agonised gasp from his chest as he fell on the floor and convulsed in a vain attempt to escape the pain.

Thrusting back away from the man, Thomas squirmed, trying to draw his hands up to his face to rip the halter off. Only, as he looked down, he found he no longer had hands, only the hooves of his full horse form remained. With a rending pop the clothes on his back tore from his body as his flesh stretched and grew. He whinnied in terror, thrashing about as he managed to rise to four limbs, kicking at the air, trying to shake the awful fire from his body.

And then the pain was gone, leaving him nothing more than just a horse wearing a halter over his head, standing in the hallway with the knight looking on rather pleased with himself. He turned his mind towards changing back into his morphic form, but that fire exploded over his flesh once again, causing him to fall back to the ground to writhe in agony. As he lay there, he let go of his desire to be anything but the horse, and the fire subsided, leaving him with a strange sort of calm, one that did not feel natural at all.

He breathed slowly as he lay there, his tongue working at the broken tooth, until he had managed to push it out of his mouth around the cold metal of the bit that he’d been forced to take. Try as he might, he could not get it out. His eyes glared up at the knight, and he once more climbed to his legs, intent on charging the knight. He knew that he could kill this man, horses were not weak by any standards.

Yet, the man just stood there, and smiled to him, and spoke one soft word. “Stop.” Instantly, Thomas’s hooves sealed themselves to the ground, every muscle in his body stiff. He burned with the desire to strike out at the man with his forehooves, yet he could not even lift them. The knight then walked over to his side, standing just as tall as Thomas. He pulled one of his gauntlet’s off and began to gently stroke through Thomas’s mane, ruffling it gently between his fingers. “Thou art a beautiful stallion, and thou shalt sire horses to make the clans of the Steppe feel shame.”

Thomas’s eyes went wide at that pronouncement, realising that this man intended for him to spend the rest of his life as a simple horse like every other. He wished to run, but his body would not respond. The man walked back down the hall, retrieved his equipment, replaced the helmet, and then took the lead to the halter in one hand. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and suddenly Thomas found himself walking beside the man at a slow trot. Whatever enchantments were in this halter, they had completely reduced the Duke of Metamor to an obedient and tamed horse.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 11 PM

Two figures moved slowly down the corridor. Both moved with a care and stealth that bespoke many long years of ambush and fighting. Coming to an intersection they stopped. The man in the lead was tall, with hard eyes that stared at the world from beneath a tangled mane of hair. Gold rings decorated his ears and hands. In spite of the relative warmth of the Keep, he was dressed in a thick fur coat. In his hands was a spear longer then he was tall. Gold covered the blade at the tip and runes covered the wooden handle. This was no mere throwing weapon but a potent close combat one. In the hands of a veteran like this it was a deadly weapon.

“Ferwig, we are close to him,” said the woman behind him. The three rings in her right ear jingled as she nodded to emphasize her point. Like her counterpart she was dressed in heavy furs. Unlike him she carried no obvious weapons.

“How close Teria? Which way?” Ferwig asked.

Her gloved hand pointed to the left, down a hallway. “In that direction forty feet. Around a corner,” she answered in a confident voice. She always sounded confident, even if she wasn’t.

The man nodded and moved off in the indicated direction. In a moment they reached a corner and both stopped. Ferwig quickly peered around the corner and then pulled his head back. “There’s nothing there,” He told her. “No guard, no sentry post, not even a door.”

Teria closed he eyes and muttered an incantation under breath. She stood unmoving for a moment, then pointed off in the direction they had just come from. “Now it is that way, thirty yards.”

Ferwig muttered a curse under his breath and started off back down the corridor. The weird magic of this place was unnerving him. He knew it was unnerving Teria as well, but she would never admit it. They had entered the Keep with four others but Ferwig and Teria had lost them. No dramatic fight or insidious trap, Ferwig and Teria had turned a corner and lost sight of the others for a moment. They turned back around the corner and the others were gone, and so was the corridor they had been in. All they found was a door leading to an empty room. No amount of magic could turn up any trace of what had happened to the other four. They couldn’t spare any time to search for them, they simply had to push onward without them.

They had gone about twenty feet they came to a door set in one wall, a door that hadn’t been there before. The sign on it read simply “Patrol Master” in gold inlayed lettering. Below those words was the image of a bow and a boot, also in gold inlay. No guards blocked their way.

Teria passed her hand over the door and its knob with her eyes closed. She opened her eyes and looking at her partner, shook her head, indicating that the portal was not protected by any magic or traps. Ferwig gripped his spear and nodded his head towards the door.

The woman calmly began a quiet incantation, moving her hands in small circles, until a dull red glow started to eminent from her fingertips. Ferwig kicked in the door with a heavily booted foot.

Teria pointed her hands into the room, “FA SHUM,” she shouted and the glow shot off her hands and raced through the open doorway. A brilliant flash of light and dull boom lit up the room and flames licked at the doorframe for a moment, then died down. Spear in hand, Ferwig rushed through the door with Teria close behind.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 11 PM

When Ryuo finally arrived at the doors to the Duke's chambers, he noticed the doors were ajar. Attentive to any possible threats, Ryuo threw open the door and looked into the room.

It was a mess. There had obviously been fighting here, earlier; there were bodies all over the place, most of them Lutins. Their bodies seemed to have been left where they had fallen, and pools of tepid blood covered what could be seen of the floor, drawing a morbid mosaic upon the slate gray stone floor. Lifeless eyes stared at Ryuo from a myriad of faces, but the Duke's was not among them. This did nothing to assuage Ryuo's fears, however, as to the Duke's well-being.

Turning to leave and continue his search for the Duke, a stir caught Ryuo's attention, accompanied by a pained groan. It came from a limp form in the corner, which Ryuo had not noticed before. As it sluffed off the dead weight of a Lutin corpse, Ryuo recognized the gold-furred pelt of Gil, one of the Keep's Regulars.

Another groan escaped Gil's lips as Ryuo propped him up, slowly bringing the groggy lion back to consciousness. Slowly, the great cat opened his amber eyes and looked up at the fox's concerned face. "Ae-Aeryl?" He asked, squinting his eyes. Ryuo looked blank for a second and then glanced around. Lying behind an overturned desk was a human male—another one of the regular guardsmen of the Keep Ryuo had come to know. A broken short spear was protruding from his blood-soaked doublet. Ryuo turned back to the lion and shook his head.

Closing his eyes, Gil sighed—which brought forth a sharp gasp as pain flooded his leg. Gritting his teeth, Gil grabbed at the offending appendage, drawing Ryuo's attention to the blood-soaked limb. The lion's pants were soaked in blood, but beyond that he could not tell what was wrong.

Grabbing the fabric of Gil's trousers on either side of the leg, Ryuo tore the blood-soaked cloth open, exposing the limb beneath. With the obscuring cloth removed, Ryuo could easily tell that the limb had been broken. Gil hissed with a sharp intake of breath as Ryuo tried to clear the wound, but he refrained from crying out.

Ryuo worked quickly, stripping off his belt-like sash and removing his swords from their scabbards. Carefully he placed his scabbards alongside the leg, and gingerly lifted it up, using his silk sash to create a temporary splint for the injured lion. As he worked, he put his own questions to Gil.

"Where is Duke?" Ryuo managed to ask in his broken speech.

"At the cathedral... I think." Gil said between gasps, "The others took him... they're... keeping him safe."

Finishing the knot, Ryuo contemplated what Gil said. At least the Duke was not amongst the dead. "Where is Ko?" Ryuo asked next, turning his thoughts back to Gil's injury.

"I don't know," Gil said, still panting, "Probably with the Duke." Ryuo nodded at this, then looked down at Gil. The lion morph was too large and heavy for Ryuo to move anywhere, and if they were caught in the hallway they would both be sitting ducks. He needed a second person to help move the injured lion.

Holding up the short tanto, Ryuo handed it to Gil. "I go and come," he said, "Wait. I go and come." Ryuo looked around the room, examining the layout. Carefully he moved some of the furniture around, obscuring the lion. Nobody entering the room would think twice that there might be someone in back, perhaps keeping Gil safe from the Lutins loose in the Keep. If they did find him, well, he had the tanto. At least he could kill himself before they could get to him.

Taking one last look at the room, Ryuo took off for the Cathedral. There, he hoped, would be someone who could help.

---

Thalberg forced his eyes open as he clawed at the wall to rise to his feet. The slash had forced him to his knees, and then his vision had gone dim as he lay there slumped against the stonework. Turning his head to the right, he could see the four from lying upon the ground, blood splattered over their flesh and across the carpet. He couldn’t tell if any of them were alive just from a glance. Duke Thomas, and the mysterious knight of Yesulam who’d attacked them, were nowhere to be seen. With a terrible gnawing fear he suspected that Thomas’s head would soon be decorating some Lutin general’s banner.

Glancing at the four prone forms, he peered at the blood, and then passed them down the hallway. His memory was acute, even if his mind had been wavering in and out of consciousness, but he knew that Thomas had been standing farther back away from the guards. If he’d been killed, where was the blood to indicate where he’d fallen? A sudden thought struck him and he breathed slightly easier as he dug his claw tips into the masonry. Perhaps Thomas had been wanted alive as a present to be brought back to Nasoj? If that was so, then perhaps he could still be rescued.

Turning his head in the other direction, back towards the Follower Cathedral, he tried to move one foot forward, but found he had no strength left in his legs. Collapsing, he fell to the floor with a pained hiss and a muffled whump, the thick folds of his ceremonial robes protecting him from the impact. However, his back sent a dull crushing ache through his mind. The wound was not terribly deep, or otherwise he would already be dead, but it was still agonising. Reaching forward with one green-scaled hand, he gripped the stones and pulled himself close to the wall, and towards the bodies of the four guards.

The woman was clearly dead, as half of her organs lay upon the goat’s motionless form. Reaching out his hand, Thalberg pressed his palm against the narrow face of the goat, and could feel warmth still within the flesh. His grin crept up a bit, though only imperceptibly. As a reptile, he lacked detailed facial control, but what little he did have, he preserved as often as he could when alone. Turning to the other two figures, he could see that the spaniel’s skull had been cracked from the kick, and he doubted very much that he would live long enough for even magic to save him. The stoat however had managed to tie a ribbon around his severed limb before passing out.

Crawling closer to the musteline, Thalberg gripped the ends of the ribbon in his hands, and with a tug, made sure that it was tightly bound. Perhaps he would survive, but only if the Steward could reach the Cathedral in time. Patting the dog on the side of his cheek, he gripped the stone work and began to pull himself along the floor down the hall, one aching foot at a time. Hand over hand, he tugged and clawed, scratching the stone at times as he drug his immense weight behind him.

He briefly considered climbing on to the carpet, but dismissed the notion almost as soon as he had thought of it. His clothes would catch and drag on the carpet, and he was just as likely to drag the carpet to himself as he was to drag himself towards the Cathedral! And Thalberg needed his clothes to keep him warm, otherwise he might slip back into torpor and never come out again. And if that happened, any hope of saving Thomas could be lost. He’d served the Duke for too many years to allow any pain or discomfort stand in his way to protect him. Grunting, his thick tongue pressed up against the long roof of his mouth, he continued forward one hand after another.

