“What did you do that for?” Zagrosek asked, his eyes wide with shock as the dresser was reduced to kindling.
“If the Lutins think this room has already been sacked, they will ignore it then, won’t they?” Charles replied, slashing his dresser a few more times before turning to his closet. “Sorry about this, old fellow,” he said, and then hacked away at the wooden doors, crashing them inwards against his summer wardrobe.
Jerome chuckled lightly. “Still talking to your furniture?”
The rat grimaced slightly before turning to his bed, and piercing the quilts and cushions. “I’m going to regret this later I know, but I think I would rather I be the one to destroy my things than to have some green-skinned monster do it!”
Garigan watched him for a moment and then looked back through his door. “Do you want me to do the same to my room?” His voice quavered; obviously he was rather fond of his bed and assorted furnishings.
“No,” Matthias shook his head. “I doubt anybody will look past this room.”
“What if they go into the Shrine?” Zagrosek asked, jerking his thumb over to the other door at the far end of the room. The closet had once been standing before it, but as it was now in splinters, the hidden exit was now visible to all.
The rat shrugged, pulling on his buckler and slipping the sword home in its sheath. “Let them. There’s nothing in there for them to take, and they’ll most likely kill themselves when they try to steal the angel.”
“Good point,” Zagrosek chuckled, and then spun the Sondeshike in his palms, shrinking it down to fit within his palm. “Is there anything else you need here? It is already late. We’ll have an easier time moving through the woods while it is dark out, so we’d best get moving before the dawn arrives.”
Charles shook his head, scattering the stack of parchments on his desk. He sighed as he peered at the mess littering his floor, wood splinters almost everywhere, mixed in with the papers. He quickly took the one he’d penned for Misha and laid it on top of the torn mattress. “No, I think this will do.” He picked up the ink bottle from the floor, and dashed it against the wall. The dried ink scattered with the glass, littering the back of his room. “It was dry anyway,” he murmured as he crossed over the mess towards his door.
Jerome was the first to step out of the room, peering down both sides of the hall. Seeing that nobody was about, he stepped out into the middle, and motioned for the other three to do the same. Charles was the last to leave of course, gazing at the destruction he’d caused within his own chambers and sighing. He hated having to do it, as so many thing that were in his room had a great deal of meaning for him. There were trinkets of course that he’d left unmolested, and hopefully, the Lutins would as well.
Suddenly though, he recalled one of the gifts that he’d received at the party, a cross necklace fashioned from some milk stone. Murikeer Khannas had made it for him, and it had probably been one of the nicest things he’d received. Coming from the skunk, it meant even more, since he knew that until the Patriarch’s visit, that Muri had not looked favourably upon the Patildor.
“Just one moment,” Charles said, before picking his way back in among the ruin to his desk. Reaching inside the lid that had only partially been caved in, he retrieved the ornament, cradling it within the pink flesh of his paws and let a smile cross his muzzle. Looking back to one corner of his room, he remembered the secret cache that he’d hidden his robe in for so many years. Pressing against the stone, he opened it wide, and set the cross within it. It would be safe there.
However, a sudden premonition filled him, and his paws did not close it back up. Instead, he reached in and withdrew the milky cross again, gazing at it, remembering what it meant, what that sign meant to all Followers of the Way. Upon that cross, his Yahshua had died. Muttering, he closed his eyes, and traced that sign over his chest and forehead. “My Abba, I need you now in this more than ever. Watch over my fellow Keepers in this time, and give us the victory we need. And please let our friends at Glen Avery be all right. I pray this in the name of your son Yahshua. A-men.”
Rising back to his paws, he slipped the cross over his neck, the rock cool against his fur. He dropped the pendant down beneath his cloak and against his chest. Strangely, it was warm on his fur, as if it breathed a life of its own. Smiling once more, he closed the cache, and left his room once more, rejoining his companions. He had a quiet feeling of unease as he did so, but it was very subtle, and he hardly noticed it.
“Now are you ready?” Jerome asked impatiently, casting wary eyes down either passageway.
“Yes, follow me, this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” Charles set off on a familiar path, for it had been his habit for many years to walk this way each morning. The halls of the Keep were empty though, as most of the Keepers had been at either the Lothanasi or Patildor celebrations that evening. It had probably been blind chance that they had found that small group of Keepers battling Nasoj’s forces when they had. He could almost imagine Misha’s incredulity when he informed him of the Shrieker and of Wessex’s demise while the fox was preparing for the assault!
They reached the staircase into the cellars without incident, their eyes ever watching the shadows shift and turn about them. Jerome and Garigan carried the two unlit lanterns in their off hands, weapons held ready in their other hands. The halls in the cellar were of course lit much like the rest of the Keep, though more subdued, the torches being further apart. Being a rat of course had its advantages, and one of which was that he could see rather well in the dark, as long as there was at least a little light. So, walking down the cold passages beneath the rest of the Keep, the scent of mould just dimly apparent in the air, proved to be no difficulty for either Matthias or the others.
However, just before they were about to turn the corner down the hall to the rats’ rooms, there was the sound of splintering wood. The four of them stiffened as they heard it come from around that corner. Charles did not feel the warming of the carved stone hanging against his chest as he came to a swift halt, throwing up a hand to signal a halt though the others had already done so. Sliding forward along the wall, Charles sniffed at the air, the scent of Lutins faint, but evident. Grimacing, he hazarded a peek, before pulling back his snout to glance at the others who were drawn up close behind him, their bodies tense.
Charles held up one paw, and raised four fingers, and then nodded at the corner. Both Jerome and Zagrosek nodded in return, while Garigan narrowed his eyes, small daggers appearing in both of his paws from inside his cloak. The lanterns were set at their feet, silent as an undisturbed cave.
Taking a quick breath, Charles plunged around the corner, catching the first of the four Lutins by surprise. They had been smashing at Hector’s door, obviously looting whatever they could find. Nasoj had almost certainly promised them that they could keep whatever they found here, and so this quartet had been industrious enough to try and steal what they could while their brethren died killing the Keepers. However, when the first of them collapsed, his back smacked in two by the force of the Sondeshike, they regretted their greed.
Strangled cries issued from their throats as the other three reached for small swords at their sides, snarling in fury as their comrade fell face down upon the cold masonry. Charles lashed out again with his Sondeshike, breaking the arm of the nearest Lutin. However, the battle was over before the rat was able to swing again. Zagrosek cracked one of the Lutin’s skulls with his own Sondeshike. Slipping sinuously past the rat, Garigan stabbed the Lutin with the shattered arm repeatedly with his daggers while Jerome forced the last Lutin to impale itself upon its own sword.
Glancing at the bodies beneath their feet, Charles took a deep breath before peering into the gaping hole in Hector’s door. The room was empty, aside from the cluttered sculptures across his floor. The light was too dim to make out any detail on the carvings, but it was sufficient to allow the others to see them as well.
Ferwig, much to his own surprise awoke. The last thing he had expected was to wake up. Most people usually don’t bother to take people like him prisoner. With his head ringing he looked around and tried to figure out where he was. He realized that he was being dragged, bound and gagged, backwards down a hallway.
“The man is awake George,” a voice said.
“All right, put him down,” another voice said. “He can walk from now on.”
His movement stopped and his feet were dropped to the floor with a jolt. A figure towered over him and he looked up into the snout of George, the patrol master.
“Stand up and walk,” the jackal ordered flatly.
Ferwig was in no mood to comply and simply lay still and ignored his captor. George calmly kicked Ferwig in the groin, not as hard as the last time, but hard enough. The man screamed loudly through the cloth gag, clutching his groin.
“Get up and walk,” George ordered again and this time the battered fighter obeyed. Ferwig rolled onto his stomach, pulled himself up onto his knees and then slowly stood up. His whole body hurt, especially his testicles and his head. Fighting nausea he had to lean against a wall to keep from falling over.
He felt a light touch on the shoulder and looked up to see one of his guards, a short, lynx woman staring at him. “Come on,” the keeper said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “We don’t have far to walk.” Ferwig briefly considered grabbing the felines sword and trying to fight his way free. Then he saw the cats muzzle full of long, sharp teeth, and her razor sharp claws. She didn’t need any weapons, the curse had given her a very formidable set of built in weapons. Briefly he wondered why she bothered to carry a sword at all. Perhaps out of habit?
The lynx, turned him around with a push of a claw equipped paw, and he found himself looking at Teria, who was glowering at him. The woman didn’t look happy or healthy. The whole of her forehead was one massive bruise, and her right eye was almost swelled shut. Another guard, this one a woman, rudely turned the mage around and shoved her forward. Giving her capture a cold, steel hard gaze, Teria started moving in the ordered direction. All that kept her from cursing her captives was the gag in her mouth.
Ferwig could imagine the mood she was in. With a bruise like that she must have a huge headache and be incredibly angry. The humiliation of being knocked unconscious by dinner plate would make her even angrier.
The trip wasn’t an easy one for the fighter. Every part of his body seemed bruised and battered. The worst was his privates were throbbing and he found himself walking in an odd bow legged manner to ease the pain. It didn’t help much. Still his captors didn’t make any comments or jibes, they moved in silence watching and listening in all directions, no panic, no unnecessary noise. Their home had been invaded by thousands of Lutins and they were cut off and alone. And yet these seven soldiers were moving about as calmly as if they were on a training mission. That impressed the mercenary, these were professionals. Good people to have fighting by your side.
The group came upon two sword-wielding soldiers standing in front of an open doorway. He caught a glimpse of someone else aiming a crossbow using the corner of the doorway as cover.
Ferwig saw the jackal talking to the two guards. “Take some of the tables and make a barricade to block the corridor.”
One of the new guards, a woman, dressed in armor made up of iron scales sewn to felt, nodded. “Yes Sir.”
“Is Misha in?”
“No sir,” the woman answered. “He went out with a team over an hour ago.”
“Well,” the canine said in a calm voice. “As senior officer, I’m in command now.” With a nod of the head the jackal moved forward through the doorway and the small group followed.
In a moment Ferwig and Teria moved passed the guards who gave both mercenaries cold, hard stares. They entered into a small hall, about fifty feet long, and wide. Forty feet above was a domed ceiling with small, glass windows interspersed along it’s length.
Crossing the room they came to the far wall. Set in that wall was a small wooden door, in front of which stood four guards. Over the door was a balcony, that was about twenty feet from side to side. Ferwig's trained eye noticed that the entire length of the balcony was line with battlements. A few soldiers standing up there could control the entire hall against all but a major assault.
The group went through the door and into a small room. The door closed behind them with an ominous thud. He noticed Teria looking up and followed her gaze. There in the ceiling he noticed small holes; murder holes. He could easily imagine the boiling oil or water that could be poured down through them. He quickly moved out of that little death room trying not to look too nervous.
The hall on the other side was larger then the previous one. The stained glass lining one wall threw a kaleidoscope of color onto the entire scene laid out before him. Long Hall was filled with people. They were everywhere, sleeping on the floors, the balcony, even the stairs in the corner held people on each step. He saw people of all sexes, ages and species. Some were sleeping, others eating, or tending to wounded. Ferwig smiled as a group of children raced around in a game of tag, shrieking and giggling. He realized that these weren’t nobles cowering in some privileged hideaway. These ragged and fearful people were simple commoners, just trying to protect themselves.
He saw a what must be an elk-woman stare at him with hate filled eyes. The intensity of he gaze made Ferwig stop and look away from her. Then he was pushed and forced to move on. Unable to resist, he turned and looked back and found the woman still staring at him.
A woman guard slapped him on the face with the back of her gauntleted hand. "Either keep your eyes front, or I'll keep them in my pocket. Understand?" she ordered in a tone full of hate.
Ferwig ignored the threat but followed the order anyway.
George pointed to the two prisoners. “Take those two to a cell. I’ll talk with them later. Beware the woman, she’s a mage.”
“Sir,” the lynx said. “What about their wounds?”
“When one of the long Scout teams come back, have their healer look them over.”
“Yes sir,” the feline answered and with a shove guided the two prisoners away from the jackal.
It wasn’t the heat or the crackling of the flames, or even the smoke that snapped Jacob from his restful slumber. No, it was the crash made by part of his front wall as it collapsed that caused the fox to open his eyes then jump to a standing position on his bed.
The house itself was an inferno. The fox wrapped the thick quilt around himself, though not for warmth. This time it served to keep him from going up with the rest of the house. Being waddle and daub, it was going up very quickly. A creak from one of the roof support beams made him snap his head up and see the flames crossing the roof. He was distracted from that sight by the sounds of coarse laughter from outside. Looking, he could make out three Lutins laughing and jeering at him from the other side of the flames. Another creak in the roof demanded his attention again.
Snarling at the Lutins and the fire, Jacob contemplated the rock and the hard place he was caught between; death by fire, or death by sword. When a wad of burning roofing materials fell onto his bed, causing him to barely spring out of the way and the Lutins to roar harder, he pretty much decided to take the hard option. His shovel, where it leaned against the wall near the small pile of the rest of his tools, gave him something to even the odds with those Lutins. Flipping up the quilt to protect his ears, he grabbed the shovel and made a snarling leap through the flames engulfing the front of his house.
The Lutins had not expected him to do that and so were sufficiently startled to give him a decent landing space. Using his forward momentum, he managed to bring up the shovel in time to slap the metal end across the face of one Lutin. He went down clutching his face, leaving Jacob to deal with his two friends. They backed off to either side, quite wary now of whom they were dealing with.
Jacob flipped the shovel around so that the spade end was pointed outwards and he was holding in a classic grip for a quarter staff. He was thankful now that he had training with such a weapon in his time with the militia. Shrugging off the smoking quilt, he folded his ears back and lunged at the closest Lutin with a howling battle cry.
Never having fought a midnight black shape wielding a shovel like he was now, the Lutin was taken quite by surprise. He also had not expected any real fight. Most keepers tended to stay in their homes while they burned as opposed to risking the flames to get to safety. And if they did, few came armed and crazed as this creature. He blocked the first strike, though the shovel almost jarred lose his sword. The Lutin barely got both hands on the hilt before another jarring blow from this crazy keeper rocked the weapon to the other side. Alas, the snow was causing him problems and he was not able to back up fast enough to avoid the keeper’s return swing. The shovel, heavier than the Lutin’s sword and backed with the strength of the angry keeper, hammered through his parry by sheer mass. The night exploded in white before the cold snow collected him.
Snarling like a wild animal, Jacob swung again and again at the stunned Lutin. But it was only on his third strike that he managed to hit flesh, cracking the skull of his opponent with the metal of the spade head. He would have finished the business right then and there but a guttural cry from behind reminded him there was more than one of these little bastards to deal with. The last Lutin’s lunge was met by a thrust of the sharp end of the shovel to his belly.
But the shovel did not penetrate the flesh, for this Lutin was fortunate enough to have a set of some kind of armor on. Instead he was lifted off his feet to fall to the snow like a puppet with no strings, clutching his stomach. Jacob retracted his weapon, swung it around behind him for momentum, his paws sliding down the shaft to the end, then brought it down as hard as he could on the Lutin’s head. The attacker went down with a sick crunch and a small splattering of gore on the trampled snow.
Then there was time to deal with the second Lutin. Not altering his grip, Jacob swung the shovel back around him. Unfortunately the downed Lutin had struggled to his feet and was caught on the side of the chest by the shovel. Still, the blow was enough to lift him from his feet and send him tumbling into the snow a few feet away. The fox was on him at once, bringing down the flat end of the shovel into the startled and blooded green face. The Lutin’s body jerked and spasmed, flailing as it fell back into the snow with a spray of dark blood from the crushed ruin if its face.
The blow jarred Jacob’s arms and snapped the shovel a third of the way up from the spade end. Bringing up the shovel, his ears perked up and his eyes grew wide as he looked at the splintered wood through the snow and by the light of the raging fire. It was hard to say what was more surprising to the fox; the fact that it had broken at all, or that he had hit the Lutin that hard! His ears turned as the crunch of snow came from behind him.
It was well known that lone Lutins are cowardly creatures. The one that Jacob had hit first out of the house was on his feet once again, trying to scramble away from the battle-crazed keeper. Just the mere sight of the creature was enough to enrage the fox, and Jacob hunched over, his ears laying flat against his head as he howled his outrage at this thing that would dare destroy his home. With a quick initial spring, he managed to close the distance between himself and his target in less than ten strides, bringing down the shovel handle against the back of the leather helmet that covered the Lutin’s head. Another wet, grinding crunch and the last of the initial attackers joined his friends. But Jacob kept swinging and swinging at the fallen Lutin, beating the body of the one who had tried to burn him with his home, pouring all his rage out into the assault.
Only when he had exhausted the fierce battle energy did he stop. Panting over the smashed and battered body, his breath coming in white clouds, Jacob could scarily believe he had just done that. A crash from behind him snapped him out of his stupefied paralysis and he looked back towards his house. He was just in time to witness the rest of the roof collapse, sparks and flames shooting out of the sides. The other houses next to his own were also burning by that point. Slumping his shoulders and sighing, he looked at the bloodied end of the shovel in his paw then threw it away in disgust.
In a matter of moments he had lost his home since childhood, his possessions, his half written stories, everything that meant anything to him to fire, and brutally taken the lives of those responsible for it. A swirl of icy wind cut through his cheek fur, making him thankful that he had been too tired to remove his clothes when he had gotten home. Flipping his hood up over his head, Jacob tried to decide where to go from there. And what happened to cause it in the first place! The glint of firelight on steal drew his attention to a sword on the ground. It was dented, dull, rusted, and most definitely a Lutin weapon. But it was still a weapon. Hefting the short sword in his paw, Jacob set off in the direction of the main Keep.
Of course, the snow provided most of his problems. Not only the fact that it was cold and stinging, but the fact that it was blowing almost directly across his path meant that he couldn’t look straight ahead. He was forced to trudge through the drifting snow with one paw held up before his eyes and the wind trying to tear the coat and tail from his back. He had made it about a half block before it struck him that he was the only one out in that white hell. None of his rather numerous neighbors were fleeing for the Keep, nor were there any lights on in their houses. Taking a little detour to get a closer look at one of the shops, Jacob discovered that the local candle maker’s was empty, the whole front smashed in. Well, that would explain the rest of the people. As he turned back into the wind, he couldn’t help consider the irony of having the entire neighborhood leave on a mass exodus the one night that he chooses to get falling down drunk. At least he did not need to worry about fighting his way to the keep. At least not yet.
He saw the first Lutin in another block. At least that was what the faint, shadowed blur smelled like. The Lutin had a torch, which he was vainly trying to keep lit while staggering against the wind. Jacob decided to wait until he had passed. Cutting down a small alley he noticed to his left to avoid the wind, Jacob quickened his pace to a jog. Four Lutins, no keepers, no neighbors. Were it not for the fact that his paws were freezing and his ears felt like they were going to break off from the cold he would swear this was one very bad nightmare! As it was, it had the markings of an excellent horror story should he have the opportunity to write it.
The next main street he came out was close to the eastern outer walls. He could make out the warehouses that lined the wall and, much to his horror, one of the main guard towers on the wall engulfed in flames. It was quite a blaze, to be seen through the blowing snow. Jacob was just about to head up the road, sticking close to the sides of the buildings, when the storm suddenly died down around him.
Jacob blinked around, turning this way and that to see what the hell happened. It was explained to him by the arrival of close to fifteen humans, all dressed for the weather, and all looking to have come right from battle. In their center was a woman holding up a staff, the top of which glowed with a brilliant white light. Their arrival so stunned Jacob that the poor fox did not react until they had seen him as well. The leader, the woman with the staff, turned in his direction and told the men, “There’s another one of those creatures. Kill it.” That was all he needed to know, and Jacob was off like a shot, five of the humans fast behind him.
The alleyways back the way he came seemed like a good option to him, so he ducked down there. The downside to them was that he no longer had the blizzard to cover his tracks, the buildings largely blocking the wind. He was just thankful to be an animal fleet of foot and for the head start he had on his pursuers. Their voices echoed off the walls around him as he ran, calling, taunting, threatening him. He ignored them totally, except to gauge where his attackers were coming from. But these mercenaries were better than he had expected, coming at him from more than one direction. And his hopes of eluding them in the alleys ended when he almost ran smack into the wall at the end of a blind alley. He would have gone back but for the brutish human blocking the mouth of the alley.
“Hey guys, I found it!” he yelled before drawing his sword. It was a full long sword, and between that and his own arm length, it gave the mercenary better reach than Jacob. The fox paced at the end of the alley, a growl boiling in his throat as he debated what to do. He didn’t have long to think as two of the other three showed up. He caught a quick exchange asking where the last one was then dismissing it, saying he would show soon enough. The two new arrivals drew their swords and started into the alley.
Jacob snarled loudly at them, his lips pulled up from all his teeth and his fur bristling up on his neck and tail as he took the deplorably made Lutin sword in both his paws. The mercenaries just chuckled at that, their breath coming out in white plumes. Well, if he was going to die, he was at least going to try and take one of them with him. Spreading his legs, he raised his sword and waited.
If he had not been wandering around in the darkness so long the flash of light would not have almost blinded him, Jacob later considered. The mercenary on the left of the trio never got the chance as he was thrown forward, quite dead, by the blast of magic. His two comrades whirled to face the new threat, the one that had been in the middle taking a similar blast to the front. Jacob saw that the body had a large smoking hole in the chest with his heart swinging like a pendulum as it skidded to a stop in the snow a few feet from him.
With two of the humans out of the way he could now make out the shape at the mouth of the alley. Only a mage could have killed those humans like that, and both Jacob and the remaining mercenary knew that. He was charging the mage, sword above his head and yelling some foreign battle cry, as the fox watched. The figure at the end of the alley drew his own weapon and blocked the initial assault before locking in combat. There was a brief struggle before one of the shapes went down clutching his chest. The second bent over to retrieve something; a dagger Jacob believed could make it out before the other returned both weapons to their resting place. The shape started to leave before looking back at the fox. “Well? Are you going to just stand there or are we going to get the hell out of here?”
Jacob just blinked at the stranger who had saved his life, then decided that, yes, that advice sounded pretty good to him. Gingerly stepping past the charred bodies, he ran up joined the other, quite thankful for his excellent night vision. When he reached the stranger, Jacob could see that he was a raccoon, though with a thick coating of show and ice. “You should know, there’s a fourth one of these guys out there.”
“I already know about him,” said the raccoon as he started off. “How do you think I found you? He won’t be a problem any longer. Now come on. I can sense another mage around here, and I’m pretty sure they picked up on what I just did.”
He had seen the other mage and was not about to argue. Instead he quickened his pace and tried to keep up. The raccoon led him down back alleys, places where Jacob stumbled and had to work to pick his way around obstacles. Fleetingly, he wished he was a mage and had some form of magic sight to rely on. Eventually the two came to a large doorway, set back a few feet into a building. The raccoon chose that as he resting place, slumping against the wall, and huddling down as far away as he could get from the wind. Jacob took a seat opposite him.
“Well, I suppose introductions are in order,” the raccoon commented as he blew on his paws in an effort to warm them. “I’m Rickkter, a war mage from the Keep itself. You?”
“Jacob.” He paused, his tongue darting out to lick his nose. His breath clouded from his hard breathing. “Um, story teller, master of nothing.”
Rickkter had been looking out at the alley and promptly did a double take. “Story teller?! What in the nine hells are you doing out here? From what I’ve seen everyone else headed for the main Keep when that army hit the outer walls.”
The fox tilted his head, frowning.
“The, uh, large ugly Lutin army that attacked from the north. The one that chewed through our vanguard, the guards on the walls, and from what I’ve seen most of this damned town.” He blinked at Jacob’s startled reaction. “You mean you don’t know anything about it?!”
Jacob’s ears went flat against his skull. “I was asleep. I had too much to drink tonight.”
The raccoon rubbed his face. “You weren’t the only one.” He turned back to the alley. “Well, our first order of business should be shelter. We definitely can’t stay here the night. Do you know this part of the town?”
“I do,” Jacob said with a nod.
“Good. I can keep their mages from sensing us, and I can keep us away from their troops, you just have to tell us where to go.” Rick perked up his ears. “And hope they’ve not burned it down first.”
“True. But a question: how can you feel them but were cut off from coming back for so long? Couldn’t you find your way in this soup?”
“No,” Rick growled. “They had a dampening field that blinded any of us with magic sight, but that’s mostly lifted now. I guess after they hit the keep they didn’t feel it was necessary any longer. And when they did, I found I had gone right by the Keep in the snow and had to turn around. And then deal with those patrolling the parameter to get here. Actually, can you get me somewhere higher? I want to see if they’ve broken the defenses of the Keep itself yet.”
Jacob thought for several moments, rubbing his cold paws as the wind ruffled his tail were it was folded across his feet. “Okay, I think I know the perfect place for you. It has four stories and overlooks most of the houses around it, giving a clear view of the Keep.”
Rickkter stood and told him they should get going now, before any other patrols happened across them. Jacob nodded and led the way out. When they turned the corner of the building, it was right into a blast of icy winter air.
“Why couldn’t I have been turned into a bloody snow leopard?” grumbled Rick as he ducked his head and trudged onwards. The fox was guiding them based almost solely on memories and rumors about Metamor he had been accumulating since childhood. They made it up several blocks and across another one of the main thoroughfares before Rickkter brought them to a stop at the mouth of the alley they had exited.
“What the hell’s going on?” Jacob yelled at the raccoon in order to be heard over the howling winds.
The mage moved over and blinked a few times before turning and retreating into the sheltering alley. “Lutins,” Jacob barely heard him pronounce. “Two groups of them. They appear to think that the other group is of keepers and are trying to kill them off. I’ve seen a few of them engaged in similar conflicts before running into you.”
“But... but surely they’ll realize that it’s their own kind after they don’t see anything but Lutins attacking them.”
When the raccoon turned back Jacob could swear he was giving him a sardonic grin, even through the fox couldn’t really see it for the dark and snow. “In this weather they’ll be lucky to see the person they’re attacking as anything but an indistinct blob with a sword. Now can we cut through here or not?”
“Where are the Lutins?” the fox yelled as he turned and squinted into the driving snow. He had no idea how the raccoon could see anything, because he could barely see half a dozen paces ahead of them. The mage put a hand on his shoulder as he leaned close and pointed down an intersecting street.
“That way, fifty paces, heading parallel to the alley we’re in.” It took two repetitions almost in Jacob’s ear before he made out the entirety of the statement.
He nodded at length, “Good. We don’t need to. It’s just up here a ways and the Lutins are working their way south, away from us.”
The raccoon was hunched over, paws resting on his knees. He panted and nodded. “Good. They’re the only groups near us. Let’s get going.”
Natalie lay on the fifth floor ledge for just a moment, in case anyone could see her. Then, doing her best to act like an injured bird, she hobbled around to the opposite side of the tower and waited, wings folded tightly around her as she made herself as small against the cold wind as she could.
"We are in armory!" whispered Desuka as Blake dropped to the ground beside him. Now we find stone..."
"Not yet," said Blake. "I have to find something else, first."
"What?"
"Trust me!"
Desuka left Blake to whatever it was she was doing and peeked out beneath the door. Two small creatures, wrinkly and gray and vaguely humanoid, stood before the door. Though they seemed dizzyingly tall, Desuka figured that they were about two feet high each. As he watched, the little gray things sent bolts of energy from their fingers toward the door. The tiny valet cringed instinctively. However, the energy was absorbed harmlessly by the door.
"You lazy grugs!" shouted a gruff Lutin. "Why haven't you opened the door yet?"
The wrinkled midgets turned and shouted back. "We thrown every spell we got at this here door! It ain't gonna budge!"
Desuka brought his head in and turned to Blake. "They are trying to break in using magic. They do not know that the tower has antimagic."
"Actually, the antimagic part stops two levels down," the little woman replied.
"How you..."
"I'm a Strander. We notice these things. Normally, the antimagic part of the tower stops right at the ledge on the fifth level. Right now, it seems, the magic and the antimagic are swimming all over the walls and floors like a bottle of oil and water someone shook up."
"Would they not cancel each other out if they met?"
"That's usually the way it works. I don't know what's... AHA! Here it is!"
"What?"
"An antimagical ward, specifically designed for transformation spells. I used one of these when I first came here to hold off the curse for a little while. Didn't work very long, of course. Come on over here."
Desuka was hesitant. "I am told that antimagic is lethal to one not acclimated."
"That's chemical. This is a ward. You'll be fine. Now get over here!"
Desuka obeyed. Blake dragged a necklace with a magical symbol out of a box and placed it on the floor between them. Both touched the ward. Both were instantly large again. Both got a splitting headache when their scalps collided.
Ignoring the pain, Desuka probed the walls, finally managing to find a stone that was just a little bit loose. Taking a sword, he chipped away some of the mortar around it. Once he had enough space, he stuck the sword through.
Out on the ledge, Natalie saw the dark form of a sword blade cut into the air over her head. That was the signal. Down through the blizzard she swept, finding her way to the river and into the cave. "They made it!" she called. "They're in the armory!"
"Excellent," said Oren. "Stay and warm up for a second, then go back and help them take out the stones from the wall."
"Got it."
"LEO!" bellowed the otter.
"Yes, Sir!"
"Find me a good sized rock, about ten pounds. Jagged, not smooth."
"A rock, Sir?"
"That's right, a rock! Now!"
"Aye, sir."
December 25th, 706 CR ― around 4 AM
The mother looked down at her daughter, whose eyes started to water at the absence of the man she had loved since she had first met him at the keep.
"Shush Carolinn," she whispered, "It’s okay, just keep quiet."
Above, the wooden floorboards creaked under the steps of many bodies, smaller than any man. The light flickered through the cracks, as they reached the covered trap door. She prayed into her daughter’s ear, a crooning sound that, for some reason, calmed the girl-child into a doze. All the while, the cellar grew a touch lighter, as the carpet was drawn away from the entrance, and the handle pulled.
She turned away, looking away from the light, shutting her eyes tight, trying to block the light out, or lack thereof, whispering into her baby’s ear as the trapdoor thumped against the floor, followed by nearly half a dozen thumps that followed, surely the bad men coming down the stairs.
Then, all was quiet. She felt nothing, just an oppressive silence. She stopped chanting her prayer, her ears straining as she opens an eye, to find the flickering darkness as before… only the flickering firelight didn’t shine through some of the cracks as they once did, as objects on the ceiling of the cellar above them block out the lamplight.
She hears a soft squeaking sound as the nails in the planks protest soft footsteps quietly, as the dropped trapdoor opens all the way.
The mother flinches, as the light beams down into the cellar, illuminating the area around them as a figure peaks down.
A soft, deep, hope-bringing voice wafted down the stairs to her ears, "It’s all right ma’am. I’m here to help you. I’ll take you to safety."
She looked up at the hooded figure, a metallic silver muzzle just catching a glint of firelight, as golden talons shine gloriously, hand open to help.
The wife ran into her husband’s arms, sobbing in relief in unison with her spouse as the cloaked stranger went to a load of supplies sitting in the corner. In addition to the reunited three, 30 people stood milling around the large cellar, located in the rubble of the outer town of Metamor.
The mother looked around, and saw a familiar face of an old opossum, making her way to her.
"Hello, Michelle. Are you all right?" the marsupial asked.
"Ms. Tanner. Oh, it’s so good to see you," Michelle replied, "I almost wasn’t? Who is--"
The stranger interrupted, and at the first intake of his breath, a not-even silent hush fell over the room, it just went did calm. He spoke in a hushed tone, his voice capturing the attention of everyone.
"Get your sleep, in six hours we leave. It’s not safe to stay, or to leave after that. I’ll be gone for two hours, seeing what food will be needed. People who have been here awhile, teach your spouses, children, loved ones, friends, and even strangers what I have told you. Get what sleep you can in three hours, then pack up the food, wood, clothing and shelter you can. The trip south will be unrelenting."
Before anyone could raise a question, the cloaked man had disappeared into the blizzard outside, without a sound, even without leaving a stir of air when the door had opened, the precious heat safe locked to the confines of the room. Nevertheless, a chill fell over the crowd, as Michelle looked around at the assembled crowd of men, women, (both human and with animal characteristics), and children. A large number of them were children, whether their ages were in their first decade or past their tenth birthday was unknown to her… but parents held them all, surrogate and natural alike.
"Honey," said Darrel, her husband, holding up his fingers in a sweeping motion, "this means run as fast as you can…."
“Damn!” Egland swore breathlessly as he climbed back to his hooves, using the wall to help him rise. Once standing, he rushed over to the open door, feeling the chill of the cold wind blow into his face. Though it was still snowing, it was not nearly as heavy as it had that morning. It was clear in which direction they had gone, for the long pockets in the snow were unmistakable. Yet those pockets would fill if they did not hurry. But who among them could outrun a horse?