The hallway twisted and turned before him, as if it were being warped by unseen hands. Yet Thalberg knew that it was just his own eyes and delirium playing tricks on him. With each painful tug he drew himself forward upon his belly into that miasma, that ever changing hall. Beneath his claws he could almost feel the floor move, undulating beneath him like a snake, writhing like a mass of earthworms in a fisherman’s pail. Blinking, he tried to abjure those fearful images, tried to force the hallway to solidify and remain still before him. Yet that only drug up further images, images of things that he knew were not really there.

He could hear the laughing voices of children running through the halls. Thalberg let out a sullen groan as he drew himself forward, watching the shapes of those little boys and girls materialise before him. Dressed in brown knickers, except for one young boy whose fabric was made of vibrant blue, the children were kicking some soft leather ball through the myriad of halls of the Keep. There was one other lad, much taller than the rest, and older, who appeared to be rather nervously watching the boys, the one dressed in blue in particular.

Crawling at the stones, the painful visions of memory gouging his heart, Thalberg tried to reach out, desperate to stop what he knew to be coming, to unleash a warning to the children to stop them from their play. He could feel the chill floor through his garments, a bone cold as that day long past had been. They should never have been allowed to play ball inside the ever-changing Keep. Yet there he stood, watching them, knowing it was foolishness, but unwilling to speak his thoughts to stop it.

He let out a terrible bellow as he saw the boys kick the ball around a corner, and towards where the open staircase led off the promenade. The ball skittered off one balustrade, and lay on the edge of the stairwell, resting on the thick, embroidered carpet and waiting for a boy’s foot to send it careening off again. Thalberg, bellowed in terror as he tried to reach the children, the injury to his back pressing him firmly to the ground like the alligator he was every time he tried to rise, as if crawling upon his belly were punishment for just standing by and letting the tragedy occur.

Two of the boys, the blue clad one and a friend, both went for the ball at the same time. But the one in green, a smart looking boy, with bright blond hair, and pudgy face, slipped on the stones and cried out in surprise, grabbing the blue tunic of his friend, before toppling both of them down the staircase. The young man then darted forward, racing down after the tumbling children, but his efforts were in vain. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, the blue-clad boy’s arm was twisted in a way it should not have been, and the other boy lay with his head cracked open along one side.

Thalberg, beat his fist upon the ground, a thick sob coughing up from his chest as the images began to melt back into that ever shifting hallway. Why hadn’t he spoken up, he could have stopped it all? He would not keep his thoughts to himself, no matter who he had to speak them to, or what the consequences of his opinions might be. He closed his eyes, trying to wipe those children from his memory, but though they had faded from sight, they still remained clear to him, as clear as if it had just really happened.

He’d told the Duke he shouldn’t send so many men with the librarian, he’d been most insistent about it, but again, he’d just stood there and went along with the foolishness. Now his liege was taken by that knight, suffering some unknown fate, while he crawled like a simple reptile through halls he wished to forget. Could he ever forgive himself should Thomas die? Thalberg did not know, but he doubted that he could.

Grunting, he threw out his claws once more, dragging himself around the last corner before the Cathedral. The wide double doors were closed, probably barricaded as well. Yet he had to reach them and get those inside to open them up. He was the Steward of Metamor, he would do everything he possibly could to save Thomas’s life, even though it was his fault he had not done so sooner.

Yellow eyes watching those double doors twists and warp, he reached out his other arm, dug the claws into the space between blocks, and dragged his belly and tail over the stones. His breath came heavy, and he could feel the soaked garments cling to his back, rubbing against the cut, and intensifying the pain he suffered with every motion. Yet he kept his eyes focussed on that door and the evanescent braziers on either side. No fever dreams would distract him now, no painful memories would call him to days of old. He would reach those doors.

One block of stone at a time, they grew closer, and yet they also seemed to twist away from him, as if some higher power wished to deny him his one chance for redemption. It was true that he was a Lothanasi, though he only attended the important celebrations, as his duties took up much of his time. And even so, he rarely offered supplication to the gods, preferring to rely on his own council as his father had instructed him and his younger brother.

With a sudden pang, that stairwell was before him, and the two falling children tumbling head over heels to the veranda below. He reached out one green-scaled hand, as if to catch them and draw them back up, but they fell away, crashing to the bottom as before, as they had every time he’d turned his thoughts to that day. The young Thomas lay there in his blue silk with a broken arm, while Thalberg’s own brother lay, his life seeping out as quickly as the blood flowed from the crack in his skull. His council had advised him to allow the boys their fun despite the possibility of accident in the halls of the Keep. His own council had advised him not to argue the point further after Thomas had declared for the third time he was sending three of his men with Fox Cutter. How trustworthy was his own council?

He tried to bellow in anguish, but his throat only allowed him to cough weakly. He turned his mind towards the gods, gods he had neglected in his pride and stubborn persistence. Reaching out his claws once again, he called out to them as well, seeking strength to continue forward, and safety for his liege from whatever evils that knight may think to visit upon him. He did not know how it would be possible, but he even asked for the Keep’s help itself, hoping that she could assist in the thwarting of that man. Yet, he could not remain focussed solely on even the gods for long, they would have heard him anyway. He needed to reach the Cathedral doors.

Yet when he opened his eyes, he saw that the doors were there before him, as if he had been picked up and deposited before them. Balling his hand into a fist, he beat upon the base of them, a dull thud resounding back along the hallway. He would not question the good fortune given to him, but offered thanks up to the gods, never once considering the irony that they had helped him to the house of worship for a rival faith.

He continued pounding for nearly a minute before the door was opened and a sword point thrust into the air above his head. Glancing up, he could see another knight bearing the escutcheon of Yesulam. For a moment he felt a brief flare of panic at the sight. Had they come to claim Metamor as well, for their Mother Ecclesia, and cast out all those that were not of their faith? He cast that fear aside almost as it fell upon him, for he was not looking upon the fair face of some young, idealistic knight. Rather he was staring, past the heraldry, at the a face that had lost almost all vestiges of humanity, leaving the knight with the tapered muzzle of a rather large deer. “Thalberg?” he heard from the cervine throat, before the doors were pulled wide, and several armoured men bearing sharp weapons ventured into the hall, while several soft, gentle hands gripped him beneath his arms and dragged him inside the Cathedral.

He could see Father Hough flanked by a raccoon dressed in a simple priestly cassock standing just a short distance off. The young boy gazed at him with concern. “What happened, good Steward?”

“We were coming here,” Thalberg said quietly as he lay there, the gentle hands pulling at the folds of cloth on his back to expose the wound. He winced as the fabric dragged over the cut again. “A knight attacked, and took the Duke.”

“What?” several voices exclaimed.

“Is he dead?”

“What about his guards?”

“Where did he take him?”

“Is he alive?”

Thalberg just coughed in anguish. “I don’t know.”

The raccoon knelt beside him and examined the wound. Thalberg stared at his face hard, but could not place him. With a soft whisper, he placed his paw upon the exposed scaly back of the Steward, and began to chant very softly. A litany of some sort, but different than any the Steward was familiar with, in the old tongue favoured by the Followers, but there was a power in those words, which came to the alligator’s realization with some surprise. Thalberg felt a warmth spread through him then, as if he were wrapped in blankets soaked in hot water. With a bit of a start, he realized that the pain in his back was gone, though he still felt terribly weak.

“You should live, Steward Thalberg,” the raccoon said then, offering him a slight grin underneath his furry mask. “Now who was this knight that took the Duke?” Thalberg could sense the many Keepers who crowded close to see and hear what he had to say. A few were cut and bruised, but it appeared that they were safe here at the Cathedral as Thomas had hoped.

“He was—“ Thalberg peered closely at the stag that had greeted him at the door. “He was a knight of Yesulam.”

There were several gasps and shouts of “Impossible!” from the crowd. Yet Thalberg shook his head. “I know what I saw, and I think I know his name.”

“Who was it?” Sir Egland asked, leaning in closer. “And how could a knight of Yesulam come all this way, and why would he be interested in the Duke?”

“One body was missing from the Patriarch’s camp after it was slaughtered, a body of a knight had been carried off. It is possible this is the same man.” Thalberg ventured quietly, letting his voice drop so that the proclamation did not carry beyond the acute hearing of those closest to him.

Egland and the rat Saulius looked at each other with sudden apprehension. “Bryonoth?” Egland whispered, his skin suddenly shivering.

“I think so, he spoke as a Flatlander. His accent was unmistakable,” Thalberg said before he was given over to that racking and wheezing cough again.

“But why would he take the Duke?” the raccoon asked, his face bemused.

“I don’t know, I just know that it was him.”

Egland stood erect and looked down at Father Hough and the raccoon. “I’m going after him and I will rescue the Duke.”

“Thou shalt have myself as a companion,” Saulius declared hotly, rubbing the hilt of his sword with one paw. He was joined by at least ten other soldiers standing close by who insisted upon going.

Father Hough shook his hand and held out his hands. “We cannot send all of you, we need you for the defence here. I’m afraid if we spare too many men for this, you may still fail, and the hordes of Lutins will crash in here and slaughter us all.”

The raccoon nodded his assent. “Father Hough is right, I would only send as many men as is absolutely necessary.”

Thalberg coughed again and then gripped the hem of the raccoon’s robe. “Thomas’s guards, some are still alive.”

Hough grimaced. “Eight men then. Egland, you and Saulius should go, as you both knew Bryonoth. Six others will be drawn by lot, four of which should carry the guards back here so that we can heal them. I know it is not many, but it is truly all that can be spared for this.” The boy spread his hands apologetically at that.

Egland shook his head, the massive antlers that rested atop them slicing the air neatly. “Four should be enough, as long as we do not walk into a horde of hundreds of Lutins. And even if that happens, I think we could outrun them. Though the thought of showing such cowardice pains me, we cannot save the Duke if we are dead.”

Thalberg did not hear any more after that, as the sullen pain in his back, and the terrible exertion he’d undergone to reach this place had taken their toll on his mind. With a hopeful sigh, he allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness.

---

When the woman and her small group of soldiers had left the four Sondeckis alone in that intersection, the bodies of Lutins strewn about their feet, their minds began a new journey, despite the exhaustion that they all felt deep in their bones. After facing what had become of Wessex and the Shrieker, finding this new threat, one that promised to swallow them all and destroy everything they cared about, they discovered that they each possessed reserves of will that had heretofore been untapped.

“Well,” Charles said, retracting the Sondeshike into its compact form, “we’re going to have to do something about this. If Nasoj is moving his troops into the city, then we will have to hold the Keep.”

“We can certainly help kill these Lutins,” Jerome said, nudging a green head with his foot. “But we don’t even know what’s going on out there. We need some specific goal to rally around, not just killing random groups of Lutins. We need a plan of action, and others to follow it through with.”

Zagrosek rubbed his chin thoughtfully, tapping the ferrules of his Sondeshike upon one foot. He then cleared his throat and looked to his friends. “I would say our best bet is to find some safe haven that we can defend and launch counter-attacks from for now, and then, once we are sure of the situation, make more elaborate plans. I’m sure there are places in Metamor that would be fitting for such, assuming that they haven’t been overrun already.”

The rat nodded, rubbing one paw through the fur of his bare chest. The tips of his brown fur had been singed in the fight with the Shrieker, though most of it was undamaged, for which he was grateful. “I know a good place for that. Though, I want you two to know, that by staying here you risk ending up like myself. We can not know how long this siege will last.”

Zagrosek shrugged, as did Jerome after a moment. “We are Sondeckis, and we are friends. If we must become animals, then so be it.”

Charles grinned, his two large incisors prominently displayed at the front of that smile. “Then let’s go, there’s no time to waste.”

Garigan shook his head though, his eyes very uncertain. “I’m not going there, Charles.” The ferret declared quietly as a slow trickle of blood crept down from one corner of his muzzle. The damage to his teeth lent an odd lisp to his voice that in another circumstance may have been humorous.

“What?” Matthias asked, turning to face his student in surprise.

“I’m not going to the Long House, I know that is what you have thought of. It would be the best place to hold, you are right, but there is something else that I am thinking of. I want to go back to Glen Avery. If Nasoj is attacking, then his forces had to pass by my home. I have to know if it is still there.”

“Glen Avery?” Jerome asked, looking between the two Keepers, neither of which paid much attention to him at the moment.

“Garigan, that is a five hour carriage ride to the North. Even in the summer, with Nasoj’s army out there, it would be extremely dangerous. There is a blizzard all around us right now, and the temperature is too cold to go walking around in. We have to go to the Long House. The Glenners can take care of themselves.”

Obstinate, the ferret glared back at the rat, the expression exaggerated by the blood smearing his chin. “When I came here to Metamor, it was under your promise that I could leave at any time I choose once I became a green; once I could control my emotions. I choose now to leave Metamor, and to leave your service. I will go to Glen Avery, no matter what snowstorm is out there, and no matter how many Lutins Nasoj has stacked in my way. Nothing will keep me from my people. Nothing!”

Charles looked at the face of determination his student wore, and remembered well his words to Garigan when he’d first taken him on as his pupil in the Sondeck. Never had he thought they would come back to haunt him like this. Unable to look into the brown eyes of the ferret, he turned instead to Jerome and Zagrosek, who stood quietly, watching them both with a curious gleam in his dark eyes, waiting to see whose will would come to fruition.

“Well, you both can find your way to the Long House. Just head back to the Sondeckis Shrine. The other door leads into the Long House where you will find a fox named Misha. You can help with the defence there.”

Zagrosek peered curiously. “What are you going to do, Charles?”

“I’m going with Garigan to Glen Avery.” The rat declared, looking to his student. Garigan started at that, his stubborn eyes giving way to both surprise and delight. “I do not believe he could make it on his own, and so I will go with him to see to it that he makes it safely home to his people. We’ll help with whatever needs to be done there to repel this invasion.”

Jerome shook his head. “If you are going to this Glen, then I am too.”

“And me,” Zagrosek crossed his arms. “After seven years, we’re finally together once again, you aren’t getting rid of us that easily! Besides, four have a better chance of making it through this than two.”

Charles and Garigan exchanged glances, both of them filling with their new-found unity. The rat then peered back at the two human Sondeckis and nodded. “All right, the first thing we need to do is head back to my quarters. It’s awfully cold out there, and we’ll need warmer clothes.”

Jerome laughed slightly. “Do you really think you’ll have anything in our size?”

“You managed to get here in this storm didn’t you?” Matthias replied, smirking, even as he set out down one of the passageways, scanning up and down the lamp lit corridor for signs of passage or ambuscade. “Come on, let’s not waste time. We have to get past Nasoj’s forces too, remember! That’s not going to be easy either!”

The other three were quick on the rat’s heels, Jerome at the back, casting his eyes down the passageway behind them, and at the bodies still piled unceremoniously in the hallway. They would eventually be cleaned up he knew, but for now they were a testament to the battle that had begun all around them. Already they could hear the distant, muffled din of other battles coming from all directions, none of them close enough to let the four intervene. Zagrosek and Garigan were between the rat and hulking human, both eager and prepared for whatever lay ahead as Charles forged the path. Their hearts were stirring, the apparent ceaseless energy of the Sondeckis quite discernible in each. These were the moments that they trained for, and even that they lived for.

When they reached a wide staircase, Charles peered down the smooth steps, noting the way the shadows moved along either wall as the torches flickered in a small breeze. It was cold, so they knew that somebody had opened a door or a window nearby. Yet only the dry scent of snow rose to them on that wind, nothing else. Uncertain, the rat descended the steps anyway, taking them one at a time, clutching the compact cylinder that was his Sondeshike, running his claws across its smooth surface. It was cold, like the wind, but when he extended it, his own energy would warm it.

Halfway down the steps, he thought he heard a noise from below, some muffled voice. Holding up his paw to the others following after him, he peered closer into the subtle light. No other sound came to him as he waited, is breath held in check within his chest. All that he could hear was his heart thumping in his chest, threatening to break through his rib cage and spill out onto the floor. His tail drew in close to his legs, the scalded section stinging slightly as it ran across the fabric of his breeches. Finally, he slowly lifted one foot-paw, and began to measure his way down the steps again

Before he had set that paw back upon the granite steps though, a sudden muffled clanging rose to him from the other side of the hallway. Drawing his claws back from the stone, he quickly and silently darted to the other side of the staircase, pressing his back to the wall, feeling its chill touch reach through his fur and send a shiver down his spine.

Doing his best to ignore the discomfort he signalled to the others to wait, but be prepared. He found himself unconsciously using the Long Scout signals, but apparently, his meaning was made clear, as Zagrosek nodded, holding out his extended staff in both hands. Charles did not dare extend his own though, at least not yet, for it would ring like a man drawing a sword, and alert whoever waited behind that wall of his coming.

Finally, standing upon the last step before the wall turned, he heard that muffled slap yet again. The cold wind blew past his face, disturbing the fur on his muzzle, and making his whiskers twitch in annoyance. It was nearly enough to make him sneeze, but he held his breath in check still. Pressing his teeth tightly together, he spun about the corner, extending the Sondeshike as he did so, and drove it home into a large bundle of cloth that was swaying in the wind.

Blinking, he scanned up the curtain to see white plumes of snow filling the space behind it, and an unlatched window opening and swinging on the wind, banging against a crude steel grapnel and broken length of hemp rope that had caught in the hinges. A small smile broke out onto his muzzle as watched the snow settle about his feet. Reaching forward, he freed the drapery, and pushed it aside, then pulled the forgotten climbing aid into the stairwell and set it quietly against the wall. He grabbed the window latch and sealed it, closing out the chill wind.

Turning back up the staircase, he motioned for the rest to come down, trying not to laugh at his foolishness. “It was just a window. You can breathe again.”

Zagrosek grabbed the curtain and drew it across the snowy pane. “Are you crazy standing in front of this thing? How did you know a Lutin wasn’t watching?”

Matthias peered at the thick hemp and shook his head. “I doubt anybody could see through the blizzard. However, you are right, that was foolish of me. I’m thrice a fool in fact. Lutins could very well have been standing behind that other wall and left this open to trap any unsuspecting Keepers.” Curling his paws about the extended Sondeshike he sighed. “Well, my room is just down the hall. Let’s keep moving.”

It did not take them long to reach the familiar wide oak door that led to the rat’s chambers. Garigan rushed into his own chambers just inside, and disappeared around the corner. Jerome was quick to follow him, but nodded as he saw things were in order. The ferret was peering into his mirror and looking at the cut along his gums where his front two teeth had been. He blanched in distaste before looking away.

Charles reached into his closet and drew out some of his thickest clothes and began to slip them on. “I have to let Misha know where we’ve gone, that way they won’t worry about us too much. Can you hit the bottom of my ink bottle a few times, Krenek? It was getting a bit dry the last time I used it.”

Zagrosek picked up the small black bottle from Matthias’s desk and began to shake it, tapping the flat bottom with two fingers. He watched the rat pull on two tunics and another pair of breeches, this one reaching down to his ankles. “Do you have boots?”

Charles shook his head forlornly. “No, with paws like these, nothing fits comfortably or effectively. “ The rat lifted one leg and splayed his long toes out to demonstrate. “I do have some thick socks I sometimes wear, but on ice I would have trouble standing in them. No, it is best that I go barefoot.” Luckily enough his rodentine paws were better able to withstand the cold than human feet, the blood circulation in them reduced to the merest of warming trickles when he was about in cold weather.

Grunting, Zagrosek set the ink bottle down, and pulled his black cloak from inside his tunic. “Well, I just hope this wind dies down some, otherwise we’re going to freeze to death before we make it halfway.” He drew the black cloak over his shoulders, until the robe was dangling at his shins, the symbol of the Sondeckis proudly gazing back at the right from the man’s breast.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Charles said, even as he pulled his own black cloak overtop of the double layered clothes. “There might be a way to reach Glen Avery without spending much time outside. I just hope they’re okay. We’ll need their help to find it!”

“Who?” Jerome asked as he climbed into his robe, drawing it tightly about him. The soot from the fire in Wessex’s quarters still clung to the thick wool. “Who’s help do we need?”

“Some of my fellow rats,” Charles said, a grin crossing his muzzle that he was not aware of. “The cellars here at Metamor are quite extensive, nobody has explored them fully. I have some friends that have lived down there for several years now. They know them pretty well, and if there is a way out under the walls of the Keep heading towards Glen Avery, they would know about it.”

Garigan came back out of his room, his green robe drawn tightly about his chest. His tongue was licking absently at the cut, cleaning up the blood on his muzzle. “We might be able to get past Nasoj’s army that way.”

“True,” Charles said, nodding, even as he moved over to his desk. “But then again, Nasoj might be using those tunnels as well to move his troops in.”

Jerome looked to Zagrosek and then back to their furry companions. “We’ll need hooded lanterns then, so that they won’t see us coming. Do you know where we can find some?”

“No, it is too dangerous to go look for a pair. I have two lanterns myself here, the one on my table and another beneath the desk. We’re just going to have to do the best we can with those.”

Zagrosek picked one of the brass lanterns up in his hands, turning it over and peering at the wick inside. “How much oil are in these?”

The rat shrugged, peering at them curiously. “I’m not really sure. I filled them up a month ago, but you best fill them up again. My oil flask is in that cupboard by my bed.”

While Zagrosek was searching the cupboard for the aforementioned oil, Jerome was reaching into the desk to find the other lantern. It was sitting inside the drawer as Charles had promised, and soon the two of them were one again brimming with the slightly aromatic fluid. The Sondeckis pondered the oil container for a few seconds before setting it aside. There was too little left in the container to warrant carrying it. The rat of course was scribbling out a short message on a single scrap of parchment. The ink had dried a bit, and he hit the bottle a few times himself before he was able to finish.

Once finished, he gazed about the room and grimaced. “I put the message in code, Misha will know what it means, but even so, I don’t want the Lutins finding it first. Garigan, can you hand me my sword?”

“Since when did you use a sword?” Jerome asked, even as the ferret grabbed the short blade from behind the basket of chewsticks in one corner.