Turning, he looked back to the others, as they rose to their paws, taking stock of their loss. Cassius did not rise easily, and needed Copernicus’s help to stay standing on his hind paws. He grimaced the whole time, pressing what little cloth he did have to his chest wound to staunch the flow of blood.
“I’m sorry, friends, but I cannot continue this chase,” Cassius said reluctantly, a terrible moue upon his muzzle the entire time. “I have to head back to the chapel.”
Egland nodded, and looked at Copernicus who appeared similarly regretful. “And you?”
“I would be of no use to you out in that weather. I’d slip into torpor within thirty minutes, despite all my protection. If it was during the day, perhaps, but not at night, and not with this much snow on the ground.” Copernicus offered him a weary grimace on his rather expressive face for a reptile. “I will help Cassius get back to the Cathedral, and tell the others what has happened so far. Are you going to continue?”
“Yes,” Egland said, meeting Saulius’s firm gaze. It was clear that the rat was bound to go on and rescue his liege. “We have to, though I do not know what hope we have of catching up to a horse in this weather. If we had our steeds, that would be one thing, but we cannot risk a journey to the stables, not with the Lutins sacking the city.”
“Thou art a deer,” Saulius pointed out. “Thou art fleet of hoof in thy natural form.”
Egland opened his mouth to object, but closed it again. The rat was right, it was quite likely the only way they could catch up with Bryonoth and the strangely complaint Duke. He finally nodded and began to undo the cinches holding his armour in place. “You are right, I must shift to my full deer form. You can hold onto my back, Sir Saulius.”
“We can use bits of cloth to help you hold on,” Copernicus suggested, gently setting Cassius against the wall. The bear nodded, and let the lizard leave him leaning there. “I suppose I can sacrifice my outermost layer to such a noble purpose.”
“Thy act is most appreciated,” Saulius said, nodding, watching his fellow knight undress.
Egland felt those eyes upon him very warmly, and though he had never before publically allowed his most intimate parts to be seen, he found the thought of it now strangely exhilarating. There was no shame in being naked when one was already an animal. Lifting his mail off, her deposited it on the ground beside him, and then removed the undershirt that was stained with oil. “I just want to know why Thomas acted like he did. You would think he would resist being made a horse.”
“He probably does not have a choice,” Cassius suggested between breaths.
“Yes, he probably is under some magical control. I can’t see why he would attack us otherwise,” Copernicus agreed, even as he ripped the black fabric robe he’d had on the outside into several long strips.
“Well, how are we supposed to defeat that? We aren’t mages!” Egland decried even as he slipped his leggings off.
“I’m not sure,” Copernicus admitted.
“For a moment, thy friend did recognize thee,” Saulius said softly, his whiskers twitching thoughtfully. He strapped a second sword to his belt, one for himself, and the other for Egland. “Perhaps thou ought to try to find that bit of him again.”
Egland nodded as he finally removed the last of his clothing, standing before them, a two-legged buck in only the flesh and fur. “Well, whatever we may do, we need to catch up with him first. I am ready, are you, Cope?”
“Yes, just shift and we’ll get you two strapped together,” Cope said, lifting several long strips of what had once been a thick black cloak.
Egland nodded, and let his form flow over him, watching as his hands hardened further into true hooves, before his shifting back forced them to the ground with a clatter. His fur was quite thick, and he felt taller than he ha been before, though he knew that was just an impression. Though everyone called him a deer as it was more commonly known, he was truly an elk, broad thick neck, and massive powerful frame in his full form, gave him renewed confidence that they would indeed rescue the Duke.
Copernicus lifted Saulius onto Egland’s back, the sudden weight surprising him. He spread his hooves to capture it more fully, but found that it was not a terrible burden. It probably would have been easier, had the rat removed his armour, but that would have been a foolish thing to do in the long run. And then, as he felt the rat’s claws dig into his neck fur, the lizard began to wrap the straps about his middle, tying them underneath firmly. After a few minutes, he stepped back and nodded. “I think that is secure. My best wishes to you both. May Eli guide your footsteps.”
“And thine as well,” Saulius said in response, before patting Egland on the neck, “Let us be off!”
Egland snorted and turned to face that open door through which the wintry wind howled. Charging at a brisk canter, he leapt out into the snowy night, his hooves finding those same tracts that Thomas’s had, and began to follow the trail around towards the back of the Keep, while the rat kept a look out for any Lutins.
It was not completely dark outside, as there were many bright fires that could be seen in the town some distance away. Burning homes lit the sky a lurid orange as they were reduced to cinders, testament to Nasoj’s greed and quest for power. Egland pondered just how many of those homes still had Keepers inside them when they were set to torch. How many people would come out after this was over and find their precious heirlooms naught more than piles of ash? How many gifts between husband and wife would have been smashed and shattered at the loutish hands of the Lutins? How many lives would be destroyed because of this madness? Egland did not dare attempt to answer any of those questions.
Charging through the snow, he realized that he barely could feel the chill in his present form. He had to leap through the piles of it, just as Thomas surely had to as well, and he still was not moving as fast as he would have liked. Leaving the town behind, he saw that they were circling to the rear of the Keep, where it was closest to the curtain wall atop the ridge that Metamor rested upon. The ground here was stripped bare, the earth littered with the fallen bodies of those that had been slain attempting to secure the wall above. Shattered ladders were cast about haphazardly, forcing the elk to slow his steps as he moved around the thick fall of corpses and broken wood. Some, he noticed, had no injuries at all. They had frozen to death before ever facing a single Keeper. Suddenly, the tracks veered off, and led closer toward the wall. Following them into the darkness that was the rear of the Keep, he could see that they were moving towards the small gate in the rear of the wall that had been put in place only just recently.
The gate was on the steep side of the ridge, which made it nearly impossible to reach. It was little used as well, built to make checking the outside walls easier. From what he’d heard, a mage had left a spell on that wall before, and it had taken months to find it, as nobody would have ever thought anyone would make that difficult walk all the way around the walls of the Keep.
Grunting, Egland drove forward to the gate, following the long strides of the horse that Thomas was. It was only a solitary door in the wall, just big enough for a rider to pass through. The snow around it had been cleared away, apparently in preparation for Bryonoth’s escape. It was slightly ajar, the wind whistling through the crack. Stepping up along side of it, Egland waited, unable to do anything about it himself.
Saulius pressed his claws into the crack, and heaved, drawing it open slightly. Egland then turned about on his hooves again, stepping softly in the comparably light dusting by the door. Pressing his snout into the crack, he wedged it further, before it finally swung wide before them. Cautiously, Egland stepped out past the aperture, peering into the solemn darkness, his eyes distinguishing very little of the snow-slick ridge.
“There!” Saulius cried, pointing his claw of to one side. “He hast switch-backed down the ridge. I shall guide thee.”
Egland nodded and set off carefully down the slope, following the gentler incline that Bryonoth had taken. By taking a constantly switching route, the knight had found a less dangerous way to descend the perilous ridge. Even so, Egland could feel his hooves slipping on the snow as he worked down, taking it as slowly as he could allow himself. Grunting in displeasure, he continued forward, despite the winds that were gently sweeping along the hillside, lifting the snow and throwing it into his face.
Saulius’s frame clutched tightly around his neck, the whiskers rubbing against his flesh as he slowly trotted, blunted by the fur there, even as it blunted the sheets of snow that were cast about both from above and below. The weight of the rat, dressed in his armour as he was, was quite heavy, but not terribly so, Egland felt. It did give him more reason to worry as he moved forward, trying to find purchase beneath the snow on the ridge. If the wrong wind should dislodge his friend even a bit, it could send them both tumbling down the hillside.
At a shout from the rat, he turned about, and began to work down the hillside in the opposite direction. So far, from what he could see, Thomas had had little difficulty in making his way down the ridge only a short time ago. The marks were just his dragging hoof steps, no signs of trouble, no long smears continuing on downwards. Just ever forward, inching down the ridge. Egland kept his eyes on following the path that he could see in the faint light that crept over the top of the ridge wall from Metamor. There were a few torches burning brightly still in that edifice, but far fewer than he would have hoped for.
Yet, even as the cold winds blasted across the forbidding hillside, his thoughts turned elsewhere. Here he was, in the form of a full elk stag, working his way down the hill carrying a knight rat upon his back. Saulius was riding him as if he were but a steed, just as Thomas was being rode like a war horse. Whatever foul magic his friend from the steppes had used on the Duke, it had made of him nothing more than a well-trained animal.
When the curses had originally struck, those like him had become animals in mind as well as body. Would Nasoj attempt to strengthen his original curse once more? Would he, Sir Yacoub Egland, formerly a knight of Yesulam, become nothing more than an elk, running off into the woods to chew on grass and shrubs the remainder of his days? And what of Saulius, clutching his neck as he was. Would he just become a small rat, tossed from the back of the elk only to be smashed against a tree, or crushed from the powerful hooves of a beast in panic as it tried to dislodge the armour from its back?
Even as he continued pondering such terrible deeds, he felt the guiding hand of the rat and his neck, and turned once more. Taking a moment to glance back up the hillside, he could see a bit of light streaming through the doorway before it was swallowed by the forbidding haunt of the storm and the night. It was many ells away though, clearly they were making good progress down the hillside. Turning back towards the path, he trotted along, carefully setting his hooves into the grooves left for him by Thomas’s own resolute march downwards and away from his kingdom.
What terrible thoughts must Thomas be thinking now, the knight wondered as he placed one hoof forward. Surely he cannot be happy about what has happened to him, as long as his conscious mind is still awake. He had heard rumours of fetishes that Lutins sometimes carried that triggered the curse into full bloom, reducing one so afflicted to nothing more than a dull-witted animal. Could Bryonoth have been given one of those to use on their poor Duke? If so, they would be leading back a horse, and nothing more, unless one of the mages at the Keep could lift such a deadly burden and find their liege beneath the equine exterior.
Yet Egland shook his head at that, determined not to see only disaster ahead, determined to find some hope, some glistening ray that would lead them onwards. Bryonoth was not that much farther ahead of them, he could not make Thomas run forever either.
Eventually they would have to stop somewhere, and that is where Egland would catch up with them, and knock some sense into his friend, rid him of this evil influence that he appeared to be acting under. It was clear that something had gotten a hold of him. From all that he had heard, it was the same man who had killed the Patriarch.
A sudden shudder passed through him, even as he turned according to Saulius’s signal. He had failed to protect his former master, the man to whom he’d dedicated his life many years ago. With one blow he had been sent underneath his horse, his legs crushed to the point that he was lucky he could walk today. Lucky, with the help of the curse giving him completely new legs. He had failed once before, he would not allow himself that luxury this time. He was going to save the Duke, no matter what it cost himself.
And then, the ground began to level out. With a surge of relief, Egland realized that they had managed to descend the hill safely. Saulius gave out a short chittering laugh and patted him on the side of the neck. Gazing down towards the ground, he could easily see the path that Thomas had taken southwards. Snorting in new found urgency, he leapt through the snow, bounding with cervine grace into the wintry night, while the rat held on tight, his armour clanking at every hoof fall. Yes, he would save Thomas, that he promised himself.
“Whose rooms are these?” Jerome asked after retrieving the lanterns.
“This one belongs to Hector, one of my fellow rats. I wonder where he could be.” Charles rubbed his chin with one paw, stroking the short fur there.
Zagrosek opened the other four doors along the hallway, and grimaced. “Is this where the rest live? They are all empty too.”
Charles nodded and then cast his eyes back to the Lutins. “They don’t have any blood stains on their clothes. Well, any old ones, so I don’t think these four have seen any combat yet. I imagine that my friends are probably somewhere else at the moment. Saulius is in the Cathedral, that much I know. The other four, I’m not so sure about.”
Jerome nudged one of the Lutin’s with his foot, and then grimaced. “Well, where do they usually go on feast-days?”
The rat shook his head. “Nowhere, they are almost always spending their time in these rooms.” He then stopped and peered back in at the carvings laid out neatly in Hector’s room. “Wait, I think I might know where they are. They might not be there, but it is the only place that I can think of. Follow me, it is not much farther.”
The other three Sondeckis fell into line behind the rat, eyes ever wary for more of the short, green-skinned invaders, and ears ever vigilant lest some untoward noise reach them. Yet, aside from the occasional drip of water upon stone, no sound did reach them while deep within the cellars of the Keep. Their footfalls sometimes tracked through passageways replete with dust, and at others, across mildew and pools of stagnant water. Even so, Charles knew that he must have been right, for he could smell his fellow rodents ahead of him as they neared that ancient and forgotten portion of the cellars.
The door was as he remembered it when Goldmark had shown it to him over two months ago. Old and musty, the oak creaked and groaned within its stresses. The dust at its base was disturbed by many rat-shaped tracks, some significantly larger than the others. From beyond the door, they could hear soft voices whispering back and forth.
Charles smiled and looked to his fellow Sondeckis. “Give me a moment, I need to get them out.” He pulled off his cloak, while both Zagrosek and Jerome stared at him oddly. Their eyes grew even wider as the rat began to shrink, the humanoid features falling away to be replace by the more natural shape of the rodent. Ere long, their friend was nothing more than a six inch long brown rat, nose atwitter as he pawed up into the air at them before scampering beneath the door frame.
The four rats were on the other side of the door in the wine cellar as he had expected. They were sitting around a small table with an old candle lit atop it, drinking from mugs that had not been used in several centuries. Of course, they were each bereft of clothes, as they preferred to keep the door locked to everyone else so that they alone might share in this delightful discovery. However, as they had already imbibed a rather tidy quantity of the wines, they did not notice Matthias had scurried beneath the door until he’d grown back to his usual four-foot size.
“Charles!” Elliot cried, his light-furred face brightening, the splotch of red across his shoulder gleaming scarlet in the candlelight. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be in the Chapel with Lady Kimberly and Sir Saulius?”
“I was,” Charles added, stepping over to his fellow rodents, eyeing each of them quickly. “But something terrible has happened. Nasoj is invading the Keep again.”
As one, they shot up, eyes wide with sudden fright. “What?” Hector shouted. “How can that be?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I thin he is using the storm to cover his attack. In any event, I need your help. Nobody knows the cellars quite like you four do.”
Goldmark piped up, for once in his morphic form, standing as tall as he could. “As good as anybody can know a building that constantly changes.” He then set down his mug, and crossed his arms. “Are you saying Nasoj’s troops are in the castle itself?”
Charles nodded, wishing that he did not have to. “We ran across a small group of them outside your rooms. They were trying to steal your things, but we stopped them.”
Julian snorted, his red eyes glowering slightly. “They can have it, there’s nothing there of value.” Hector shot his fellow rat a sharp glare, ears and whiskers backing.
Matthias considered the morose white rat for a moment before looking back at the others. “I need to know if there is a way out of Metamor in the direction of Glen Avery.”
Goldmark blinked. “Is our situation that hopeless that you are giving up already?”
“No!” Charles shook his head emphatically. “That is not why I want to go there at all. My student, Garigan, comes form Glen Avery, and has told me in no uncertain terms, that he is going there to see if his people need help. I am accompanying him, because it is too dangerous a trek for him to make on his own. I need your help in getting out of the Keep though, because it would be suicide to try leaving overland.”
The other four rats looked at each other for a moment, their eyes meeting, speaking silent words that years of voluntary confinement in the cellars had given them. Charles was usually quite adept at understanding those glances as well, but this time, he was not sure if they were discussing possible routes, or attempting to ascertain if the Long Scout was completely sane. Finally, Hector turned back to the other rat and nodded. “There might just be a way. When are you planning on leaving?”
“Immediately, or at least as soon as you four can be ready.”
Julian snorted at that, casting his eyes about the stacks of wine bottles. Elliot however, leaned further forward, his paw reaching out to clutch protectively at his mug. “It’s well past dusk already. You’ll never make it through the tunnels if you don’t get some rest.”
Though he did not wish to admit it, the moment that Charles thought about sleep, he realised that he was very tired. Having done battle with Wessex, the Shrieker, and a couple groups of Lutins had worn him almost completely out. He’d only been able to stay on his feet from the pure excitement coursing through his veins. Idly, he wondered about Jerome and Krenek, both of whom had to trudge through the snow that morning to reach the Keep. They were probably worse off in fact.
Grimacing finally, he nodded to Elliot. “You’re right about that I’m afraid. A little rest would do us some good. Is there any place nearby where we can all fit together easily that the Lutins aren’t likely to find?”
“Here!” Elliot gestured about the room. “With the door as rusted as it is, as long as we keep quiet, no Lutins passing by would think that anybody would be in here.”
Charles thought for a moment. He wondered if the red stained rat’s unvoiced reasons didn’t have something to do with the fact that the wine here was well aged. Yet he didn’t sound drunk, nor had any of the others.
“The only problem is, two of my party are humans. They can’t fit underneath the door like we can.”
Elliot’s face fell slightly at that, and he looked back to the other three, hoping to find some defence for his idea. Hector rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his short paws digging through his brown fur, while his large teeth grated together. Goldmark harrumphed and stared at the door, as if surveying a lovely a girl. Julian however, was scanning with some other intent in mind.
The albino rat’s voice, when he did speak, was curious, missing the usual apathy that Charles was accustomed to. “What if the door were unlocked from the inside? Do you think it would show?”
Charles had to shrug. “I suppose that might work. But the lock is rusted, and we don’t have a key. How do you intend to open it?”
Julian drew his paws across each other, scratching at the claw on one of his thumbs. The Sondeckis noticed that the albino’s thumb claw was longer than the rest, and rather narrow. Even so, as he scratched at it, he shaved it more, narrowing it further. Then, after a moment of quiet examination, he nodded in satisfaction. Crossing to the door, he pressed his face to the lock, feeling inside of it with his whiskers. He shivered slightly, his long white tail twitching unconsciously.
Leaning back, Julian looked to the others. “I think I can open this. Give me a moment.” He then pressed that narrowed claw into the lock, gently fidgeting it about, careful not to break the nail. Charles peered in wonder at the rat who so far as he knew had never demonstrated any discernible talents. And now here he was, picking the lock with his own thumb claw! Yet, Charles knew it to be hopeless, as it was surely rusted solid.
“What happened to your tail?” Goldmark asked suddenly, pointing at the slightly puffy section in the middle.
Charles gave him a pained expression even as he peered at his singed appendage. “It was burned slightly in a fight earlier today. It should be fine, I doubt it will even leave a mark in another two weeks.” He then studied his fellow rats. “You have heard nothing this evening?”
“No, not a thing,” Elliot confirmed. “We’ve just been in here drinking and enjoying each others’ company for the last few hours. Not a soul has come down this way until you and your friends arrived.”
Charles nodded then, and glanced back at Julian who was still fiddling with the lock. “Making any progress?” He kept his tone hopeful, though he knew that it was not likely to open.
“A little, give me another minute, and I think I will have this open.” Julian replied, bending his head even lower of the rusted lock. Charles blinked once, surprised at his fellow rodent’s certainty.
His face bunching up in curiosity, he finally asked. “When did you learn how to pick locks?”
Julian gave a non-committal shrug of one shoulder and continued at his work, calling out to them in a soft voice. “My Father used to lock me in my room for long stretches of time. I hated being confined like that so taught myself a few tricks.” Suddenly, the door began to heave, and he gripped the handle and pulled inwards. “There!”
Zagrosek peered in, his human face almost alien in a room full of morphic rats. And it was then, and only then, that Charles, or any of his fellow rodents, gave any thought to their nakedness. The black-clad Sondeckis did not appear to notice their sudden modesty though, as his eyes stayed mostly upon their no-longer human faces, and not their other prominent features. “Is everything all right?”
Charles nodded, waving to the black pile at the base of the door. “Could you hand me my clothes?”
“Oh,” Zagrosek blinked, as if he had not been expecting such a question. He reached down and picked up the garments, handing them to the rat. “Of course, here they are.”
Jerome was chuckling lightly behind his embarrassed friend, and Garigan was peering curiously at the stacks of wine bottles along the back wall of the room. Charles saw that his fellow rats were jealous of him, having a set of clothing so close at hand. He wondered why now that there were others in the room that covering themselves suddenly became important to them, but had no answers.
Even so, he slipped into his shirt and breeches, donning the robe atop all of it. Rubbing the black fabric, he peered to his friends. “Will you be all right without your clothes? We could always go back and retrieve some for you.”
Goldmark nodded his head. “The passages get colder the further down we go. And to reach the tunnel we need, we will have to go far down indeed. I would like to put something on,” he glanced briefly at the two humans, a motion that only another Keeper would notice, “to keep myself safe from the cold.” Charles was very certain that there were other reasons he wished to cover his loins as well.
“All right then,” Charles said, having no desire to shame any of his friends, so decided to act as if he accepted the response at face value. “Elliot, Hector, you and my two friends here go back to your quarters and grab enough clothing for yourselves and both Julian and Goldmark as well. Garigan, Julian, Goldmark and I will stay here. No need to attract attention to ourselves by travelling in such a large group.”
Zagrosek nodded then, stepping back out the door. By the slight colour in his cheeks, Matthias had to wonder if the man had not become aware of the rat’s modesty. However, his friend glanced down the hallway, and then stepped completely out of the room, Elliot and Hector following after him uncertainly. Their eyes traced across the strange heraldry that the four Sondeckis bore, without any hint of recognition in their eyes.
Habakkuk had always wanted him to be more open about his former allegiance. With a bit of chagrin, Charles realised he’d accomplished that end through his own negligence. However, as Jerome trailed after them, he knew that there was little he could have done about it. Instead, he turned to the ferret and pointed at the door, “Keep a watch out in the hallway. When somebody comes, I want to know if it’s them or Lutins.”
The ferret slunk out the door, his body smooth, and his paws making no noise as they danced lightly across the stone floor. Goldmark watched him, and then turned the other corner, not giving Charles a chance to tell him not to. It was probably for the best though, as now being alone with Julian, he could ask what he wished to.
“Well, the others are gone for the moment. I was hoping you’d tell me what your Father did to you. I’ve never heard you speak of him before.”
Julian closed his red eyes, the white fur rimming them appearing almost ghastly in comparison. “I really rather wouldn’t. It is my burden to bear, not yours.”
Charles sat down next to the white rat, and placed one paw upon his shoulder. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to bear it alone.”
His friend lowered his head, lost in his own thoughts. He made no move to dislodge Charles’s paw, instead, letting it rest upon his shoulder, rising and falling with each breath he took. When his face did rise, long snout that flushed out into a bushel of whiskers at its end, there was a look of profound sadness in his eyes. “Please, I do not wish to speak of it. Do not ask me of it again.”
Sighing, Charles removed his paw from Julian’s shoulder, and sat against the old wood, trying not to press too hard against its fragile surface. In the many years that he’d known the white rat, this had been the first time he’d ever spoke of his past, and of why he came to Metamor. A faint hope from out of the days past had filled him for that brief moment when he thought Julian might say more, but it was gone now, returning once more to its dusty corner of his heart.
“All right, I shall speak no more of it now.” His voice was thin, as if the life had drained from it and left it a desiccated whisper. Julian nodded though, and spoke no more, simply wrapping his arms about his chest, to hold in the feeble warmth his body offered. With the door open finally after all the countless years, the cold billowed in like a conqueror, subjecting its victims to all the fury it had stored since last it had ventured this way. Charles found himself shivering slightly, as if some unseen hand had brought that chill down through his robe and tunic.
Perhaps it was simply a manifestation of their fears realised in so many horrible ways recently that left him cold. The thought of Nasoj invading the Keep was horrid enough, probably one of the greatest fears he’d ever dallied with. Yet, not only was he doing so again, but an undead Wessex had summoned a Shrieker into their midst! Though he had only heard of them in legends, he had known it even before its unearthly howl had nearly blasted their minds into senility. Even the very thought of it only made him shiver more.
However, he did not have very long to wait, for several minutes later, the other four returned with bundles of clothing for the rats. Julian slipped on his trousers and tunic without comment, as did Goldmark, but Elliot and Hector were rather self-conscious, turning their back to the humans as they made themselves presentable. Zagrosek and Jerome both looked to Charles, as if expecting instructions.
Charles did not disappoint them. “We’re going to get a little rest here for a couple hours before we move on. We’ve all had a long day so far, and we need some sleep. It is going to be a long trek to Glen Avery, and the last thing we need is for a squadron of Lutins to surprise us while we can barely keep our eyes open. This is as good a place as any, and the Lutins won’t suspect there are Keepers hiding behind a rusted door this far in the cellars. That is if they even come down this far.”
Jerome scanned the room, noting the shadows that were flung across the walls and the wine casks by the lit candles. “Well, we shouldn’t burn any candles then, they would attract attention. How will we know how long we’ve slept?”
Charles opened his mouth, and then closed it again. That thought had not occurred to him. Down here in the cellars, there were no stars to guide them, and if they could burn no candles, what means of telling time was left to them?
Hector spoke then, his voice soft, but sure. “It takes me roughly an hour to completely gnaw through one of my chewsticks. I measured it one afternoon a few years back, I was rather bored. I’m sure the same would be true of the rest of us. There are five rats here, so we could easily have two of us awake at any time so we could chew for the rest of you. Once we were done, we could wake the others and get our turn sleeping.”
Zagrosek’s eyebrows rose significantly at that suggestion, but he said nothing. Jerome however, was quick to ask, “How many chewsticks do you have?”
“Four of course, five if Charles brought his own.”
Matthias reached inside of his robe and drew forth a slender shaft of burl walnut. He’d recently purchased it, as he found the flavour quite delightful. Now that he didn’t pay taxes to the Keep anymore, he could afford a little luxury in his selection of chewsticks. The other four rats eyed the complex grain of the wood with a bit of envy. Theirs were all made from the gnarly oak which was common in this region.
“All right then, we’ll take two shifts,” Jerome said, slowly settling to his knees on the cold floor. “Two of us ought to be awake at all times.” he said this last to Charles directly, glancing speculatively at Garigan who had his back to the door, and one round ear pressed gently against the wood.
“Good point,” Charles added, nodding and glancing over his friends. “Hector, Elliot, you two stay up with Garigan and I for now, the rest of you get some sleep. Elliot, once everyone has settled in, blow out the candles.”
Julian lay down where he was, curling his hairless tail around his flanks as he lay his head on the jacket that had been brought for him. Goldmark nestled next to him, much like any two normal rats might, to help keep their warmth. Zagrosek and Jerome both rested on their Sondeckis robes, off in one corner of the room. Charles sat beside his student Garigan at the door, sliding his back down the cold stone wall. The scent of rust made his nose itch slightly, but he ignored it, instead watching as Hector brought his chewstick to his teeth and Elliot walked about the room snuffing each of the candles.
Gritting his teeth together, Charles watched the light fade and dwindle with each quenched flame. When it was only a single light shining in the darkness, Charles tried to capture that moment, tried to memorise where all the bottles lay discarded on the floor, where his friends lay huddled tightly in their clothes, and where the old mouldy boxes were strewn haphazardly. Then Elliot’s breath blew past it, lighting his dirty white face for a moment, and then there was nothing; a darkness so complete that even the eyes of his fellow rodents failed to shine.
Closing his own eyes, Charles breathed in deeply, and listened to the breaths of his companions. He could hear the quiet nibbling of Hector upon the wood, and held that sound in his mind, while his back held the wall up behind him. Shivering from a chill he had not felt in a long time, he knew that the hour would not pass quick enough.
Though, it did pass eventually, for which he was grateful. But in that time, memories of something that he had wished to forget kept climbing to the surface of his thoughts, making him nearly gasp in terror. The walls were very cold, and the room was very dark, and were it not for those walls, he would be lost, endlessly wandering in a field of blackness, never again knowing the light.
Yet with each breath, he reassured himself that he was not trapped once more in that fissure as he’d been so long ago. The scents of all seven of his friends filled his nostrils like blessed incense, and even the rust that irritated his nose so was a welcome odour. For they were nothing like the cold dryness of that fissure, bereft of any sensation but the sound of his claws on the rock, and the feel of its chill through his fur. And of course, there was always the monotony of Hector’s gnawing to assist him in maintaining his sanity. Matthias almost longed to hear the approach of Lutin’s footfalls, for at least they would have been something his rational mind could focus on, but alas, they remained unmolested.
At some point though, he was not sure when during that hour, when his heart trembled within his chest, and no amount of scent could possibly hold back the ghastly terrors that lurked, memories of a time when his mind had nearly left him completely an animal, a simple creature of this world with no thought or purpose other than to survive, his paw reached out across the span of the door to find the arm of his student, to feel the warmth beneath the cloth, and the life therein. Garigan reached up with his paw, and they gripped each other for a few moments, holding tight, letting their flesh meet and pulse with blood. The ferret’s paw was furrier than Charles’s own, and he slowly ran his claws though the thick grey, while he felt the back of his own paw massaged gently, as if in reassurance.
He did not know how long they held each other’s paws like that, but it helped Charles fight the madness that had lay hidden within him for so long now. In fact, it almost came as an unwelcome surprise when they ceased to hear Hector chewing anymore. His voice though, was clear, the first real intelligible sound that had graced their ear drums in that interminable hour. “I’ve finished, let us wake the others and get our own rest.”
Jerome yawned when Charles shook his shoulders gently, but aside from that, the others stirred in silence. The two Sondeckis traded places with Charles ands Garigan by the door, while they curled up by the wall, resting upon their own robes as well. He was not sure who was chewing now, but he kept that sound in his mind while he let sleep overcome him. It came faster than he could have thought possible, for which he would always be grateful.
The building that Jacob led them to was once a shop for outfitting travelers for their journeys. Such could be clearly seen by the scattering of debris from the smashed front. Jacob almost tripped over a frozen body in the street that was half covered by the drifting snows. That had clinched it and he demanded Rickkter provide some light. The raccoon mage nodded absently as he hugged himself, teeth chattering. But he did summon a dim feather of witchlight above their heads. Now they were standing in a room at the top of the house in what was an observation tower. From it they could see the whole town. Or would, were it not for the snow. Now all they could see was blackness, snow blowing against the windows, and the odd blotch of orange from various fires. The greatest number of those was to the north, towards the Keep itself, and in the same direction the raccoon mage was looking intently.
“It’s a swarm,” Rickkter finally pronounced. “We’re screwed.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It is that bad. We can’t reach the main gates: we’re stuck out here.”
“But we’ve been lucky so far--”
“We’ve been on the outskirts of their forces. Their main objective was Metamor itself.”
“You have your magic--”
“Which will be picked up by any other magic user in the vicinity. I don’t have the resources to properly work the cloaks.”
“But if we can just get to the gates--”
Rickkter’s paw latched onto Jacob’s collar and pulled the fox close. The raccoon’s lips were drawn up in a snarl as he yelled into the fox’s ear. “Listen to what I’m trying to tell you! Will you do that?! They will not let us in. At all!” He shook the fox. “That army that I saw now controls the gates -- something I’m not half surprised about after seeing this. They’re not about to let us through. We’d be lucky to be killed on sight. They own everything between here and the Keep itself! Do you understand that!?” He felt the faint tug on the collar as the fox nodded. “Good! Now, assuming they haven’t completely overwhelmed the gates, that means our side is fighting a losing battle. Do you understand that? They will not open the gates for us. Under ANY circumstances! Not for just the two of us, it would be too great a risk of letting the enemy in. We are therefore expendable! Do you understand that?”
“I do,” Jacob whispered meekly, just loud enough to be heard over the howling wind.
“Good!” Rickkter hunched his shoulders, thrusting the cowed fox away as he wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to stay warm. Damn it, he was so cold! Even his teeth were starting to chatter. He swore inwardly at the entire situation, and the caution that made it risk for him to risk something as simple as a spell to keep himself warm. “We need to get ourselves some real shelter, someplace relatively safe for the night and wait until morning or until this snow lessens. When that comes I have no idea what we’ll do. Try and escape to someplace they haven’t taken over yet, perhaps.”
“Yes, you’re right, we do need shelter,” Jacob agreed. He was looking over the shivering raccoon, mostly unaffected himself by the harsh cold. “If we don’t get you someplace warm soon, you’re going to freeze to death.”
“And what happens if we run into another group of Lutins?” Rick asked as he hugged himself for warmth.
“We haven’t so far. Besides, if what you said is right about them taking the gates, they’ll need all the men they can to do that. They won’t have the resources to worry about the town.” The fox shook his head slowly and grinned from one corner of his muzzle, “And if we do I think you would not need magic to slaughter them.” He said, nodding toward the raccoon’s sword. A rime of ice had formed on the hilt, making it gleam in the muted light.
Rickkter growled through his clenched muzzle. Damn it, the fox was making too much sense. Besides, his fingers were so cold they were hurting him. He doubted that, had Lutins come upon them at that moment, he even hold his sword, much less fight with it. “Alright, fine. Let’s do this.”