“Since I became a Long Scout. Misha insisted. I’m not that bad apparently.” Charles hefted the weapon a few times in his paws, and then gazed at his desk, his scent turning melancholic. Then, muttering a short apology to the piece of furniture, he brought his sword down into the frame, splintering the hickory. He raised his blade again and slashed at the wood, destroying his dresser once again.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 11:30 PM

Blades flashed, and bodies fell inside the now crimson corridors of the besieged Keep. Coming from up ahead of him, Ryuo heard the clash of blades and shouts of battle. Leaving his most recent kill sprawled out on the floor, Ryuo dashed forward to investigate.

Rounding the corner, Ryuo found a group of five of the Keep's warriors holding off a group of Lutins. Behind them stood a stooped, elderly woman who had interposed her frail body between the fighting and three young children; the wide-eyed confusion and fear on the children's faces led Ryuo to believe that these children were not youthened adults. As Ryuo watched, kept from the battle by the Keepers before him, the five warriors beat back the horrid beasts, but the battle was taking its toll.

As the warriors advanced, they were forced to step over the fallen bodies of two of their own as well as a slew of invaders. Even as the last Lutin fell, it lunged desperately with its spear. The wicked, metal tip caught one of the Keepers — a pig morph named Jonathan — on the leg, ripping a deep wound into his calf. As Jonathan screamed, dropping to the ground, a talbot morph swung and the last Lutin's head went rolling down the corridor.

As Toby helped Jonathan to his feet, he looked down the corridor. Through the blood that flowed down his face he could see the armored fox, and a smile broke out on his face. "Ro! Am I glad to see someone like you here!" he exclaimed.

Ryuo inclined his head slightly in greeting, and then began to speak, using what sign language he could to try to make his point clear. "Gir, hurt leg. In Duke of room. Bring...." Ryuo fumbled with the right word, "to Coe."

Toby nodded soberly. Turning back to the other four he said, "How's Jonathan?" The pig morph was on the floor, obviously in pain. The other warriors were attempting to staunch the blood that poured from the wound. One of the warriors, a large man with brown hair and a full mustache, looked up and shook his head.

"He's not going anywhere, I think it sliced into the bone." the man said.

Toby thought about it for a moment. He remembered what Ryuo had done before, and came to a decision. "Alright, you three, take Jonathan, Mrs. Wilkes, and the three young ones to the Chapel. Hopefully we can meet up with the rest of our men there. If not, find out who's in charge and follow their orders. If the Cathedral is blocked, don't attempt anything stupid. Either try for the Lothansi temple or find some place to hunker down until reinforcements can find you. I know we all want to take some Lutin heads, but the kids come first. I'm going to go with Ro here to find Gil — hopefully we'll meet up with you in the Chapel. We're gonna all have a nice warm toast together at the Deaf Mule when this is all over, and I don't want any of you to miss it!"

Toby's energy seemed to infect the rest of the warriors, who stood just that much straighter as they took off down the hall. Toby watched them for a while, catching his breath from the moment of action. Turning to Ryuo he commented, "Looks like you've grown a little about the waist there." A bright smile and a light laugh accompanied the comment, aimed at the obese appearance of Ryuo's unbelted armor.

Ryuo stared with a nervous smile, completely lost as to what Toby had just said. His confusion only made the Talbot laugh harder, with a slight bark. "Never mind." Toby apologized, "Let's go. Show me where Gil is." He made sure to carefully enunciate the last bit so that Ryuo could understand, which he did. Together they began to backtrack along Ryuo's original path.

As they started Toby posed another question: "The Duke, is safe, no?"

"Yes. Last I heard." Ryuo said.

"And now that I'm with you, I know I am, too," Toby replied. His barking laugh echoed through the corridor as the two ran through the Keep.

---

The job offer had couldn’t have come at a better time for Teria Mandessor and Ferwig Jirow. Times had been hard for them. They had been part of a very good bandit gang, until the leader took an arrow in the throat from an army archer. The two had taken what they could and fled. They had wandered a bit until falling in with a mercenary band that had been selling its skills among the various confederation duchies and would be kingdoms. They had lived the good life then, with the constant fighting among the small fiefdoms, mercenaries were very well paid and the looting was very rich. Then Emperor Koravelia won the battle of Do Won River and ordered that all mercenaries be put to death finally ending twenty years of constant fighting. So again the pair had fled, this time much poorer then before. After a few poor paying jobs as bodyguards and poorly paid caravan guards they had found themselves in a dreary midlands town, broke. That was when they had been offered the job.

“It’s a simple hack and burn raid,” the warrior had said. “You go in ahead of an invasion and destroy everything you can find. Make things easier for the invasion to succeed. For that we’re offering you plenty of gold, and all the loot you can grab.”

The details that had been left out was they weren’t to just raid the countryside near a castle and cause chaos to draw out the guard. They were to attack a castle itself; always a dangerous and bloody business. What they didn’t find out till they reached Midtown was the fact that the castle was Metamor Keep. It wasn’t bad enough that the people at Metamor had a reputation of being formidable foes, but the rumors of the curse scared even the most fearless. It took a lot of fast talk and a lot of free flowing gold to convince most to stay. Teria and Ferwig had stayed, the money offered would let them live comfortably for a long time. The two mercenaries were put ill at ease by the fact that they would be allied with Lutins and the northern hordes under the dark mage Nasoj’s command, but the gold had been paid up front. It weighed heavily on their choices, which were few at the time.

The job they had been given was a simple one, they were to kill the Patrol Master, a jackal named George. This dog like head of scouts was a brilliant strategist, so they had been informed. His scouts had wrecked havoc on their employer’s forces. Time and time again Lutins had headed south only to be ambushed by Keepers directed by the Patrol Master. The man had one weakness; he never fought but remained in his very well appointed apartment eating and drinking.

The spy had described the jackal as an old, out of shape ex bandit getting fat and drunk. Neither of them trusted the spy’s report; no traitor could be trusted. After all if he betrayed one leader for money and promises of power why not a second? Nasoj’s agent had made it sound simple. All they had to do was crash into George’s apartment and kill him while he was drunk from celebrating, an easy job.

It was going to be a good deal more hazardous then even they could have thought.

The sight that greeting them as they entered the room was of destruction; furniture, statues, and other debris lay scattered everywhere. A fine tapestry on the far wall was burning; below it a couch lay overturned, also burning. There was no sign of anyone, living or dead.

Teria closed her eyes and began to chant, “Mi nana fulm . . “ but she never finished the spell. Suddenly the couch tumbled forward and a figure stood up, its arm moving as it threw something. The woman mage caught the large dinner plate square between the eyes and she fell backwards without a sound.

Ferwig didn’t waste time or words for his fallen partner, but rushed straight at the figure, his spear point aimed straight at the persons heart. As he got closer to the figure he saw the tan and black fur that covered the nude body and the canine head that was now silently snarling at him. He also saw that the jackal carried only a dagger.

When Ferwig was within an arms length, George caught the point of the spear with his dagger, pushing it harmlessly to one side. Then the canine lunged forward and bit Ferwig on the right arm with all his might. The man let out a shout and dropped the spear as his leapt backwards. With blood pouring from his arm he drew a sword with his unhurt hand.

The jackal sidestepped to the left until he was standing next to a large fireplace. With a swift move he grabbed two weapons from the mantelpiece. Now facing Ferwig was a jackalman armed with a cutlass and another blade that was too small to be a sword but too large to be a dagger. Holding both weapons close to his body the canine advanced on his enemy.

Ferwig lashed out, stabbing straight forward right at George’s stomach. The jackal deflected the blade with the oversized dagger and slashed at Ferwig’s neck with the cutlass. The mercenary had dodge backward to avoid having his throat sliced open. Again Ferwig lashed out, this time bringing his sword downward in a arc aimed at George’s legs. There was the loud ringing of steel on steel as George blocked the sword with the cutlass and then lashed out with his other blade. Ferwig felt the pain as the end jabbed through his fur coat and into the skin beneath. He gave the jackal a short, fierce punch to the snout as he lurched back, dazing him for a moment.

The soldier pressed his advantage stabbing at the jackal, forcing him to dance backward trying to stay away from a killing stroke. Then there was the ringing of steel on steel again as Ferwig’s blade was deflected. Ferwig dodged a stroke from the cutlass that would have ripped out his innards, trying to stay out of reach of the jackals two weapons.

Then George misjudged and swung a little too far with the cutlass leaving himself open for a moment. Ferwig gave a short slash with his blade and was rewarded with seeing blood trickle from a wound on the animal man’s chest. Not as large as the mercenary would have wished as the jackal’s fur blunted most of the slash. The wounded keeper didn’t make a sound but lashed out with both of his own weapons and Ferwig had to leap backwards to avoid being cut.

The mercenary dropped to one knee, his sword clattering from his hand as pain lanced up his knee where he had landed on a small carved stone. As George rushed him Ferwig picked up his spear from where he had dropped it. The jackal skidded to a halt just inches from the point that Ferwig jabbed at him. The canine’s arms windmilled as he tried to regain his balance. Standing up, Ferwig rushed his opponent before he could recover. The razor sharp, gold tipped point came within inches of the Jackals stomach when George crossed both his weapons in an ‘x’ before him and scissoring the tip of the spear between them. With one swift movement he pushed the point harmlessly aside and kicked Ferwig in the groin with all his might.

The mercenary let out a gasp of pain and staggered back as a throbbing wave of agony bloomed between his thighs, his knees going weak as the end of his spear wavered. He looked up to see the jackal swinging the cutlass at his face, not point first but hilt first. He had a moment of surprise before the brass wolf’s head on the hilt caught him across the face. He joined his partner on the floor in unconsciousness.

---

December 24th, 706 CR ― 11:45 PM

At first, Gil was worried that the opening door was more Lutins, coming to finish the job they had started earlier. However, his fears were assuaged by the familiar, friendly voice of a well-known Talbot morph. "What ho! Gil," called Toby, hastily looking through the furniture and hoping that he and Ryuo had arrived on time. As he approached, Toby saw the impaled Aeryl and quickly averted his gaze. The sudden attack had caused too many deaths already this night, and there were only going to be more before the invaders were repelled.

Turning to face the corner of the room, Toby saw Gil, his face breaking into a smile at seeing the old cat still alive and kicking—well, alive at least. He surveyed the broken leg, sandwiched between the black lacquered scabbards of Ryuo's swords, wrapped together with the fox's blood-stained sash. The shiny gleam of the lacquer seemed out of place in this room of ruinous destruction. "Hmm, you don't look so good." Toby stated.

"I thank you for the excellent diagnosis, doctor," Gil said with more than a hint of sarcasm laced into the pain. "Seriously, 'tis not so terrific as all that. My opponents did much worse, let me assure you." Gil hissed in pain as he shifted to a better position, accidentally jarring the leg.

Toby looked around the room, peering carefully at the furniture and generating an idea. Finally, he seemed to come to some inner conclusion. "Alright, Ro, I need that tapestry." He pointed to the one on the wall. "Lay it out, here." he added, gesturing so that Ryuo would understand. The ensanguined warrior acknowledged with a nod and went to work pulling down the expensive tapestry from the wall. As he did so, Toby went to work on the furniture, using a fallen axe to cut into the wood and make two, hopefully sturdy, poles.

Glancing at the tapestry, Toby grabbed one edge and folded it so that it was a little more than two meters long. He then lay one of the poles lengthwise along the tapestry. Folding the brocade over the pole, he then placed the other pole down as well. Folding once more, he motioned to Ryuo again. "Let's get it next to Gil, and then we will try to move him onto here.”

Ryuo seemed to understand, and picked up two of the poles. Moving the hastily made stretcher over to where Gil lay, the two gingerly picked the lion up and moved him onto the fabric bed. Ryuo gave him his swords to hold onto, since he had no place to keep them himself. "Well, let's go, and hope we don't run into too many Lutins on the way." Toby picked up his end at the back, allowing Ryuo to take the lead. "If you would do the honors..." he said with a nod towards the door. Together, the trio moved out into the hallway. Toby looked up at the doorway as he left and whispered, "Kyia, we would really appreciate it if we didn't meet any Lutins this time through."

Carrying their wounded companion between them, Ryuo and Toby could hardly believe their luck in the hallways of the Keep. They had only seen one group of Lutins, and those had passed by without much of a glance down the dark corridor the trio stood in, stock still. Together they watched twelve Lutins and several humans race through the Keep, although the trio had no idea where they might be headed. Choosing discretion as the better part of valor — and not wishing to get into a fight while both hands were occupied — Toby and Ryuo wisely chose to go down a different passageway.

Making it to the Cathedral, both warriors were relieved. They knocked on the doors, and after a brief interrogation, they were let in. Inside, they could see the many people huddled in the pews while warriors waited at the door. Coe was here and ran over as soon as someone informed him of the wounded lion. He motioned to have him set down over by one wall.

"It's a broken leg, we think." Toby said, "Ro found him in the Duke's chambers—he must have arrived after the Duke had left."

"Yes, there's apparently been some assassins in the Keep as well as the regular soldiers." Coe said, "What about you? What news have you brought?"

"Nothing good." Toby said, even his usually energetic voice sounding heavy, "I know at least twelve men who are dead, and a good deal many others that are wounded. Me and a few others were caught in one of the Keep's shifts and separated from the rest of our squad. Fortunately, so were the Lutins we ended up with. They didn't last long." His face split into an evil grin for a second, and then changed along with his tone, "Speaking of which, have Jonathan Wright and the Mrs. Wilkes made it back here yet?

Coe looked up. "I don't know, but I haven't see them. Are they in trouble?"

"Hopefully not," Toby said, although the worry was evident in his voice, "I told them to hole up if they couldn't make it here, hopefully they're still somewhere in the Keep." He didn't need to add, 'alive'.

Coe nodded as he got to work on Gil's leg, "There's a lot of people unaccounted for. Right now we are all trying to gather and hole up. Tomorrow, who knows." Coe had finished unwrapping the leg, and handed the whole setup to Ryuo. "I think you'll be needing these."

"Toby!" a new voice called out from behind. The talbot turned to look and found him at eye level with a huge chest. Slowly, he looked up at the grinning face of a large moose morph. Elcuared grinned. "Glad to see you, ya mangy dog. I'm glad you two arrived. We're gathering what forces we can and I've been asked to get a group of men together, you want on?"

Toby grinned, "As long as I get to kill a few Lutins I'll be happy." They both smiled. "By the way," Toby continued, "Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. I think that you will definitely be glad he is with us when the fighting goes down." Toby gestured towards Ryuo. "Ro, Elcuared. Elcuared, Ro. He's not too hot with the language yet, but he definitely knows how to speak the language of steel." Ryuo bowed as he was introduced.

"Glad to meet you," Elcuared said, "Well, its been a sudden attack, but we're still here. It's going to be a long, hard night, but we'll make our way through it. No matter what happens, we won't go without a hard and bitter fight."

"Heck!" Toby piped up, "We might even make it out alive!"

---

It felt good to be out of the cold and biting wind for a change. The harsh winter weather had taken a hard toll on every creature. The pack was not happy. They had been forced from their nice warm dens out into the terrible storm and then the long trip south had almost killed them. There had been nothing to eat but frozen Lutins and the occasional human. The cold and snow was the worst part, it was almost more then even a dire wolf could survive. Still, in spite of everything, all twenty of the pack had made it alive to this big, stone place.

The gateway the pack was standing in was full of all sorts of interesting tidbits to eat even if the Lutins had gotten all the good pieces. But all too soon Gershak stopped their eating.

The Lutins pointed down one of the numerous corridors “You want food? You hungry from long walk?” he taunted. “Down that hall is many keepers to eat. Any you catch, you can eat.”

That was all the giant wolves needed to hear. The male Crooked Jaw tilted his massive head back and let loose a deep, loud howl.

Deep inside the castle Keepers everywhere stopped and listened to the powerful howls of the pack that seemed to echo from all directions. It sent a chill of fear down the spines of all who heard it. There was no doubting what that sound meant; there was a dire wolf pack on the hunt.

---

"How does it feel?" asked Jesse as he put the finishing touches on Natalie's disguise.

"Like I'm covered in mud and leaves," replied the dragon-girl.

"This will never work," said Shamgar. "She doesn't even look like a bird."

"Hold on," said Oren as he plunged an arm into the icy river. He pulled it back with a shell in his paw, which he stuck on the end of Natalie's nose.

"I peel lig ad idiod," said Natalie.

"We are ready," said Desuka, taking his place next to Blake.

"WAIT!" cried the assassin. "Are you sure you can reverse the spell?"

"Oh sfure," said the dragon around her clamshell beak as she began to twiddle her fingers, causing sparks to form.

"Good," Blake responded, and returned to fondling the hand.

"I mean, there has to be a way, right?"

Both Blake and Desuka gave a surprised "huh?" before rapidly assuming a height of one inch tall.

"Oren!" cried Jesse. "The storm is gaining strength again! We need to get on with this!"

The otter turned to his rhino friend. "Go help the warriors down the tunnel."

Shamgar nodded and obeyed, making his way deep into the back of the cave, where the sounds of digging and scraping of frozen earth could be heard.

"Jesse, you too. They're going to need you in the front."

"Right."

Oren squinted through the blowing snow to try to make out the tower, which was visible only as a darker shadow against the inky darkness outside when he could see it at all through the howling snow of the blizzard. "The armory is going to be two levels below the upper window."

"And two levels above the lower one," said Natalie as she picked up the tiny forms of Desuka and Blake. "We know. We've lived in the tower as long as you have."

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Go!"

Into the blinding torrent of ice and snow Natalie flew, covered in leaves and mud, already frozen nearly numb. High into the air she forced herself, buffeted this way and that by the constant shifting of the powerful winds. Memory and natural instincts were all she really had to guide her through the icy gale toward their destination. Gradually, the form of the lighthouse came into view. Closer she came... closer... closer... SMACK!

"What were that?" called a Lutin from inside the tower.

A hideous, green face popped out into the storm. "It's just a stupid bird what flew into the tower in the storm. Heh! There it goes, sliding down the side! Hoo, it broke it's beak so it did! I think I might go out and see if I can find it. It'll make good eatin', so it will!"

"You'll stay here, you dimwit," said the first Lutin. "We gots our orders. No one leaves the building until we breaks into the weapons room."

"Pfoo."

So intent was the Lutin on the "bird" sliding down the outside wall that he did not see either of the two tiny figures which had climbed through the window right under his nose.

"I'm gonna take a finger from that one," Blake whispered to herself as she skittered along the floor beside the panda. "And an ear from that one... and a foot from that one... and from that one, I'll take his little..."

"Blake, you sure you up for this!?"

"I got my first kill ever, panda-man! I'm ready for anything!"

"Then shut up and get to hole in floor!

Blake considered being offended, but the fact that Desuka's white fur was taking on an ominous orange tone made her reconsider. She put her hand in her pocket and followed.

The Hipocci youth were getting exhausted working so hard to extend the rear of the cave. Several of them pleaded with Oren and Jesse to let them rest, stating that it would be no use to send tired warriors into battle.

Oren responded by dismissing the two most fatigued diggers and taking their place, chopping away with his sharpened stick like a man possessed. Everyone stopped and stared at him.

"What are you stopping for?" cried the otter in an uncharacteristically terse manner. "We've got to get as close to the tower as we can! DIG!"

The others resumed, somewhat fearful at seeing their leader like this.

"Okay..." said Blake as she poked her head down onto the next level. "I can see a hole in the next floor down we can use, but how in the world do we get down there?"

"Like this." Desuka replied. He slipped down through the hole and plummeted straight down toward the floor. The panda landed on his feet and beckoned his companion to follow. This she did with her heart leaping up behind her eye sockets.

"How in the name of Ramphon did we just survive that?" she asked in amazement.

"Smaller creatures fall farther safely. Fact of science. You trust Desuka."

The panda turned and scurried away, leaving Blake whispering "What a wild man!"

---

December 25th, 706 CR ― Midnight

Terrance was terrified. There were Lutins all over the place. It seemed that whenever he turned a corner there were more of those hideous green monsters running about. What could he do against all of them with only a knife to protect himself with? “I should have gone to the temple service with Daron,” the boy mumbled to himself.

The boy moved through a door and found himself in a kitchen. Various bits of food lay scattered about the counters that gave witness to a hurried departure of the cooks. From a chopping block he took possession of a large meat cleaver. That gave him a small measure of security. “I really should have gone to the service with Daron. Then I . . .” his voice trailed off. He wasn’t alone in the kitchen.

Standing across the room from him was a huge, black wolf. It was as tall as the counter and had to weigh at least a thousand pounds. Behind that wolf a dozen others were scattered around, all looking at Terrance with hungry eyes.

Terrance slowly began to back away holding the cleaver in front of him. The blade seemed tiny compared to the monsters that were slowly following him. The wolves spread out in a semicircle and started to advance on him. He backed into a wall and glanced around. There was a wooden door next to him and he slowly reached for the handle. Five of the monsters rushed him at once and he yanked the door open and ran inside with the wolves hard on his heels.

---

“And remember, if it is Bryonoth, he was once my friend, I hope he still is,” Egland said as his hooves fell softly upon the carpet just outside the Cathedral entrance. He had grown used to walking upon them in the last two months. His adjustment to life at Metamor was hardly complete, though he had long since resigned himself to it. There were just so many things to become accustomed to, so many differences, that he suspected it would take a year at least before he would be comfortable calling himself a true Keeper.

Yet a Keeper he was, for he had given his allegiance to Duke Thomas after the Patriarch’s death. Sir Saulius and Sir Andre had made sure that he would not loose his knighthood, and he too was among the knight errants now locked in an animal’s form. Even so, he clung to the memories of the past and of the faces that were gone now. Yet here, on this most terrible of days, when his new home was besieged by ghastly forces from the frozen North, two of those faces had returned. First Bishop Vinsah, now masked as a raccoon revealed himself to stop the evil spirits from wreaking havoc in the Ecclesia Cathedral, and now Bryonoth had apparently stolen away with the Duke!

He breathed quietly, the weight of his mail shirt bearing down on his slender shoulders, but thick chest. He was not sure if he truly minded being a deer morph. The antlers as he’d discovered frightened his foes just as much as his blade did, and the diet of fruits and nuts that he tended to favour was one that he had preferred while in Yesulam. His body was lithe, and he found he could run faster than before, despite the fact that his feet had been replaced by narrow cloven hooves. He did often fall on his tail, but he was finding his balance much easier in the last few weeks.