They descended the stairs once more into the wrecked shop, Rick bringing up the rear. He was concentrating so hard on keeping his jaw locked shut that he missed a step, stumbling and almost hitting the fox in front of him. When they reached the bottom level, Jacob took one look through the ruined front then turned and placed a hand on Rick’s chest as the coon started to head out. “Look, I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve learned some things about certain morphs in this kind of weather. If we go out now, with the wind and snow that’s being tossed around, I don’t think you’ll make it. I can stand the cold better, so it should be me that goes out.”
“No way,” Rick said with an emphatic shake of his head. “We’re not separating.”
“You’ll freeze if you go out there.”
Looking up into the placid face by the weak and flickering glow of his witchlight, Rickkter could only snarl. He also knew the fox was right. “Okay, you win. Though I’m still coming with you.”
Jacob’s ears tilted back in a frown. “How?”
Rickkter appeared to ignore him, throwing debris from behind a series of shelves. He eventually came up holding a large canvas backpack. “I think this should do,” he muttered as he tossed it on the counter. Jacob did a double take as the raccoon started to remove his weapons.
“What are you doing?”
“Like I said, I’m coming with you,” Rickkter told him as he pulled off his chainmail shirt and tossed it on the table. He tapped the pack beside it. “I’m going in this. And since I don’t want to lose any of my weapons, get over here and put them on.”
Jacob had Rick’s swords and two knives on and was adjusting the oversized mail shirt by the time he figured out what the mage was intending. Rick left Jacob to do the buckles on the rest of it, as his paws were shaking too badly to do anything but start stuffing his removed clothing into the bag. A gust of wind ruffled the fur on his chest and he had to snap his jaws shut to stop their chattering.
“Okay, Jacob,” he said, his voice shivering just as much as the rest of him. “From now on, you’re on your own. No light to guide you, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to concentrate enough to use my magic to keep a look out. Just find us someplace warm for the night, preferably on the edge of town as there shouldn’t be to many of them out that way. We can decide on course of action in the morning, okay?”
“Yes, okay. Now get in the bag.” Rickkter spared a moment to consider how ridiculous the near black fox looked in the ill-fitting armor and weapons. He just hoped he would get a chance to get them back. If that fox were killed and some slimy Lutin got them for a trophy, Rickkter would be most upset! The whole situation brought a snarl to his lips as he grew smaller, more hunched over, shifting into his animal form.
Jacob picked up the fully transformed raccoon around the middle, feeling the thick tail automatically tuck under Rick and against his own paw. “Damn, you are cold,” he observed, vigorously rubbing the raccoon’s fur. Rickkter grumbled and chittered as he squirmed in the fox’s arms. “Okay, okay. In you go.” He opened the pack a little wider, carefully laying the raccoon in on his back so that Rick could have his nose close to the opening to breathe. “Well, I hope you’re warm enough now,” he said, tucking in Rick’s tattered dress shirt around the raccoon, “because I don’t intend to stop again until we’re safe. I’ll try and keep the trip as free from bumps as I can, but I can’t promise anything if the Lutins show up. Any problems with that?” Rickkter gurred, but shook his head. “Alright then. See you when we’re warmer.” He closed and secured the lid of the pack, carefully hoisting it onto his shoulders as the small sphere of magic ceased to exist. Even though the illumination had been weak, it took the fox’s eyes some minutes to adjust to the dark. Fingering the wrap on the unfamiliar sword at his hip, Jacob Fox set out into the cold unknown.
The storm’s urgency had faded the further South they went. Bryonoth was glad of that, for it allowed him the luxury of a bit more light as he continued to drive Thomas through the night. He was not sure if he was being followed, but he doubted very much that the Keepers would allow him the luxury of an escape so easily made, despite their other problems. But he knew that his steed could not handle too much exertion in one evening, especially through this sort of weather. Why, his legs must be freezing, only continuing to move because they were so used to the motion.
Bryonoth had been learning the layout of the land south of the Keep for the last two months, and so knew his way about fairly well, and knew where to find shelter. Turning through the woods, he slowed Thomas down slightly, pulling back on the reins. Obedience was immediate, and he doubted that Thomas even realised that the spell of control had waned. He was just used to obeying his rider’s commands. He’d strengthen it again while Thomas slept, so that he did not realise that it needed to be recharged. No point in giving his new found stallion reason to be obdurate or rebellious.
The snow was lighter at least, only a foot or so deep in the woods. The blizzard had mostly been concentrated at the Keep, and had died off to a light dusting after an hour’s ride. Both he and his steed appreciated that, as it allowed them to move faster down the valley. Bryonoth was no fool though. He knew that he was not safe, and Thomas would not truly be his steed until they had safely left the valley and were in the Midlands proper. There, he could have Thomas shoed in preparation for the trip to the Steppe of the Flatlands.
Once they arrived in his homeland, it would not be difficult to rejoin the Bryonoth clan, and Thomas would produce many fine foals. Of course, he’d need a more fitting name than Thomas. It just wasn’t of the Steppe. He’d have to think on that for now, as nothing sprang to mind. But surely he would bring his family much honour by claiming a steed as this. And he knew a rune to cast that would seal Thomas forever into this form just as soon as he was branded by his clan.
However, for any of this to come to fruition, he needed to find shelter, before Thomas’s legs became too cold to move. Ducking under a few more lifeless branches, casting the snow upon it to the ground and over Thomas’s hindquarters, he saw that building that he’d intended for. It was a small farm that had been abandoned the previous winter. Signs of attack had still been upon it when Bryonoth had found it last month. He’d spent a few days repairing the stables, and stealing enough hay from the nearby farms to stock it.
With a lick of his tongue he turned Thomas towards the front door, slowing him down to a simple walk. Thomas, with bowed head, complied, obviously exhausted from his run through the bitter winter chill. Bryonoth patted his steed’s neck with one hand to assure him that all was well, though said nothing. He had a few other places prepared in case he had been able to make it further on the first night of his escape, but the blizzard made this stable a necessity.
Dismounting, the knight lifted the latch on the stable door, and led Thomas inside, where it was warmer, though not a great deal. After closing the door and removing his gauntlets, he took the tinder from the saddlebags perched on either side of Thomas’s flanks and lit the lantern he’d hung inside the doorway. The stable was small, only three stalls, each of them freshly stocked with hay, while more awaited in the hayloft above. There was a small fire pit on the other side, which had fresh kindling and twigs already placed inside. Taking a small stick, he lit it with the lantern’s flame, and then proceeded to start the fire.
It took him a few moments to get the flame nice and bright, but once he had done so, he removed a blanket from the saddlebags and held it before the flickering orange flame, until it was pleasantly warm. Turning, Bryonoth approached Thomas, who stood in the middle of the stables rather dumbly. Bryonoth let out another nicker, and the horse clopped forward upon the hay-strewn wood floor, his eyes the fire both apprehensively, and appreciatively.
Bryonoth leaned forward and began to rub Thomas’s legs down with the warm cloth, restoring feeling to them as he worked. Thomas just stood there meekly, cooperating as if he were but a tame horse, though the knight gave no orders. Bryonoth gazed a moment into the Duke of Metamor’s eyes as he worked on his forelegs, trying to see what thoughts were betrayed in them. All that he could discern though was appreciation for this gesture. No sense of that former rebellion remained in them.
With a bit of a chuckle, Bryonoth patted Thomas’s cheek with one hand, a hand that the horse leaned into. Smiling, he turned to work over his steed’s rear legs, delighted at the compliance he found. Perhaps the Duke would not be so hard to break as he had at first suspected. And so, as the fire crackled, the flames growing higher and higher in the inglenook, Sir Albert Bryonoth continued warming the Duke’s body with the cloth, rubbing it firmly across every one of his legs, taking care around each joint.
Once he was finished with that, he lifted the saddle from the Duke’s back, and set it on the nearby rack. He then gripped the reins, and led Thomas into one of the stalls, turning him about so that his head rested above the slightly rotted wooden door. Thomas clopped about, his tail swishing from one side to the other almost lazily, snorting and champing a bit at the halter.
Bryonoth chuckled then, and patted the side of his head, just beneath one eye. “Thou art mistaken if thou thinks I shalt remove thy halter just yet.” Leaving the horse inside the stall, he retrieved two sets of poles from one of the other stalls, each with wide clasps on the ends. Returning to his steed, he said, “Stand still, “ and immediately, Thomas’s body stiffened, the legs locking beneath him as if he were sleeping.
Stepping underneath his stallion, Bryonoth placed the clasps around the upper portion of Thomas’s right foreleg, and then placed the other around his right hind leg. He used the other pole on the horses’s left side, before locking each clasp in place, and shifting them about to make sure that they were secure. He then stood before his horse and offered him a slight smile. “I shall warn thee, if thou attempts to change back, then thou shalt break they arms and legs. A horse whose limbs are broken is good only for its flesh.”
Thomas’s eyes went wide at that, but he offered no protest. Bryonoth then untied the halter, and pulled it from the horse’s head, the bit coming free of Thomas’s mouth at last. It looked as if it were a great relief to Thomas to have those straps of leather from his face, for he opened and shut his mouth several time sot get the taste of the bit out.
Bryonoth hung the halter from a peg on the post next to the stall, and then dragged one of the feedbags over, and began to pour the oats into the trough just inside the stall. Thomas was quick to set his face down into the offering, eating gluttonously. Nodding in approval, Bryonoth walked over to one of the cisterns on the other side of the barn, and placed a pail beneath the valve. Turning the handle, he saw that the water had not completely frozen, as it trickled slowly into the pan. Once it was half full, he turned the handle back, carried the pail back to the horse’s stall, and filled the water trough with what he had in the pail. Bryonoth made three trips before he was satisfied his steed had enough to drink.
Content that Thomas was well cared for at the moment, he turned to face the two doors leading outside. If indeed he the Metamorians were looking for him, then the Keepers would have little difficulty in following that trail he’d left. He took the long shaft of wood and laid it in the braces for the door. It would take a bit of effort for any Keepers to burst their way into the stable, which would give him just enough alarm to defend himself and his steed.
He shoved a few logs into the inglenook then, listening to the crack of the fire as it snapped and worked to turn the kindling to ash. He held out his chapped hands to the flames, letting them be warmed once more. It would feel good to be back on the Steppe, were weather such as this rarely if ever occurred. There was a soreness to his body as well, in his legs, one that he had greatly missed in the last two months. It was the feel of a horse between his legs.
An unpleasant moue crossed his features then as he thought over the last two months. He’d had to live out of the saddle, without the companionship of his steed. It was a bitter existence that, one that he was not meant to live. He was born to the saddle, a man of the Steppe. He breathed in deep of his own flesh, and found its taint of equine odour appealing, a true impression of living. Turning back to Thomas, he saw that his steed was eating quietly from the feed tray, the poles about his legs not preventing him from taking small steps, but certainly from changing back or attempting to flee.
Walking once more across the short space of the stables, Bryonoth rested his now warmed hands upon the horse’s neck, running his fingers through the mane there, and breathing in deep of the pleasing aroma. Thomas lifted his head to consider the knight, his eyes curious, but did not appear to be damning or in the least bit reproachful. Bryonoth rested his forehead against Thomas’s, as he gently ran his fingers through the cheek fur. “I thank thee,” was all he could say before he began to whimper quietly.
Thomas nuzzled him a bit with his head, and Bryonoth hugged that head close, his whole body so delighted to just have the feel of a horse so close. Never before could he remember when he had felt so delighted to have a steed at his side to care for. Truly, he needed a steed to feel complete, to feel like a man. As he held that massive equine head in his hands, all other thoughts fled his mind. Truly, the blood of a horse flowed in his own veins.
The patrol moved slowly down the corridor. In the lead was Arla, the dog morph. Dressed in only a leather jerkin covered with metal studs. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. She never wore one when she was patrolling. No matter how well made, they always seemed to block her ears and cut out her hearing. Knowing the enemy was coming was more important then being better protected.
Arla’s first warning of the wolves was in one of the Keeps many kitchens. There in the doorway was a large paw print barely visible in the dust. She motioned for the five scouts behind her to stop and then she crouched down and examined the print. It was as huge, almost as big as her head.
The woman who knelt next to Arla was tall, almost six foot, and was solidly built. There was no mistaking the powerful muscles under her chain mail armor. Her long brown hair was bundled up underneath her helmet. She examined the print with piercing, brown eyes. The dog pointed to the print in the dust and then placed her hands next to her ears in imitation of the wolves’ larger ears. Her message was clear, “Wolf prints.”
The woman, who was Laura, Arla’s team leader. Quickly the remaining scouts joined them.
Laura examined the prints for a moment. She spread both hands apart then placed them by her own ears. “giant wolf,” she corrected silently.
Arla held up both hands, all ten fingers spread wide, then clenched her fist and opened them again. “Twenty,” was the count.
All six scouts shifted nervously. The idea of fighting that many of those pony sized monsters wasn’t a happy one. Trying to kill twenty of them was hopeless for such a small group.
A slim teenage girl dressed in leather crouched next to Arla. Her leather armor and short sword looked out of place on such a young looking person, but Arla knew better. Lisa Ringe was married with two children, and a hardened, veteran scout of many years. Arla was glad to have the tough little scout with them.
“Now what?” Arla asked with silent hand signals.
“We keep going,” Laura said. “If a dire wolf pack is loose in the Keep we have to find them before they can cause any havoc.”
“Agreed,” Lisa answered with her hands.
Arla nodded and motioned the group forward. The kitchen was a shambles; pots, pans, knives, forks, and bits of unidentifiable debris were scattered everywhere. The sound of tearing flesh, and bones crunching came to the collie’s ears and the faint but unmistakable scent of the giant canines came to her sensitive nose.
Moving carefully, they followed the sounds, past shattered crockery and battered furniture. The sharp tang of the dire wolves’ scents became stronger with each step. As she came to the counter Arla could make out the scents individual dire wolves. The sounds and smells led through the kitchen, past the large stoves and ovens, past shattered cabinets and over turned tables and to a closed door. Pressing her ear to the door the sounds of the wolves feasting came through clearly and their scents were overpowering.
Quickly the scouts spread out in a semicircle around the door. Weapons were drawn and readied for a use. Silent hand signals were passed back and forth until everyone understood their job.
Ralls held a warhammer in his left hand and reached for the door handle with the other. Arla briefly wondered if his chainmail armor was strong enough to withstand the dagger sized teeth of a dire wolf. She looked at the brown bear standing next to her left. Meredith had a large crossbow in his big hands. That bow was too large for the dog to even pick up, yet the bear wielded it like it was a toy. The axe that was strapped to Meredith’s back had a head as big as Arla’s but he could wield it with a frightening speed and dexterity.
A glance to her right showed her the small, slim form of Allart. Even some many years after the curse had taken effect she still found it hard to remember that the fourteen year old boy there was actually twenty five, with a wife and child. Still the boy could wield his short sword with skill.
Arlas attention was drawn back to Ralls. The man was looking at her. She nodded that she was ready. He yanked the door open and jumped back, bringing his hammer up to strike.
After several long moments a solitary dire wolf poked its head out of the door, a large beef bone in its powerful jaws. It stared at the scouts, and then withdrew back inside.
Confused by the less then hostile greeting Arla carefully peered into the room and saw strange sight. The room had been a pantry. Shelves lined the walls from the floor all the way to the ceiling. But the shelves were empty, only bits and pieces were scattered around. Also scattered around the large room were twenty dire wolves. Some of the huge lupines were eating, some were sleeping and in the corner two were playing together with a large bone. All activity stopped and the score of dire wolves turned to look at the intruder in the doorway.
“Hello!” a voice said from the panty. Following the voice she saw, there, perched on a shelf that was at least ten feet off the floor, was a black haired boy of around ten years old. “I’m Terrance.” Arla noted that the shelf was out of the reach of the wolves, most likely the only reason he was still alive.
As Arla and Laura watched twenty pairs of eyes turned in their direction and one of the wolves uttered a deep, guttural growl as he slowly stood up. The remainder of his pack mates got up onto their paws and also moved toward the door.
Quickly the six scouts readied themselves for when the dire wolves would come boiling out of the door. Arla stepped back, raised her sword and awaited the first rush of the monsters.
The rush never came.
For a long moment the scouts waited anxiously but the dire wolves never came out. Finally the border collie stepped back to the door and quickly peered in. Arla let out a yip of humor and her tail wagged.
“What’s wrong?” Meredith asked.
“We’re waiting for them to attack us, and they’re waiting for us to attack them,” came her answer in an amused tone of voice.
The bear lowered his axe to the floor, “Now what? Why don’t they attack?”
“Why should they?” Terrance asked. “All the food is in here.”
“You have to admit he has point,” Ralls commented moving forward to stand next to Meredith. The woman smiled. “Why would they want to leave a nice, warm room full of food and get killed fighting us?”
“Now what happens?” Terrance asked. “You two groups going to stand there staring at each other or what?” All eyes, both keeper and dire wolf turned and looked up at the boy.
Snorting a moment, Egland considered the stable that emerged from the wood. It was attached to an old abandoned farm house, one that was crumbling from neglect. The stable though appeared to have been repaired somewhat, as the wood along one side was only a month old, whereas its neighbouring planks were rotting in places. Two aspects of the stable however spoke loudest to the elk. Between the cracks in the wood shown feeble light, and there was smoke emerging from the narrow chimney.
Saulius whispered into his ear, “It appears they hath taken this place as refuge.” Egland nodded, even as he felt Saulius loosen the straps around his belly. He stood solid there, his hooves planted firmly in the snow as the bits of cloth were unwound. With a muffled whump, Saulius rolled off of his back, landing in the snow with a mild grunt. “I do not wish to ride thee ever again, I hath sores from my tail tip to my whiskers.”
Egland snorted again, though this time it was in amusement. However, his heart returned quickly to his promise, eyes turned on those stable doors. He cautiously approached, not bothering to shift from his elk form, at least not yet. Saulius stalked at his side, sword in paw, his mail shirt tight in the chill.
As he drew near to the door, he could hear the crackling of a fire, and could smell the thick scent of a horse, and that of Bryonoth, as well as the customary hay that is usual with stables. However, there was no indication where any of them were inside of the stable, or what they were doing in there. Saulius stood back from the door watching him, waiting for something.
Egland felt a bit of a flush creeping over him as he realized the rat’s intent. Turning his hind quarters to face the middle of the double doors, he leaned forward and gave them a sharp kick. The sound of cracking and splintering wood came back to him, but the door still stood shut. Rearing again, he thrust his hind hooves will terrific energy into the wood, and the splintering grew more pronounced as the doors heaved inwards. Grunting, the elk knight kicked again, this time sending one door singing inwards as the long wooden shaft that held them shut cracked in two.
Saulius rushed inside, even as Egland turned on his hooves to see what lay before them. Bryonoth was standing, sword in hand, before a stall in which stood the horse that was Duke Thomas. Thomas appeared to be rather frightened, the whites showing around his pupils. Yet, he just stood there in the stall, whinnying in anxiety. “Thou canst have him, he’s my steed!” Bryonoth declared hotly, waving his sword tip before him at the rat knight who was slowly stepping forward.
“Thou hast claimed the Duke of Metamor as they steed wrongfully,” Saulius answered back, his voice, though high pitched, challenging nonetheless. “Thou shalt let him return to his people, as is his right and privilege.”
“No, he is my steed, thou shan’t take him from me!” Bryonoth repeated, his eyes looking even more wild than before. Thomas continued to stand mute, just watching, tail flicking back and forth in agitation.
Saulius gasped, even as Egland began to change back to his morphic form. “Sir Bryonoth, it is I, a fellow man of the Steppe. Dost thou remember me, Sir Erick Saulius?”
An expression of momentary recognition flashed over Bryonoth’s wild face, but it was quickly subsumed by that other part of him, that part that was determined to make Thomas a true horse. “He is my steed, and I am his rider. Thou wilt not separate us. I shall kill thee if I must to protect him.”
“Bryonoth,” Egland called. “Ts’amut! It is I, sir Yacoub Egland. Please come back to me, Ts’amut.” He knew that the Flatlander word for friend/brother had caused Bryonoth to stir before. He hoped that it would do so again now, but even more strongly. There was a part of Bryonoth in there that he wished to summon, a part that he knew so well. He refused to believe that his friend of so many years had been completely corrupted by this evil notion.
“No!” Bryonoth cried then, shaking his head vividly. “Thou cannot be him, for thou art a monster, whereas he was a man, a man who should have been of the Steppe!”
“I am that man!” Egland declared, striding forward, interposing himself between Saulius and the crazed knight. “I am even more that man now that I am an elk, for I am still a knight, and I serve something higher than myself. I serve all the people of this continent. I serve them by standing here at Metamor to stop the hordes of Nasoj’s forces from sweeping through this valley. And that horse that you have taken is my liege, who I have sworn to serve.”
“No, he is my steed, my stallion, my honour!” Bryonoth cried, cringing back, the grip on his sword weakening. It appeared that he had to struggle just to stand there and face down the massive elk before him. His face twisted between fear, hope, and fierce rage, all within moments of each other.
“He is my liege, and by our friendship and by your honour, I ask you to let him go.” Egland stood tall, though naked, he was no longer afraid of what twisted Bryonoth. “Come with me, Ts’amut. Come with us to Metamor. Povunoth is waiting for you, for his rider.”
Bryonoth held up his hand to his face, as if to rip the skin free, even as he turned a terrible eye to Egland, one that yearned to both throw down his weapon, and skewer him mercilessly. “No, he is mine! Leave or I shall kill thee, vile impostor!”
Egland stood there watching, and felt something bubble up and out of him, the one thing he knew could be done to convince this man. He opened wide his mouth and began to sing notes and words that had not graced his throat in months, and all of it, in the archaic language of the Flatlanders.
“Have a day of sun strewn
grass,
Fields abound endless in expanse,
Watering holes that will last,
And with good steeds for thy lad and lass”
Bryonoth had stopped his shaking as he heard the song, so familiar to his Steppe born ears. Sir Saulius’s ears and whiskers had stood up at the sound of his old tongue, and he even joined in the song at the refrain, doubling Egland an octave above.
“Rise with the sun and set
with the night,
Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight.
No home in which to dwell,
No land to tie thee down,
Ride thy horse through the swell,
And every field shalt thee own.
Each day, a new sight to see;
A new hill, new hollow, new valley.
Ride with thy whole family,
And taste what it means to be free.
Rise with the sun and set with the night,
Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight.
No home in which to dwell,
No land to tie thee down,
Ride thy horse through the swell,
And every field shalt thee own.
Sing the song and dance the dance,
Of Steppe born men free to pomp and prance.
Drink of joy, drink to a trance,
And drink to honour those gone to lance.
Rise with the sun and set with the night,
Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight.
No home in which to dwell,
No land to tie thee down,
Ride thy horse through the swell,
And every field shalt thee own.
Born upon the horse’s back,
A Steppe born man who shall nothing lack.
Mare’s milk to sup, nipples black
While one hand already holds the tack.
Rise with the sun and set with the night,
Rejoice in the moonbeams by the firelight.
No home in which to dwell,
No land to tie thee down,
Ride thy horse through the swell,
And every field shalt thee own.
Before Egland could continue with the next stanza, he saw Bryonoth shudder visibly, and stare at him with sudden recognition, and terrible fear. “Egland? Help me!” He managed to force past quivering lips before he gave a violent twitch, the furious rage that they had seen before bubbling over and spilling out as his words lashed out at the elk, expectorating vile obscenities. Egland fell back a step, startled by the terrible vehemence in his old friend’s exclamations, his ears flattening back as the most painful words of all poured forth. The truth, each painful secret the once-man had tried to keep quietly to himself and his closest confidants, one of which had been the man who now assailed him with his own innermost secrets, peppering them liberally with the most vile epithets that Egland could ever recall hearing uttered by a human mouth. Abruptly Bryonoth’s tirade stopped, his harsh vocalizations ending with a pained grunt, and he collapsed limply to the hay-strewn floor as Saulius brought the hilt of his sword across the back of his head, having snuck behind him during the course of the song.
Egland glanced up and breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Sir Saulius. Thank you for sparing him.”
“He is my friend as well,” Saulius murmured, leaning forward, inspecting the wound. “He shalt have a terrible headache when he arises.” The rat glanced up at the much taller elk standing beside him, his whiskers twitching for a few moments. “I shalt place what I hast heard here in mine confidence, friend.” The rat offered at length, turning his attention back toward the supine human.
Egland nodded quietly, and then turned towards the stall in which still stood the horse that was Duke Thomas of Metamor. Opening the stall door, he saw that the legs were secured by crossed, wooden hobbles. No wonder Thomas had done nothing, if he dared move, he’d break his own legs. Reaching down, he clumsily undid the clasps, and pulled the poles out from underneath him.
Almost instantly, the form began to shudder, as it shrank in size. Hands emerged from what had once been the forehooves, and the chest flattened somewhat, taking on a human cast. Soon, the figure standing naked before them was that of a morphic horse, one that looked quite relieved. “Thank you both for coming to my rescue, I had just about given up hope that any would come. How did you arrive so quickly?”
“Well, much the way you got here, I carried him just as you carried Bryonoth. There is an advantage to being fleet of hoof when you have four of them,” Egland mused dryly. He then kneeled before the Duke, doing his best to ignore his nakedness. “I am so relieved to see that you are safe, my liege.”
Saulius was also at bent knee, and made his own genuflecting remarks, but Thomas waved them to their feet. “Again, I thank you. Your effort will not be forgotten. But we must return to the Keep quickly to help co-ordinate the defence. Your talents are being missed there, I assure you.”
“What of Bryonoth?” Egland asked. “What should we do with him?”
“I do not know,” Thomas muttered, as he gently kicked the prone body with one hoof. “He was controlling me with this.” He pointed one thick stubby hoof-like finger at the halter that hung on the hook outside his stall. “I saw him cast a rune into it as he slipped it on me. We ought to take this back so that Wessex can analyse it. Well, once we repel Nasoj at least.”
“If we wish to return as quickly as possible, I am afraid we must use our full animal forms,” Egland interposed, glancing briefly at the leather halter.
Thomas nodded. “I think I’m up to such a run, I just had a rather relaxing massage. He may have wanted to make me into a horse, but he treated me well for a horse, I suppose.”
“Even maligned, he was born of the Steppe. He could do no less,” Saulius proudly declared.
“We ought to bring him back as well. It is possible we could discern from him clues to solidify our evidence concerning the Patriarch’s murderer,” Thomas added, stretching his newly restored limbs.
“We will have to tie him down to your back then, I’m afraid,” Egland pointed out.
Thomas shrugged. “I’ve been carrying him on my back for the last few hours already, what is a few more?” He then turned and glanced at the saddle and saddlebags resting on the rack. “Bring the saddle bags as well, but I don’t think I want to wear that saddle ever again.”
“Of course,” Egland said, as he turned and shoved the halter into one of the bags, and then draped them over his shoulder. He watched as Thomas shifted back into his stallion form, the newly regained humanity disappearing beneath the body of the equine. Saulius tossed the blankets over his back, and the elk then strapped the saddle bags into place over his flanks. The two of them, while Thomas watched curiously, lifted Bryonoth by his arms and legs, and pulled him across Thomas’s back on top of the blankets.
“I am curious, where did thou learn that song?” Saulius asked as he helped tie Bryonoth firmly onto Thomas’s back.
Egland smiled a bit, as much s his cervine face was capable. “Bryonoth taught it to me. I must confess I can’t remember what every stanza means.”
Saulius let out a small chuckle then, as he tightened the last strap. He then patted Thomas’s cheek. “Thy freight is secure. As soon as Sir Egland and I are ready, thou can begin.”
Thomas nodded back, whickering softly, and stamping his hooves a bit impatiently. While Egland put the fire out, Saulius then began to knot the straps that had held him in place on the elk’s back. He kept them sufficiently loose, but not too loose. Then, the two knights stood together, the rat gripping the deer’s back, while the straps were wrapped about them. Egland let his full animal form flow out of him. Quickly, mass began to fill the empty spaces the straps offered, until they pulled the rat tightly to the proud elk’s back.
Egland snorted to Thomas, and stamped one hoof. Thomas did so in return, and gestured to the door with a toss of his head. The elk nodded submissively, his massive rack of antlers, spread out before him, and then started to trot through the permanently opened doorway. The horse followed after, the jingling of the rat and knight’s armours on their backs the only sound that cascaded through the snow-filled night air as they started on the road back to Metamor.
Yet, like all journey’s, theirs came to and end as they finally found themselves faced with the Cathedral doors. The climb back up the treacherous ridge had been painstakingly slow. It was so much easier to go down than up, and so they had chosen an even leveller route up, switching back and forth nearly twenty times before they were finally at that solitary door in the wall, which had been wedged open by the falling snow. And even so, there had been many occasions where their hooves had slipped on the snow and ice, and they’d had to make another turn to regain their ground.
Egland had felt as if he were playing a game of Flumes and Ladders with his life as they’d climbed up that ridge, but thankfully, they only ever caught the short flumes. When they had reached the door however, other concerns took their minds. The Lutins were abundant inside the halls of the Keep, how could they possibly escape detection? Yet they had proceeded inside anyway, where Saulius undid the cloth holding himself onto Egland’s back, and the knight returned to his humanoid self, bearing the weapon that the rat had brought for him.
Yet as they carefully walked across the carpeting to muffle their hoof-falls, they continuously kept their ears open, and their noses sniffing, trying to discover if an ambuscade waited around the next corner. Yet, the only Lutins they ever saw were ones already dead, or even a few sleeping, half-empty bottles of fine wine clutched in their arms as they waited for a group of Keepers to come along and slit their throats. At the behest of Thomas’s very insistent nodding and stamping, Egland and Saulius did so, though it was not the sort of behaviour they were particularly fond of as knights.
So it was with great relief when they finally came upon the doors to the Follower Cathedral. Egland slammed his fist on the door, smiling over at Thomas, who was still a horse carrying Bryonoth over his back. Thomas however did not appear to mind stalking the halls of his own palace as a full equine. When the doors were opened, they were of course greeted by sword points at first, but soon by riotous joy! Egland nodded, smiling down to Saulius, whose whiskers were a twitter, and back at Thomas as they were ushered into the Cathedral and the doors closed behind him.
Vinsah and Hough were standing very close to see, while Thalberg and Cassius lay on mats along with the other injured a short distance away. Copernicus was beaming down to them as he half sat upon the edge of one row of pews. Finally, Hough found himself capable of speech, “Is that Duke Thomas?”
Egland nodded, even as he and Copernicus began to undo the thongs holding Bryonoth upon the horses back. “Yes, he decided to help carry back his presumptive captor. You remember Sir Bryonoth, do you not, Bishop Vinsah?”
Vinsah came forward, long striped tail swirling behind him underneath the black cassock. “Why, yes, I do. But why would he attack the Duke?”
“I’ll let Thomas answer that,” Egland murmured, as he and Copernicus drug Bryonoth along the floor for a bit, setting him down cautiously amongst the soldiers with their swords still unsheathed. “Watch him, we don’t know how he’ll react yet.” They nodded, and a few of them leaned upon their swords as they kept an eye on the unconscious knight.
After Saulius had removed the saddlebags from Thomas’s back, the horse began to shift, rising up upon its hind hooves, the fore hooves shifting, breaking into three pieces, as the head shrunk a bit, taking on a more human guise. The blankets draped over his back fell off as he stood upright, collecting around his hooves and fetlocks. Soon, in all his naked glory, there stood Duke Thomas. Saulius was quick to grab the blankets and offer them to Thomas for modesty’s sake, and the Duke was in no position to argue, wrapping them about his waist, while his tail flicked from side to side between his knees.
“I do apologise for not arriving with my escort, but I had a slight delay,” Thomas remarked, much to the amusement of the other Keepers who could not help but laugh a bit. The sound of laughter felt as if it had been gone from the Cathedral for aeons, and to hear it now cause a brightening to fill the air, as if the oppressive archaic and timeless quality of this antiquarian edifice had been brought into the present and vanquished.
Vinsah was leaning over Bryonoth’s body, running his dark paws across the man’s face. “What had he wanted with you?”
Thomas narrowed his eyes uncomfortably. “For some reason, he wanted to make me into a breeding stallion back on the Steppe.”
Egland narrowed his eyes as he tried to call back some long forgotten memory. Suddenly, the actual events began to return to him, the long beautiful houses, streets so clean, the magnificence that had since become so familiar to him had all been new that day, as if freshly cleaved from the womb. They had been walking side by side with their steeds between them. The remark that he had found so amusing just before they reached the stables had been so typically Flatlander of him, that Egland had not forgotten, and apparently, neither had somebody else.
“I remember him remarking the first day we arrived in Metamor that he thought you could sire many great foals, my lordship,” Egland said, feeling a bit embarrassed even in saying it out loud, despite what he had just seen that night. “He’s from the Flatlands, and has been around horses all his life, I suppose nobody can blame him for thinking such things at least in jest.”
Saulius appeared suddenly uncomfortable and nodded. “‘Tis true, my liege. I hath often wondered what fine steeds thou couldst produce.”