Yet his biggest regret was the difficulty he had in playing his viola. His two thick fingers and thumb with large black hoof-like nails made the sort of delicacy he had once mastered impossible. In fact, his nails were so thick that he tended to press two or three strings down at a time whenever he attempted to sound a note. Dream Serpent, the gentle fop of a tree marten with the strange name, was helping him relearn the art of making music with his chosen instrument, and so far they had made fair progress, but he felt a child again, a vulgar brute, whenever he picked up that fragile bit of age polished wood and set the bow to its delicate strings.

And then, just as his thoughts turned towards the other more intimate lessons that Dream was teaching him, and new friends that the ever-smiling musician had introduced him to, they rounded one more corner and found the carnage left behind by his friend. Four bodies lay strewn in drying blood, smeared across the floor in Thalberg’s crawl to the Cathedral. Quickening his pace, Egland reached the bodies, and stepped past them, holding his sword tightly between his thick fingers. “Take them all back to the bishop, he can heal them.”

“Not her,” a young man said, indicating the woman who was laying face down in the pooled crimson. “I’m afraid she’s dead.”

“Take her anyway,” Egland groused.

“Thou wouldst not dishonour the memory of thy fellow Keeper by leaving the body of this lass for foul Lutins to pick over?” Saulius added pointedly, his whiskers twitching as he gazed down at the cooling corpse.

The man shook his head at that, reaching down and gripping the woman’s body underneath her shoulders. “Of course not. The living need our attention more. How many other Keepers will have their bodies defiled by the Lutins in this awful attack?”

“Too many,” Egland muttered, his tongue pressing firmly against his teeth as he worked his jaw side from side in displeasure. “But we have a chance to keep that body safe from such debasement, and so we shall.”

The man nodded, and began to drag the disembowelled woman back along the hallway, while the other three guards were checked over for injuries beyond the obvious ones. The goat stirred when shaken, and though still groggy, was helped to his hind hooves, and managed to walk back towards the Cathedral with minimal assistance. The stoat did not respond, but his flesh was still warm. The spaniel however, did not appear to have much life left in him, but two of the soldiers carried him back to Cathedral anyway.

After the guards had been carried back, Egland began to inspect the area, while Saulius sniffed along the floors and walls, his whiskers twitching feverishly. The other two soldiers that had stayed with them, a large lizard morph tightly bundled in thick cloth and leather and a rather lightly clad polar bear whose presence made Egland a bit nervous, were watching either side of the hall to insure that no party of Lutin’s surprised them.

The bear though, gave out a startled cry, a deep rumbling sound that turned all of their heads. “What is it, Cassius?” Egland asked as he darted forward, always staying on the carpet to muffle the fall of his hooves.

“I think those are the Duke’s clothes,” Cassius pointed with a single claw at a pile of torn and shredded garments, of a rather fine cloth.

Saulius approached them, even as the lizard morph Egland had heard given the name Copernicus stepped forward, bright eyes gleaming in the dim light. He turned the mace he’d taken from the Lutin warrior in his thick hands, a macabre trophy from a fallen foe who had foolishly led an attack against the Cathedral. Leaning over, the rat sniffed at the clothes a few times and then nodded. “They bear the scent of a stallion, our precious liege. Yet, they hath not any more than but a trace of blood upon them.” His narrow muzzle drew up in a disgusted moue, “Leastwise aught than Lutin.”

Egland peered down at them from over top of the rat’s kneeling form, and gently kicked them with one hoof. “Strange, what could cause this?”

“He probably shifted to his full horse form,” Cassius interjected. “I’ve made that mistake myself a few times, and I always shred my clothes like that when I do.”

“But why would he shift?”

“To run faster perhaps?” Copernicus suggested, his thick tail swaying back and forth underneath the thick wool he’d wrapped about it. Egland regarded the lizard for a moment as he considered that, pondering for a moment how he could be so effective when laden with so much cloth, but he had proven himself quite nimble.

“It would be a good idea. I cannot imagine a man dressed in armour could outrun a horse, especially not one as healthy as the Duke,” Cassius added, his deep voice resonating through Egland’s bones and making his neck fur stand on end. Before his change, Egland had been impressed in many ways by the sheer power that flowed through every sinew of the wolverine knight Andre’s body. Yet now, he was unnerved by the presence of this bear for many of those very same reasons. It was that part of being a deer that he did not find appealing, bearing the instincts of prey.

Saulius glanced up at them, his nose twitching. “‘Tis oil here as well.”

“Do you think that you can follow that trail, Sir Saulius?” Egland asked

‘Thou dost know I can, unless the Keep moves.”

Egland nodded and motioned for Saulius to lead them on. “Then let us hope that the Keep should hold its form long enough for us to follow this trail. Cassius, stay at Saulius’s back. Copernicus and I shall watch the rear.”

“Let us move quickly, “ Copernicus suggested. “If Thomas was fleeing, then we’ll have a long trail to follow.”

Saulius nodded, and then set up a rather quick pace, only stopping at intersections or doorways to determine which way the Duke had gone. With his heart filling his throat, Egland offered prayers once again that they would find him safe, and Bryonoth as well.

---

The chill wind blew through the cracks of the walls. The heavy woolen curtains did little to shelter the chamber's inhabitants from the storm raging on the other side of the stone. Topo looked around the darkened room and shivered, the movement of its other occupants barely perceptible to his eyes. After a relaxing day spent snooping around the Upper Keep's kitchens this was not how he had planned on spending this evening. Savoring a few treats from the citizens' preparations for the winter festivals, he had watched with curiosity as Metamor prepared to pay homage to their gods.

This was the eve of major celebrations for the both the dominant faiths of man at the Keep. As a mouse, he could not even conceive of the idea of religion. The last ten years since he had gained his sentience, he had been trying to understand the concept. In Carreas there had only been one church. A rather devote section of the Ecclesia. In his travels with Anteno before the young man had taken his throne, the were-mouse had seen a few other examples of the faiths of man, though mostly different sects of the Followers found in his homeland. But the Lothansa, they were a totally different faith of man, and to Topo, something new for him to explore.

The idle thoughts of his home in Carreas settled into his mind, the lull of the cold dulling his mind and holding them there. During his time there, he was almost always in hiding. A specter hovering around the palace, only seen in the shadows, concealed in his robes and the night's darkness. None but the Duke's closest friends and advisors knew the were-mouse's secret. Rumors were abound, of course, as is always the way in a ruler's court, but even the most outrageous ones did not approach the truth. In some regards, coming to Metamor had been a good thing. Here he could walk freely down the streets and not earn a second glance besides the few curious looks he got on account of the unusual coloring the Keep left him with. Shuffling closer to the small stove that was the only source of heat in the room, he chided himself. "Hiding once more, you are," he though as he watched the stove, its warmth dying as it slowly consumed the last of its fuel.

It was not how he had planned to spend the night. Not by a long shot. What was supposed to be a quiet dinner with his host and the night spent watching the various manners in which the keepers celebrated their faiths had become a nightmare. A deep hopelessness sat in his heart, a feeling of dread that brought back with clarity memories of his almost execution at the hands of the zealot priest, Malion.

When the bells had sounded, he at first though that they were part of the festival. That idea quickly evaporated as he noted the urgency and surprise that registered in the faces of the few people that he was sharing the corridors with. Watching as they rushed off, the mouse suspected that something was wrong and being unsure what to do, he decided to follow a young chap dressed in Keep livery. Still not fully acclimatized to the strange shifting of the passages, it seemed only a few moments before he lost sight of his guide in the twisting halls. Seeing no other option, he continued to wander, looking down empty hallways, searching out someone to ask what was going on, the sounds of bells still ringing sharply in his ears.

What was happening around him was unapparent to Topo until, after a period of time, he wandered into a minor hall and saw a small band of short green men standing around at the other side. After a time of not having seen anyone he was startled by their sudden appearance. Their backs to him, he was able to see the ugly little brutes. "Lutins?", he though to himself, his heart beginning to beat rapidly in his chest. This was his first encounter with the creatures that every Keeper he had met held in the highest contempt. Nasoj's savage and brutal foot-soldiers in his campaign against the world. They seemed to live up to their reputation. Their stench was apparent even down the hall, their equipment shoddy and mismatched, clattering about as they shouted at each other in a harsh and guttural language the mouse had never heard before. He slipped back around the corner, heart fluttering in his chest as he realized that some of the weapons they carried had been bloodied.

Quickly Topo ran from the group, hoping that they had not seen him in all their boisterous shouting and bragging. Turning several more corners in a rush, he came to a stop in a cold undecorated hall. Standing in the semidarkness between the widely spaced torches, he paused to catch his breath. "Running madly through the halls," he though to himself as he took in his surroundings in more detail, "is only going to get me killed". The corridors were no longer a safe place to be if Lutins had penetrated this far into the Keep. Looking both ways to check for movement, he crossed the hall, pressing through a heavy wooden door there.

Entering the room, his senses were suddenly assaulted by the smell of animals. Blinking to clear even the dim glare of the hallway's torch light from his eyes, Topo glanced around the inky dark chamber. It was fairly large, walls curving with the tower, with tables and shelves holding large cages occupying much of the room. As his eyes adjusted, it became apparent that most of the boxes had moving shapes in them.

The fluttering of wings caught his attention, bringing Topo back to the present. Looking around, his eyes settled on the falcon on the other side of the room as it stretched its wings, tugging at the leather binding holding it to its perch. Shuffling around on his own perch, Topo spread his own wings and looked about the room. He had stumbled into the aviary were the nobles' hunting birds were raised and cared for. He was surrounded by various sizes of hawks, falcons, and even an owl, caged or bound to their perches as they awaited their next hunt. And here he had remained, hidden among the birds, assuming the form given to him by the Keep of a small but brightly colored falcon. Concealed among the mighty hunting birds of the lords of Metamor, at least until the sun rose and would steal that from him.

Most of the birds were fast asleep, totally unaware of what was happening outside their door. All except that peregrine, its glowing eyes surrounded by its white mask, moving around in the dark, pulling at its restraints and generally appearing nervous.

Topo could sympathize with his larger cousin's agitation. His own nerves where on edge, growing more ragged as he huddled in the dark. Many times he heard movement in the hallways, sending a icy tendril of fear running through him. No one had yet entered the chamber, leaving Topo in the dark, both literally and figuratively as to what was happening on the other side of the door. Flexing his talons, digging them into the wood of his roost, Topo ruffled his feather's against a cool draft that blew across him.

Exhaustion taking its toll, Topo found himself dropping into a fitful state that was almost sleep. Shivering on his perch, he closed his eyes and tried to tune out the world around him, imagining warmer, safer climes. A strange sense of calm began to settle in as his mind wandered once more. If he made it to morning, he would be safe. An unreasonable assumption, but one that filtered into his cold laden mind.

Suddenly a loud thud filled the air. Then another, joined by the sound of creaking wood. His eyes flicking open, Topo's head whipped around to center on the door. Chaos began to run through the aviary as the loud noises awoke the other inhabitants, screeches and squawking ringing out as raptors fluttered around, agitated and fighting against tethers, bars and hoods.