Thomas blinked a few times and then let out another laugh. Both Egland and Saulius stood there for a moment considering what was going through Thomas’s mind, but the Duke explained himself. “I find it a rather strange honour to be considered so highly for my lineage, even if in such an unconventional way! We of the nobility have often been bred by our families, so I suppose what Bryonoth wanted for me was hardly different than what I could have expected out of life had I not lived in such an enlightened city as Metamor.”
The ridiculous nature of his comparison left both the knights wondering if they were not being made fun of for a moment, but as the rest of the Cathedral let up in laughter with there liege, so too did the knights. Why should they feel slighted, after all, they had saved the Duke. And as they both thought on that, Thomas came to their sides and placed his hands upon their shoulders. “Thank you my friends. You have done a great service to me and this castle and to these people. When all this is over, I shall see to it that you are honoured appropriately.”
Both Egland and Saulius turned to face the Duke, and then bowed to their knees, lowering their heads. “We could do no less for thee, my liege,” Saulius intoned reverently, while Egland spoke clearly a similar epitaph.
Thomas then looked back to Father Hough. “How are the guards and Thalberg who had accompanied me?”
Hough shook his head. “Two of them didn’t make it. Thalberg is resting right now, but he will survive. Gregg and Miles will survive, though poor Miles has lost his arm.”
Vinsah was still leaning over Bryonoth, his green eyes a study in curiosity. “We’ve done what we could for them, but nothing we can do for a missing arm.”
“I shall find a new place for him to serve,” Thomas said, his voice drawing the attention of all by its breadth. “After this is over, I believe there will be much work for everyone” Most of the people in the Cathedral simply nodded at that, many of them capable of remembering what had happened the last time Nasoj had attacked. “There will be more destruction than there was last time. But I think our spirit will be stronger too.”
“We will make Nasoj pay for everything he has taken from us,” Hough declared, which was a strange thing to hear from a priest. Yet his fiery statement caused many of the Keepers to cheer and wave their swords and daggers about.
The 'coon Bishop was still looking down at the knight, but suddenly stood up and pointed at the prone figure. “And what of him? How do you intend to punish him? Do you truly believe he did this of his own accord? I knew Sir Bryonoth before this, and though his ways were sometimes strange to me, he never before showed a glint of malice in his soul, not like this.”
Sir Egland nodded, his antlers slicing the air. “I have known Sir Bryonoth for even longer than His Eminence has. He is a good man, a good knight, one that loved his steed and adored his friends, but had the utmost of respect for those in authority. For him to do something like this, he must have been deranged in some way.”
Thomas nodded at that and rubbed his chin with one hoof-like hand. “I saw many sides to him during my captivity under him. He showed me great kindness at the stable. I do not believe he was acting on his own volition. It strikes me most likely that whoever killed the Patriarch decided to use him to sow more dissension here at Metamor. I want Wessex to examine him and the magical items he used to enslave me.”
The Duke of Metamor then looked at the knight curiously, his eyes a mix of both anger at what was done, but concern for the man. “However, we won’t see Wessex until after Nasoj is pushed back again, I think. Is there anything you priests could do for him? He is of your faith after all.”
Vinsah and Hough gazed at each other for a moment before the Bishop clasped his paws together, his ears standing upright, and his tail circling about one of his ankles. “We can fight evil spirits, at least a priest at my level can. I do not know if this extends to abjuration.”
“Do you think you could try?” Thomas asked. “It would mean a great deal to me if you could rid him of the evil influencing him.” The horse’s eyes narrowed and he peered at Vinsah more closely. “Wait a moment, just who are you anyway, I don’t recall ever having seen you before.”
Vinsah hung his head for a moment. “Yes, I know. I am Bishop Vinsah of Abaef, the former Patriarch’s adjutant. I’ve been out of the coma for some time now, but was not ready to reveal myself until just now.”
Thomas’s eyes rose in delight. “Ah, it is good to see you healthy at last. I am grateful that you can spare your talents for us, Bishop Vinsah. I must say that you look much younger as a raccoon than I had thought you would.”
Vinsah nodded, his face looking a bit uncomfortable. “Let me see what I can do for the knight.” He leaned down, and placed his paws on the knight’s chest, and closed his eyes, clearly praying. After a few minutes, he made the sign of the yew tree upon his chest, and the body suddenly stirred, quite violently.
Vinsah nearly leaped back as Bryonoth’s eyes came open in livid rage, hatred pouring out of them, yet he could not raise his chest from the ground, as if it had been pinned there, or some great weight was bearing him down. Bryonoth grabbed at Vinsah’s tail and tugged him back to his knees, ripping a small bit of fur clear when he did so. The Bishop let out a startled cry, and slammed his fists back into the man’s chest, praying loudly, his words in the language of Yesulam, completely foreign to most of the Keepers’ ears.
Bryonoth screamed violently, but it was not his voice, but something far more sinister. It was as if some terrible daemon had crawled up from necrophagous pits and had let loose the cry instead, buried as it was inside the knight’s throat. But Vinsah kept his focus upon his prayers of release, signing the tree upon the knight’s chest several more times, each time unleashing another torrent of violent objection from the possessed man. He kicked, hit, clawed and ripped fur from Vinsah’s hide in his attempt to dislodge the raccoon, but the Bishop would not move.
From that mouth ushered obscenities that made Hough cringe in fear, blasphemous utterances that nearly made the walls of the Cathedral tremble in rage. Yet it was clearly not the voice of a man from the Steppes, for the poeticism was gone, the lyrical lilt to the tongue was debased into a course mockery of language. And yet, after each word was uttered, it was erased from the memories of those who heard it, as if it was tenuous and something not of this world, something that could not be contained within the walls of flesh.
And then Bryonoth fell silent, eyes closed, arms resting once more at his sides, totally prone and unconscious again. Vinsah collapsed over top of him, his paws pressed firmly into the tiling, holding him up. Egland knelt at his side and put his own hoof-like hands underneath his shoulders to help him up, but the bishop shook his head, “No, I’m all right. I just need a moment.”
Egland nodded and backed off slightly, his eyes turning instead to his long-time friend. The face was peaceful, no hint of the malice that had just a moment ago been painted across it. There was not even a line or groove on his skin to remember the ferocity of his fight with the priest. It was as if it had never even occurred. Finding his voice, the elk-morph managed to ask, “Did it work, is he all right?”
Vinsah shrugged as he leaned back on his tail. “I have no idea honestly. I think that it might have worked, but we will not know until he arises once more.” He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling as if it had just been released from some terrible weight. “Whatever it was that had a hold on him, it did not want to let go. It did not feel like an evil spirit, despite what it did, but whatever magic was used in its conjuring or summoning, I don’t think that it was of this world.”
Suddenly, Bryonoth sat upright, breathing heavily, panting nearly, and flashing his eyes about. “Thou hast to help me, they art attempting to kill the Patriarch, please!” He then fell back to the stone, his eyes gazing almost emptily into the high vaults of the Cathedral roof.
Thomas, Hough, and Saulius darted closer, as did the other Keepers, intent to see what the newly awoken Bryonoth had to say. Bryonoth had reached up and gripped the hem of Vinsah’s cassock and was gazing forlornly, like a man completely lost. “Please, thou hast to save the Patriarch before it is too late.”
Vinsah gently gripped Bryonoth’s hand in his paw, holding it close to his chest, and shaking his head, his green eyes closed tight in the sorrow of memory. “It is too late, Sir Bryonoth. The Patriarch is dead, murdered most foul. You are at Metamor, in the Cathedral. I’m Bishop Vinsah, one of the few to survive the attack.”
Bryonoth gazed upwards into those green eyes and the mask that surrounded them in disbelief, and then he closed his own. “I... I know. I hath my memory still, twisted foully as it is.” He turned and peered up at Egland’s cervine face, reaching out a hand to stroke down the end of the muzzle, at which Egland had to chuff slightly. “Yacoub?”
Egland nodded, laughing, nearly crying as he held that hand to his face with his own hoof-like one. “It is I, Albert. I have missed you.”
“I have missed myself as well. What evil dost they use upon me?”
“We don’t know yet, but we will.”
Sir Albert Bryonoth nodded, and then turned his eyes to Thomas, who was still watching him curiously. Pushing himself out from underneath the Bishop, he kneeled before Thomas, bowing is head in shame. “I hath done a grievous wrong to thee, your lordship. I shalt humbly serve any punishment thou deem worthy for a man such as I.”
Thomas peered at him for a moment, but shook his head. “But you did nothing of your own will, it was that evil spirit that was controlling you that did those things to me. You are innocent of any intent.” Thomas knew all too well how easily it was for a mortal to be turned to powers that were beyond mortality. As with the bridle, and a cursed blade some months before, magic had ways most foul to invade the soul and the spirit, twisting them to evil ends. “You have done nothing to deserve punishment. Being used by the enemy like you were is hardly something you yourself would have wanted.”
“Please, your lordship, I beg of thee, I have done terrible crimes to thy people in taking thee. Punish me as thou wilt,” Bryonoth’s face was contorted into agony as he spoke, as if just thinking of the things that he had done while controlled was a burden he could not bear.
Thomas continued to shake his head, one hoof-like hand holding the blanket about his loins. “But you did nothing, it was that evil spirit that was controlling you that did those things to me.” He reiterated, “You were but a prisoner within your own body, Sir Bryonoth. You are innocent.”
Bryonoth shook his head, leaning even further down to the floor, nearly bursting with shame. “Nay, my lord, I would be haunted if thou didst not hold me responsible for this, for it was my flesh and blood that did this to you.”
The Duke of Metamor turned and looked at Egland, then Vinsah, as if hoping for some advice, yet they remained silent, offering only noncommittal shrugs, unsure themselves of what had to be done. Grimacing reluctantly, Thomas nodded, and tried his best to add gravity to his voice as he let his sentence be pronounced. “Sir Albert Bryonoth, formerly a knight of Yesulam, I Duke Thomas Hassan of Metamor, hereby decree that thou shalt serve Metamor in her stables until such time as I see fit to renounce your sentence. You will assist the other stable hands in caring for and cleaning the Keep’s horse, just as soon as we beat back Nasoj’s army that is.”
Bryonoth suddenly bore a queer look of appreciation on his face, one that he quickly tried to hide. Nodding, her kept his head low. “Thank thee, your lordship.” Only Duke Thomas, Sir Egland, and Sir Saulius knew just to what extent the knight of Yesulam meant that thanks.
“My thanks.” The Duke intoned as he accepted the robes and slid one arm into a sleeve, still regarding the knight kneeling before him, “But for now you are considered under arrest until such a time as those stables are liberated. Please conduct yourself to an unoccupied room and remain there unless you are called upon.” He raised his head as he rolled his shoulders into the robe and cinched it about his waist, “Sir Egland, you and your squire are to stand guard over him.” His voice was firm, his dignity regained at last.
Egland blinked, his ears twitching, “Squire, m’lord?” he muttered, momentarily confused. Thomas hooked a thumb at a tall, thick shouldered antelope standing at the fringes of the crowd, whose eyes continuously strayed to Egland’s frame with a strange dulcimer quality.
“The Oryx, Intoran?” He whickered as he stood, one ear turned toward the confused elk as he levelled a stare at him as if brooking any sort of argument. Egland opened his muzzle, then stopped and nodded woodenly, stepping forward to help Bryonoth to his feet.
"The Lutins have grugs on their side," whispered Desuka carefully. "They are trying to break into the room with magic, but Blake says to me that the magic and the antimagic of the tower is moving and changing."
"That's impossible."
"But it happens now."
"That explains why Jesse was able to blast through the lower wall. It's almost time. Get ready."
A loud and sudden rumble shook the floor.
"That's them! Get ready!"
A small, lime green, one-eyed Lutin cried out to his captain in a whiny voice. "Cap'n sir! I hears diggin' under the ground!"
"There ain't no diggin'," the captain replied. "The ground is too cold for diggin'. Now shut up."
The lime colored one went back to his business. A few minutes later, he came back. "Captain, I'm sure I hears diggin!"
"There ain't no diggin', you son of a motherless radish! The ground is as hard as ice!"
There was a loud rumble.
"Now I know I heard that, Cap'n!"
"That was thunder, you second wife of an ogre's dog! There's a storm goin' on outside!"
"But Sir, it don't thunder in December!"
"It's a magic storm! It can do whatever it wants!"
Rolling echos of the thunder grew louder. They also seemed to grow closer, coming right up to the spot where they had patched up the wall using debris and ice and the remains of their slain comrades. The patch went flying every which way, having been displaced by an angry rhinoceros.
In a sad, disappointed tone, the lime colored foot soldier said "That magic storm just dug right through our wall."
As the Lutins stared in amazement, the rhino withdrew and was replaced by a kangaroo. "CHAH!" cried the kangaroo, letting a ball of light float from his paws. A large otter tossed a rock into the air. Both dove for cover.
The instant the rock intercepted the ball of light, it burst into a million fragments, which lodged themselves firmly within the bodies of the Lutins.
Immediately, more Lutins poured downward from the level above. They surveyed their dead cohorts and the Keepers standing just beyond the breach in the wall. As one, they rushed forward. The keepers withdrew.
"NOW!" shouted Oren.
A rain of swords, spears and clubs came down out of the sky. Lutins found themselves suddenly crushed, impaled or both. The keepers, meanwhile, seized whatever weapons were in their reach and began hacking away at the miserable green devils.
Desuka, Blake and Natalie congratulated each other for their part in the plan. More than a fifth of the occupying force was now dead or dying, and more would quickly come. Now all they had to do was defend the hole which they had created in the wall and wait for their allies to reach the seventh level of the tower.
There was a resounding "thump" at the door.
"That wasn't Shamgar." said Natalie.
Blake folded her hands and smiled. "Last rule of magic. When all else fails, use brute force."
"They are breaking door in!" exclaimed Desuka. "You go, Natalie. We defend this place."
"But..."
"GO!"
Natalie hesitated, then made her way up to the roof, where she perched and waited.
"EVIL! EVIL! SNOTBAGS!" screamed Oren as he swung a halberd in a wide arc, ending the lives of many Lutins in one sweep. "No one is EVER going to take my home away again!"
The third and fourth level had been cleared of invaders, and he was working on the fifth. Ever upward he pressed, his friends giving him a wide berth, frightened by the enraged monster he had become.
It was on the sixth level that he met up with Desuka and Blake. Desuka was as red as a red panda could be. Blake was cackling like mad, whatever control she had displayed now completely gone. Both were drenched in the blood of their enemies. For a moment, everyone stopped, even the Lutins, as the three crazed killers regarded one another. No one knew what to expect.
Oren turned to face his troops. "Keep going," he said.
Instantly, the battle resumed. Desuka and Blake returned to fulfilling their bloodlust. Oren, however, stood and silently looked down at the blood which clung to his fur and vest.
Lutin blood.
The blood of Vitra's people.
He had killed dozens of Lutins in the past few minutes. In the line of duty of course.
And he'd enjoyed it.
He had been happy to take the lives of innocent beings, finding sheer delight in their death cries and joy in their final moments of suffering.
He was a monster, just like Desuka and Blake had become.
No... Worse. Blake was insane, and Desuka was mindless. Oren knew perfectly well what he was doing.
Natalie had been concentrating on increasing her size. She was grateful that the curse which changed her into a dragon had mingled with the spell which shrunk her, giving her some amount of control over how big she could be. That ability proved invaluable, now. As she approached a good ten feet tall, she could hear the Lutins coming up from below.
"Get back down there!" one was yelling. "Stay at your post!"
"I's not going back down there! There's a demon raccoon, I tell you! It ate one of the grugs! Bit the thing's head right off! I'm not facing that thing!"
"You dare call yourself a Lutin?"
"RAAAAAHR!!!"
"On second thought..."
The two Lutins emerged into the open air and leapt over the railing, clinging to the face of the wall in order to claw their way downward to safety.
Natalie flew up beside them. "Hey, I recognize you," she said. "Tell me again who would be good eating?"
"Uh...heh..."
Seconds later, a pair of Lutins hit the ground rather hard.
Down over the edge of the tower Lutins poured. Those who managed to keep their grip were politely helped to freedom by the angry dragon. She made sure every one of them found their way to the ground.
Dan's first sensation was heat. A beautiful radiant warmth that was infusing into his body. Unfortunately the joy of the heat was quickly joined by pain. As he regained his senses, a throbbing headache developed. This was quickly overshadowed as the pain started to flow through the rest of his body. His brain, once again conscious, began to take in world around him. He could feel a softness around him. A quick examination revealed it to be a heavy fur draped over him, and a sleeping palette under him. A bright flickering light to his left revealed itself to be the fire in a large hearth, the source of the heat.