With a snap and a resigned groan, the door gave in, its lock and hinges never designed for the stress of several heavy bodies trying to force them. With a blast of the even colder air from the hall, the door swung inwards, a dim flickering light from the torches in the corridor revealing short misshapen silhouettes standing in the portal. Even in the form of a bird, Topo's underdeveloped sense of smell could pick up their smell. The rancid, stale stink he had first caught earlier that night. His hiding spot had been discovered. The Lutins had come.

Holding still and shivering in fear, he watched them enter the room. Shuffling around, poking though and knocking over boxes and containers, they moved about in the dim light. "Maybe," he though as he watched the shadowy forms stumble through the room in their clumsy search, "if they did not find any Keeper's to slay, the beasts would move on." Maybe he had not been discovered. Maybe he did not have to flee.

That idea was quickly driven from his minds as the Lutins started jabbering excitedly. One of them dodged the beak of the peregrine as it tried to peck at a reaching hand. The Lutin's response was to strike down the bird with its club, chortling in delight as the bird collapsed, its broken body dangling from its leather tethers. Topo felt his stomach tighten as the other walked up to a hooded hawk and snapped its neck, calling over its comrade in their rough speech as the raptor's screech of protest was cut off suddenly. Suppressing a shudder, Topo huddled down on his perch and stared on with horror.

As panic began to gnaw through his little remaining resolve, Topo watched the green-skinned creatures began to pluck the slaughtered birds, excitingly talking to one an other, probably congratulating themselves on their find. A larder. To the Lutins, the aviary was nothing more then a source of fresh meat. Taking in a deep breath at the raspy sound of daggers being pulled from their sheaths, something broke in his mind. With a scream of terror issuing from his break, Topo lunged from the perch that had been his sanctuary from the night's madness, his wings flapping madly as he dove for the open door. Suddenly, the halls of Metamor seemed to be much more hospitable then being stuck in a room with a couple of hungry Lutins.

Looking up from cleaning their catches, the two Lutins snickered and laughed, waving good-bye in jest to the escaping bird. After all, there was plenty more to be had in this place. And they had managed to find it for themselves. Of course, they would tell their chief and fellow tribesmen of this find, but first dibs on the meat was going to be savored.

Topo, intent only on escape, did not even notice the invaders' joviality as he flew through the door, his left wing brushing against the wooden frame sending him careening into the hall. Wobbling in flight, the fleeing falcon bounced off the opposite wall before crashing into the ground. Pulling himself back up to his feet, Topo shook the daze from his head, adrenaline still pumping through him, his heart racing as he gasped for breath. Hearing the voice of the Lutins through the door, sounding happy in their find, set him off again. Without a though he took to wing once more, plunging through a window into the maelstrom surrounding the Keep.

If the corridor had been chill, the outside air was freezing, the cold cutting straight to Topo's bones as the unpredictable winds buffeted the bird from all sides. In his panic, Topo attempted to fly through the blizzard, fighting the gusts and swirling storm around him. The small falcon quickly tired, the cold and the storm draining the strength from him. With a continuing sense of dread, Topo felt about to give up as meal for Lutins," flashed through his mind, just as he caught a glimpse of light through the blustering snow before him. With one last burst of energy, he pumped his wings, the last embers of hope carrying him towards this beacon.

A window. It was a window. He could see this as he slipped into the lee of the tower he had been approaching, the wind lessening a little and visibility improving to the point where he could make out the form of a tower, its shape a dark silhouette in the surrounding whiteness. The last of his strength carried he groaned, leaning against the wall, using it as a crutch as he stumbled down the hall, once more looking for safe shelter.

---

It was late that night when Raven finally sat down within the Circles inscribed on the floor of her private chambers. She let out a long, deep sigh, all too aware of how tired her body was but still unable to do anything about it. Outside the temple people were fighting and dying to defend this sacred castle. She could not even think of sleep until she had done whatever she could to assist them.

All around the perimeter of the Circles there were candles placed at key locations, all but one of them lit. The lines of power inscribed on the floor glowed weakly, waiting for the final trigger to activate them. Reaching out with one hand, she gestured lightly at the unlit wick, and immediately it flared to life. An instant later the Circles surged with power, Raven felt a flash of light through closed eyelids—

And suddenly she was somewhere else.

In her mind, Raven saw herself sitting in the midst of a field of black. This was a realm without form, where the only things that could be perceived were those she was wearing or holding.

And, of course, the person she had come here to meet in the first place.

Standing up, Raven walked over to the sleeping form. He was a man in his early silvered years, his face creased with fine wrinkles, his skin a tanned, almost yellowish shade. He lay on his side in the middle of the featureless ground, dressed in only his nightclothes. Raven approached him in silence, coming to stand beside his head.

"Holdeman," she said.

The form stirred and muttered, but he did not open his eyes.

"Holdeman," she said again, a bit more loudly this time.

"Uhn," the man groaned softly, rolling over on his back. "What is it?" he murmured.

"Get up, Holdeman," Raven said firmly. "I need to talk to you."

Holdeman sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around — his face showing his surprise as his surroundings suddenly became apparent. He turned toward Raven, swallowed uncomfortably, and lowered his head in deference. "Lothanasa," he said quietly.

"You can calm down, Holdeman. You've done nothing wrong," the priestess assured him, momentarily showing an amused half-smile. "I've come to you because I need your help."

The priest of the Midtown temple nodded slightly. Raven knew he hated it when she disturbed his sleep like this, but under the circumstances there was little choice. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Metamor is under attack," Raven said, coming straight to the point. "Nasoj has sent an army against us this very night, in the midst of a terrible snowstorm."

Holdeman looked up suddenly at that, deep worry in his eyes. His mouth stood slightly agape for a moment, as if he was unsure if he was truly in a vision-spell or simply dreaming. "... Aye, we've seen the storm approaching us through the valley," he said at last. "Everyone is inside, for fear of when it hits ... attacked, you say? Now, in weather like that?"

"'Tis insane, I know," the wolf-woman said, waving off the rest of his protests. "No one has ever accused Nasoj of being sane. But mad or not, the attack worked — surprise was almost total, the invaders are inside the Keep itself, and Kyia has sealed us inside the temple for our own protection. Holdeman, we have a few thousand people in this city at best; we cannot survive a prolonged assault. We can hold out a few days, aye — perhaps so much as a week. But even Kyia cannot keep them away from us forever."

The man grimaced, nodding again. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go to the Baron of Midtown and tell him what has happened. He is a vassal of Lord Thomas and will have to come to his aid. We need all the reinforcements he can send, and we need them immediately." Raven's voice was stern. "Do it tonight, Brother Holdeman. Arouse the entire barony if you must, and to the ninth hell with anyone who stands in your way!"

Holdeman swallowed again, clenching his jaw. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good. I shall expect an update in three hours. Cuialye lothan, Brother Holdeman!"

"Cuialye lothan," he answered wearily, getting to his feet at last, one arm extending toward something. A rumpled robe suddenly appeared in his extended hand as he stood.

A moment later the link was broken, and Raven found herself sitting back in her own room. After taking a moment to adjust to the sudden change in posture, she opened her eyes and extinguished the trigger-candle. Rising to her feet, she stepped carefully out of the Circles and retrieved the piece of chalk she had used to draw the vision-spell pattern. After making a few modifications to the target runes, she returned to her seat. There were still five other temples in a position to summon help, and she would visit them all — several times, no doubt.

It was going to be a long night.

---

The six of them were terrified. Everywhere they turned there seemed to be dozens of Lutins all howling for their blood. Still, they were soldiers of Metamor Keep who had fought Lutins before, so they didn’t panic. They stayed together and tried to find some other keepers. The six were all dressed in chain mail armor, and carried large kite shields that had the rampant stallion of Duke Metamor on the front.

Up ahead they heard a door slamming shut and then the sound of something being dragged. A figure appeared out of the darkness, dragging two bodies along the floor behind it. All six soldiers drew their swords, worried that it was some sort of trick. Suddenly the figure tripped over something and started cursing loudly.

They all relaxed, that voice was well know to all of them. “Sir! Is that you?” one of the soldiers shouted.

The figure stopped and looked at them then waved them forward. “Stop shouting and help me with these two.”

They all rushed forward, crowded around George and started talking all at the same time. “It’s good to see you Sir.”

“There’s Lutins running around in the Keep and we can’t find any other Keepers except you.”

“Have you seen any one else?”

“Where did you get the bodies?”

“Don’t crowd so close,” George answered quieting the group. “Who are you and what do you mean there are Lutins in the Keep?”

“We’re part of the guards for the south gate,” One of the soldiers answered.

“Why aren’t you at the gate?” the jackal interrupted.

“We can’t get to the gate,” came the frightened answer. “Every time we try and go there we run into Lutins. Lutins INSIDE the Keep. Not just a few but dozens of them.”

George muttered a curse. “That explains my two friends here,” he said and pointed to the bodies on the floor.

“Who are they?”

The canine shrugged. “I don’t know, but they tried to kill me.”

One of the soldiers looked at the bodies and was greeted by the woman glaring back at him. “You let them live?” he asked, surprised. George was well known for not bothering with prisoners.

“Oh yes. I want some answers and they can give them to me.” The jackal pointed to two of the soldiers. “You and you each grab a prisoner.”

“Where do we go now?”

“You say the Lutins are in the keep? Are you sure?” the canine asked.

A soldier pulled open a pouch and took something out, a Lutin head. “Is this proof enough?”

George just chuckled. With a wave of his hand and started off down a corridor. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” someone asked as they hustled after the jackal, dragging the two prisoners behind them.

“To Long House. I know they’ll be no Lutins there and we can get some answers.”

---

Biting down on the bit, Thomas followed meekly after the knight who had not said anything for the last hour except to give him the occasional command, which Thomas followed precisely, despite his fervent desire to do otherwise. They appeared to be wandering aimlessly through the Keep, but always downwards. He’d not had to attempt any stairs, as the Keep had provided them with long ramps to descend, almost as if the Keep were allowing Thomas to be degraded like this. Often he let the question in his mind flow freely, why was this being done, but of course, no answer was forthcoming.

Several times they passed by corpses of Lutins and Keepers, strewn in horrific piles along either side of the corridors. His heart would ache with a dull pounding every time he saw one of his own slain, but all he could do was to keep on following the lead of the knight. Yet, it wasn’t until they were on the ground floor that the knight took them anywhere but the varied halls of the Keep. Turning, he opened a door, and commanded Thomas to walk inside. Inside he went, into a blackness that made him shiver in a very equine fashion.

The knight struck a tinder and soon had a brazier illuminated. The door shut behind him with a whump, nearly catching his long tail between the frame. Yet, when the knight lit a small lantern and brought it over, Thomas could see what was in the room, and felt his heart beat even faster. They were standing in a store room for the stables, and various equipment for the care and control of horses was neatly organized along every wall.

“Indeed, thou dost know what this is for. Thou shalt become very familiar with it, my fine stallion,” the knight said mockingly as he ran his gauntleted hand over a dusty saddle. He then lifted it from the rack and carried it over to the Duke. Thomas tried to back away, but the barking command, “Stand still!” froze the muscles in his body.

He felt the weight of the saddle descend onto his back, not particularly heavy, but certainly alien and unwanted. With deft ease, the knight had tied it tightly around his chest, securing it firmly in place. Again, he took his gauntlet off and ran his hands through the Duke’s mane, gently stroking the fur, soothingly. Thomas breathed heavily, his eyes wide with nervous fright as he watched the man’s face. He could see very little within that visage, and that frightened him even worse.

The man suddenly grimaced, however, and then began to look over the racks again until he had come up with several blankets. “‘Tis freezing outside, thou shalt need some protection.” He undid the saddle, and set it aside upon the rack from which he’d taken it. Thomas felt instantly better with it off of his back, for it had felt like a noose tightening about his neck. Yet the moment was fleeting, for soon the man had lain the blankets across his back, and replaced the saddle.

Opening the door, the knight called out, “Back.” Thomas backed up then, his tail flitting from side to side, the terrible weight of the saddle choking his will and crushing his heart. Once he had returned to the hallway, his captor extinguished the lantern and the brazier, and closed the door behind him. Gripping the reins of the halter in one hand, and fitting his foot into one of the stirrups, the knight hoist himself up onto Thomas’s back. Thomas felt his hooves grind into the carpet, and he gnashed his tongue against the bit and the place where he’d lost a tooth.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, and pulling slightly on the reins, Thomas turned to his right, walking slowly through the corridors of the Keep, obediently following the knight’s commands as if he were a real horse. With a sinking feeling in his heart he knew that he was almost a real horse as it was. Whatever magic was in that halter, it had turned him into an obedient animal, and left only the thoughts raging in his mind to distinguish him from any other horse.

The air quickly grew cold as they approached one of the doors outside the Keep. Thomas was very glad for those blankets, for they did hold the warmth in his flesh, even as he bore up the knight upon his back. Yet was this to be his fate? Was he doomed to spend the rest of his life as a stud to be bred at this man’s whimsy, and to be ridden and constantly be reminded that he was just a simple animal? Would he over time begin to even believe it too? The thought of docilely accepting such a life filled him with even worse dread, yet his body continued to trot forward along the carpeting against his will.

And then, as they turned the corner and saw the doors burst inwards, and piles of snow filling the hall, they also saw a small band of Lutins standing at that doorway. The green-skinned beasts saw them and let out a cry as they charged at the horse and his rider, wielding wicked clubs and spears high in their stubby hands. The knight kicked Thomas in his sides and drew his sword, still holding the rein firmly in his other hand, letting out his own cry, “Charge!”

Thomas leapt forward, his hooves pounding into the carpet and stone as he snorted and ran forward to meet those filthy beasts. The first of the Lutins fell beneath his hooves with a satisfying crunch of bone. The knight severed the head of another, while the other four tried to attack from the flanks, even as Thomas stamped his hooves, and champed in fierce rage at the bit.

With a simple tug on the reins, Thomas turned around, kicking with his hind hooves at the two Lutins now at his back. One of them managed to duck out of the way, the other was tossed against the wall, the armour on his chest caved in fatally. Looking forward, he could see that one of the Lutins was jumping towards his shoulder to sink a knife into it, but the knight brought his boot forward and kicked the beast aside. With a jab of his sword, the other fell to the ground, his head hanging limply upon his shoulders.

The last Lutin gave out a strangled cry and began to run down the hall, his weapons dropped to the ground. With another kick into his sides, the knight commanded Thomas to charge again. His mind flaring with the battle fury, the Duke drove forward, his hooves crushing the stones beneath them, as the single Lutin grew closer and closer. His head turned once to see what the sound was, and then his eyes went wide in freakish terror, letting out a horrific cry of anguish as he tried to run as fast as he could. Yet it was a futile attempt, for soon, Thomas’s hooves met with the Lutin’s back, and sent him sprawling against the ground. A moment later, those same hooves ran across the prone Lutin’s form, smashing the bones to pieces.

Even as he continued to snort from the exertion, he felt a soothing hand at his neck, and a calm voice in his ears. “Thou hast done well.” Upon hearing that, Thomas could not help but look back at the bodies that now lay strewn through the snow littered-hallway. He’d behaved just as warhorse might, and had enjoyed the thrill it had given him. With renewed fear and trepidation, he could only wonder what this halter was doing to him. Was it making him not only obedient in every way, but also a regular horse in every way? Would he begin to lose his memories of being anything but a horse?

Before he could even begin to debate those questions, he felt the tug of the reins, and heard the nicker from the knight’s lips. Turning, he began a slow trot back towards the open door, and the wintry blizzard that waited outside. Yet he felt the reins tighten as a set of blurry images rounded the far corner from which they had originally come. He stared at them for that moment, bringing them into focus, and felt joy fill his hear. For they were Keepers.

“Bryonoth!” he heard a light voice call out, as the figures rushed forward, four of them. He recognized the knight Saulius and his new friend Egland. Copernicus was at their back, wrapped in mounds of cloth, while a polar bear whose name he believed was Cassius was right at his side.

Yet the knight Bryonoth did not give the Duke long to ponder, for he had soon kicked his sides and cried, “Charge!” Thomas thundered forward, the din of hoof beats filling his ears, and the new sent of battle flooding his mind. He tried to hold back, as these were his fellow Keepers and friends, but the fury of the fight and the halter’s magic prevented him from doing anything but what the knight wanted.

The Keepers fanned out before him, trying to move out of the way of the charging horse. Copernicus turned his long head to one side beneath the bundles of cloth he’d wrapped about himself and called out, “Don’t hurt the horse, it’s Duke Thomas.” Thomas took some small solace in that they knew it was him, but found his hooves pounding relentlessly forward to smash their chests in, and to crush into the tiling.

Bryonoth swung his word in a wide arc as Thomas reared only feet from them, but the Keepers were quick, and stayed low. Egland and Saulius raised their swords, hefting the flat edge of the blade against the knight’s chest. But Bryonoth turned his own swing, and knocked back the rat’s blade, while kicking the deer in the chest with his armoured foot. While Egland was reeling and trying to catch his breath, Saulius swung again, only to be parried once more. Thomas found himself turning with the bit then, and lashed out his hooves at the rat, but the knight was quicker, and scurried back, his face twisting with desperation.

Cassius came swinging at the knight’s backside with his mace, but Thomas could see the motion out of one corner of his eyes. With a quick jerking motion, he kicked back with one hind leg, grazing the bear’s side, twisting him about as he tried to hold his balance. Yet the ursine warrior recovered fairly quickly, his dark eyes betraying the momentary pain he’d suffered beneath that white plume of fur.

Copernicus, being as tall as he was, had grabbed the knight’s sword arm, and was twisting his wrist, attempting to force him to drop it. Bryonoth, despite all of his year living in the Steppe, and the training he’d undergone at Yesulam, did not have the strength in him to wrestle with a three-hundred-fifty pound lizard. So for a moment he let go of the reins and with his other fist punched Cope square between the eyes. Dazed, the lizard stumbled backwards, letting go of the knight’s arm as he tried to wipe the swirling images from his eyes.

Having caught his breath, Egland slapped the flat of his blade at the knight’s back from his left. Having been too occupied with the lizard to see the deer approaching, Thomas was the only one who could keep his rider from harm. Though he wished to do nothing, his body acted, turning quickly to the side, and slammed his flanks right into the deer’s shoulder. He even went so far as to attempt to stomp hard down upon the knight’s foot, but as his feet were hooves as well, it merely glanced off to the side.

However, Thomas was surely not ready for what came next, for Egland, staring up into his face with desperate need, drove his fist hard into the side of the Duke’s head. Thomas let out a terrified whinny as he toppled to the ground, sending Bryonoth sprawling onto the floor. Pain swelled through his face, and especially in his mouth, as the strike had hammered the bit right into the empty space where one of his teeth had been. Kicking with all four of his hooves, Thomas tried to right himself, blinking with one eye at the bruise that was surely swelling.

Yet, as he did get to his feet, the weight of a rider was no longer present, and as he cast his eyes about, he saw the knight laying upon his back like a turtle, while the Keepers descended upon him, holding his limbs and trying to keep him down. Thomas told himself to stay there, to remain where he was, that his obligation even as a warhorse was ended to this man as he was down. It was time to allow himself to be rescued and restored to his more human shape.

“Ts’amut!” Egland cried out as he beat Bryonoth’s right arm into the ground, resting his chest completely on it. “It is I, your friend, Sir Egland! Please come back to us, Ts’amut!”

Though Thomas did not recognize the name he used, it was clear that Bryonoth did, for a flicker of recognition came into his face, and for a moment, his struggles ceased and a smile seemed to play across his swollen lips. Yet that flicker was short-lived, as some other personality drowned it out, pushing that glimmer back into the depths. The struggle for dominance was quick, and soon settled and won by that malicious nature, as if Bryonoth carried two souls within him.

Leaning forward, he slammed the front of his helmet into the deer’s face, but the massive deer ducked his head and the helmet clattered impotently against the animal-knight’s antlers. And then he cried out, “Help me!” Thomas found his muscles compelled to action as he reared and tried to land both front hooves into the bear’s back as he forced Bryonoth’s leg down. Copernicus gave a shout in time and Cassius was able to roll out of the way. But he did not escape Thomas’s bite, for his teeth gripped the bear’s shoulder and tore at the flesh in a fury that he could not ever remember allowing into his heart before. One leg freed, the furious knight twisted his body, bringing the armour plated knee up firmly against Egland’s ribs, forcing a startled grunt from the heavy deer, then again, kicking out as he lifted his chest and kneed him once again, finally knocking the gasping deer away.

Snorting, he spat out the distasteful flesh and fur, even as the bear tried to stop the flow of blood with his other paw. Thomas’s attention was no longer on the bear though, for he had turned toward the lizard who was laying atop the knight’s other leg. Stamping and snorting in rage, he tried to bring his hooves down on his chest, but Copernicus rolled inside, and with a quick punch, drove his fist into the horse’s chest. Thomas spluttered, nearly falling from his hooves again, but managed to remain upright, lifting his hooves for another attempt to kill. But Cope was no fool, and rolled out from underneath him again, and landed another punch into his flanks.

Letting out a whinny of rage, Thomas turned on the lizard, snorting and flaring at his effrontery. However, he heard Bryonoth call to him again, and turned to look at his rider, and heed his call. Bryonoth slammed his gauntleted fist down hard on Saulius’s helmet, making the rat’s head ring with the clanging vibrations. Jumping to his feet, he drew a dagger from his side, and sliced once more at the bear who had interposed himself between the knight and Thomas. Cassius let out a chocking cry as more blood began to stain his white fur, this time from a gash in his chest.

Gripping Thomas’s reins, Bryonoth pulled himself back into the saddle, and kicked hard into the Duke’s sides. With a thunder of hoof beats, Thomas charged down the hallway, and then out into the open air through the door the Lutins had been watching. The snow was bitterly cold, and rose halfway up his legs, yet he did his best to leap through it. The excitement of the battle still pounded through his veins, yet in one part of his mind, all he could do was feel both his home and his humanity slip away. With defeated reluctance, he allowed himself to just be a horse for the time being.