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Dan looked around. As he had begun to suspected, he was in a shelter. Around him were a cross section of Metamor's population, everyone from common laborers to minor nobles, huddled together in a cellar for protection. The dark room was crowded with people, split off into little groups. The room was quiet except for the sobbing of a child.
Though still feeling weak, Dan struggled to rise to a sitting position. As he tried to roll over onto his back, a helping hand appeared, pulling him to his feet. The grasshopper found himself leaning against Christoff. The solider lead him over to a bench by the fire and helped to sit down.
"Feeling better?" asked the soldier as he draped a robe around the unclothed insect's shoulders.
"Feeling like shit." mumbled Dan. "What happened?"
"Cold shock," replied Christoff. "Near as I can tell. Only seen it once before. Used to have a cold-blooder in my unit, a skinkmorph. You expended way too much energy out there. Your body couldn't take it."
Christoff dipped a mug into a steaming kettle sitting in the coals of the hearth. Dan accepted the mug, sipping the hot tea, the liquid spreading a comforting warmth deep in his body as he sipped.
"How did it go?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Two dead; Jace and Francine. Other then that, only a few minor injuries. A lot of frostbite." answered Christoff solemnly.
"Dead?"
Christoff nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"It happens. I've lost men before. I know it will happen again. It is an unfortunate danger of the job."
"And Laracin?"
"We got him in here." answered the solider. " He's in an unheated storeroom. Someone suggested that would keep him from waking up."
"I want to see him." said Dan, struggling to rise to his feet.
"Rest a bit first. Get your strength back."
"No, I want to see him."
With a sigh, the captain once again helped Dan to his feet. Draping a thin, chitinous arm across his shoulder, Dan let Christoff lead him the short distance to an adjoining room. The room was long and narrow. Shelves lined each side of the room, piled high with supplies. The room was uncomfortably chill to Dan, still sensitive to the low temperature.
In the middle of the floor lay Laracin, branches still bound in the heavy ropes. Dan just stared at his friend. Wounds were obvious, the green-yellow wood showing through the dark gray-green of the bark. Cracked roots, broken branches, and skinned bark were all in evidence. Each and every one Dan saw pulled at his heart. Each was one more reason his friend might never again wake.
"Was it really worth it?" Dan asked softly.
Christoff, looking over the damage as well, took a moment before he replied. "Are those wounds going to kill him?"
"I don't know."
"Then it was worth it. He has a chance at life, as opposed to the certain death he faced outside."
Dan nodded, though he really didn't believe what the soldier's words.
"Besides," continued Christoff, leading Dan back into the main room of the cellar, "This was a victory over Nasoj. Maybe only a small one, but still a victory. One of our first. From what I hear, things are not going all that well for us."
"A victory?" replied Dan, with a dry chuckle. "You call that a victory? We may have saved a life, but it cost us two!"
Christoff stopped, letting Dan settle back down on the bench by the fire.
"Do you know what happens now?" he asked.
"No."
"Now we organize. We fight back. We kill those seeking to kill us. We rally around our small victories, and push the enemy from our home."
At last, it was all over. The Hipocci minutemen and their friends stood in the top level of the tower, almost oblivious to the wind and snow. Despite his disappointment with himself, Oren was proud. His people, both Hipocci and keepers, had come through without a single fatality, while the enemy had been severely crushed.
But there was one more thing to do.
Onto a pile of Lutin clothing and weapon handles, Jesse tossed a handful of dry bark.
"Light it," Oren commanded.
With a mighty heave, Natalie summoned forth a fiery blast which turned the pile of garbage into a blazing beacon.
In the sanctuary of the followers, Gornul was the first to see the light. Joyfully, he called everyone's attention toward the casement to see. The tower had been reclaimed. There was hope!
In the palace of the Duke, they saw the light, and felt that hope.
In the assembly of the Lightbringers, they joyed in that light of hope.
In the Long house, the scouts' hearts swelled with the hope.
We weren't out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. But for many, that was the turning point of the battle. That was when they knew that they could win.
The Lightbringer Archives were quiet, and unexpectedly warm considering the weather. Men, women and children were curled up on the floor in soft woolen blankets; some of them, those who were old, sick, or weak, rested on thin sleeping mats that provided a bit more comfort for their tired and aching bones. Most had drifted off to sleep by now, clustered together into groups of family and friends. Others still lay awake, praying for the protection of their loved ones outside. And one figure paced irritably back and forth near the spiral staircase, her footsteps making no sound but her frustration obvious in every movement.
A second form quietly descended the stairs, touched the first figure lightly on the shoulder, and beckoned her back the way she had come.
"You shall arouse the others if you continue pacing down there," Merai said when they had reached the top of the staircase.
"If you dislike seeing me pace, then give me something useful to do," Daria growled. "I have no business sleeping on a night like this."
Merai turned and clasped forearms with her warrior friend. "What good will it do anyone for you to wear yourself out?" she asked, her voice and eyes concerned. Her feline tail twitched behind her in silent worry.
"What good will it do me to sit here while the battle rages outside?" the redhead countered. "I'm a squire, Merai. My place is by my master's side, in battle, not cowering in here behind a wall of magic." She clenched and unclenched her fists repeatedly, looking as if she desperately wished to be holding a sword and shield in those hands.
Merai sighed and shook her head, her pointed ears twitching backwards a little. "This battle is bigger than us, Daria. Going outside, alone, now -- you would only get yourself killed. One squire will make no difference."
Daria's jaw tightened, but after a moment she, too, lowered her head and sighed. "I know. And perhaps that is the more frustrating thing." She slumped down against the wall, and the cat-woman silently moved to join her. Daria drew her knees up close to her body, gripping her arms in her hands as if to ward off some unseen chill.
After a few seconds of silence, Daria turned to face Merai. The young priestess saw that her friend's eyes were wet with tears. "Merai, my father is out there right now," she murmured. The dread in her voice was palpable. "He was on the wall when the alarum sounded. I wish that I could go to him, help him in the battle ... but I could never find him out there, and it would be wrong for me try." She fell silent again, her hands tightening against her arms. "All my life, my father has been the most important person in my life," she said, her eyes distant. "He has been my inspiration, my example ... I look at him and I see a hero." She shook her head distractedly. "I know that people die in war. But if he's gone..."
Her voice drifted off, as her head hung forward limply. Wordlessly, Merai reached out and drew her into an embrace, holding her close as silent tears rolled down. Daria fought so hard to be strong, Merai reflected -- struggled to be the brave knight and warrior she had always wanted to be. But emotions were real and important things, and denying them could only force them inward until they consumed you. Merai tried to help her realize that there was no shame in expressing her feelings -- but as her friend clutched tightly at her back, digging her fingers into Merai's robe until she was gripping the soft fur beneath it, the priestess reflected that she still had a long way to go.
After some time -- Merai could not say how long -- they heard a sudden pounding in the hallway outside.
"What is that?" Daria asked, frowning. "Is someone trying to break in?"
Merai perked her ears forward, listening. Someone was, indeed, banging on the heavy bronze-covered doors of the temple -- but there was another sound interspersed with it, fainter but still recognizable...
"Those are Keepers," she said, getting to her feet. "They must have come here looking for shelter."
"Can we let them in?" Daria asked, following close behind her as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I hope so."
Stepping out of the side passage that contained the staircase, Merai shut the door behind them and headed for the main entrance. Two guards stood at the door, both human, their swords drawn and ready. One was a town guardsman from Euper named Wester and the other a woman who called herself a bodyguard. From the cool manner the two displayed toward each other they obvious had some sort of history together that had been less then cordial. Whatever their feelings towards each other, though, they weren’t letting them interfere with their duties at the door, and in any case Merai had more important things to worry about.
"Is anyone in there?" a female voice shouted behind the door. "Please, let us in! We have wounded with us!"
Merai gripped the heavy metal handle on one of the doors. "Were you followed?" she asked, trying to speak loudly enough to be heard while still being considerate of those sleeping in the nearby rooms. The woman grasped the cross brace, handing the other guard her sword for a moment as she prepared to haul the heavy beam up. She said nothing, watching Merai with intense, hazel eyes, and waited.
"No, the staircase closed behind us on the second floor," the voice answered. "There isn't an enemy in sight."
Nodding, Merai stepped back from the door. "Lady Kyia," she murmured, "will you let these people come inside?"
The answer came back like a whisper on the wind. "I shall. There is no danger -- they have brought no darkness with them."
"Thank you," Merai whispered. Turning to Daria, she motioned at the door. "Would you let them in, Dari? I shall keep watch that nothing foul tries to slip in behind them."
The squire nodded, walking up to the large double doors as the female guard hauled the cross brace back. She grabbed the handle of the left one and it opened easily. Quickly, a line of about twenty men and women of assorted species filed into the room, carrying two more men and a young girl along with them. As soon as the last one had passed inside the door shut firmly behind them of its own volition and the self-proclaimed bodyguard rammed the cross brace back in place. Merai beckoned to two acolytes who silently stood guard at the far end of the hallway with two other armed members of the congregation.
"Take these three into the temple and tend to their wounds," she said. "I'll be along shortly to help with anything serious."
Without a word, the acolytes came over and examined the wounded. After a moment, they led the men carrying them back into the main temple hall.
"Thank you," one of the remaining women said, approaching Merai and extending a hand. She was a skunk-morph, one of the few Merai had seen, and her eyes were a mixture of gratitude, worry, and hardened resolve. She also looked tired, her breathing labored from what must have been a long, hard run from the battle lines. Surprisingly, Merai could only faintly detect any hint of the woman's distinctive musk; traces of it lingered on the clothes of some of her comrades, but none on the mephit herself. Merai noticed a pendant hanging from the skunk-morph's neck; its magic shined clearly in the priestess's aura-vision, and she realized that this must be the device that was dampening the mustelid's aroma.
All of which would make things much easier on everyone, especially since they were in confined quarters. Merai clasped the woman's hand firmly, nodding once. "Just doing our duty," she said. "Welcome to the Lightbringer Temple. I'm Sister Merai."
"Aye, I've seen you from time to time around the Keep," the other woman said with a weary smile. "Kayla," she added by way of introduction, speaking over her shoulder as she turned to the nearby cloakroom and began pulling off her winter outer-garments and laying aside the few weapons she'd managed to secure since the alarum sounded.
"A pleasure," Merai said, smiling. "Though I wish it could be under other circumstances." Her expression turned serious. "How goes the battle?"
" 'Tis too soon to tell," Kayla said, frowning. She leaned back against the wall, resting there for the moment, but she seemed to be recovering from her exertion quickly. "The enemy has control of the town, and some have penetrated the castle, but they've not gotten far within it. The Keep seems to be frustrating their advances."
"Good to hear. Where is Lord Thomas?"
The skunk shook her head.. "I don't know. I was at Misha Brightleaf's Yule party -- I've not seen the Duke since yesterday."
Merai bit her lip thoughtfully. "I hope he is all right."
"So do I."
"What of the guards?"
Merai and Kayla turned to look at Daria. The red-haired woman's expression was earnest, and her eyes were red and just a little swollen from her recent tears.
"Beg pardon?" Kayla asked.
"The guards on the curtain wall," Daria said. "What has become of them?"
Kayla sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't know," she said again. "I would imagine most have been killed, or at best cut off from help. There may yet be a few in the towers, and some may have reached the entrance to the Keep on the northeast side." She shook her head again, sadness in her eyes. "Considering how quickly the enemy came upon us though, I doubt that many have survived."
Daria leaned back against the wall, visibly shaken. "Thank you," she whispered.
With difficulty, Merai drew her eyes away from her troubled friend and back to the skunk-woman. "Kyia has opened the first two levels of the Archives to visitors," she said, gesturing at the door that led to the staircase. "You can sleep there for the night -- we'll provide you with blankets. One of you may stay with your wounded friends while their injuries are treated, but no more than that. The Lothanasa will give us further instructions in the morning."
"Thank you," Kayla said. After a few moments of discussion with her associates, it was decided that she would be the one to stay by their wounded comrades. Following the directions of one of the acolytes, the others made their way down to the Archives.
Merai, meanwhile, entered the temple hall, with Kayla following close behind. There were now five acolytes awake and tending to the injuries of the men and the girl. After conversing with them for a few minutes and looking over the three wounded, Merai decided that they were in no grave danger and the Light-Healing would not be necessary. Kayla sat down beside them and began speaking to them softly, as Merai went into a storeroom and brought out a few cups and a pitcher of water. The skunk-morph accepted them gratefully and helped her injured friends to drink a little before pouring a cup for herself.
"Do you have any idea what the Lightbringer is planning?" Kayla asked, after her comrades had drifted off to sleep.
"Not really. She said that she would 'speak with her sources', that she would have more information in the morning, but I know not how she means to go about it. It seems as though she intends to simply wait the battle out, and provide whatever comfort she can to those who are trapped here with us."
Kayla turned to look at Daria. The young woman was still sitting in the entrance hallway, leaning up against the plastered wall, staring numbly off into space. "I doubt that some will be satisfied with that course of action."
"So do I, but what else can we do? There are only a few hundred of us here, most of them women, children and older folk. What can we do that would have any impact?"
Kayla smiled. "You'd be surprised what a small group of warriors can do, Sister Merai -- especially when they are fighting the enemy in territory they know well. Have you ever heard of 'otrinca'?" Merai shook her head. "It means 'little war' -- it's a term we use in Intelligence to describe the tactics of harassing a large invading force, like a dog nipping at their heels."
"You work in Intelligence?" Merai asked, surprised.
Kayla nodded. "I know something of otrinca tactics -- my grandfather was a tactician, and I've been with Intelligence for a number of years now. They can be very effective. In a situation like this you cannot stand toe-to-toe with the enemy and win, but you can make their lives a lot more difficult."
Slowly, a smile spread over Merai's face. "Daria, come over here," she said. "Kayla has something you'll want to hear."
At the very least, Charles slept peacefully. His dreams were filled with bright images, of Lady Kimberly and he frolicking and enjoying each other’s company out in one of the gardens of the Keep. They sat beneath an espaliered wall, nestled against the thin trunk of the tree, sharing each other in ways that so far had been confined to Matthias’s dreams. One paw clutched a branch set against that wall, holding on as his dream exploded into brilliant rays of light.
Then abrupt darkness as he felt Zagrosek’s had upon his shoulder, rousing him from his pleasant sleep. Struggling from the confines of his robes, the last images from his dream still clouding his mind, he gazed blindly about him with an embarrassed smile, but of course, no candle had yet been lit, so none could see his chagrin.
But the darkness was short-lived this time, thankfully, as the sound of flint against steel rang in his ears. Moments later Jerome brought a small flame to life on one of the candles. In quick succession the other candles were brought to life, and soon the room was bright once more. Wrapping his cloak tightly about himself, Charles nodded to the rest, noting that the Sondeckis appeared much less haggard than before.
“Charles?” a voice from behind him asked, and for a moment, that embarrassed smile crept back onto his muzzle.
“Yes?” the rat asked, turning to stare at Elliot who stood with a candle held gingerly in one paw.
“What happened to your tail?”
“My tail?” Charles asked, certain that Elliot was going to ask about something far more private. Glancing back behind him to where his tail peeked out from beneath his cloak, he grimaced. The portion that had been scalded in Wessex’s first attack was slightly puffy still, and quite pink. “It was burned a little, but it should be all right. I don’t even feel it that much anymore.”
Elliot nodded and then glanced back at the others. They were all bundled up in their thick wool cloaks, even the rats. Jerome was lighting the two lanterns that they’d brought with them, extending the wick inside the receptacle barely past the hole through which it was twined. The flame that rose from it was slender, and very petite, but it glowed with a resilient orange fire.
“Well, we’re depending on you four,” Zagrosek said, looking back at the door that had remained shut for the last few hours. “Which one of you knows these cellars the best?”
Goldmark raised his paw over his head. “That would be me, I’m afraid.”
The Sondeckis nodded, his black hair shifting only slightly with that motion. “I suppose Jerome and I can watch the back, while you and Charles lead.”
Goldmark looked over to his fellow rat, dressed the same way as the humans in that black robe with the shield, hand, and sword insignia. “I don’t suppose you want to wait any longer?”
“We’ve waited long enough already,” Garigan said hotly, crossing his arms, his short tail shifting beneath his green robes.
“He’s right,” Charles murmured softly, taking one of the lanterns from Jerome and handing it to Elliot. “Stay behind us, and keep that light shrouded as best you can. Do you think you can handle that?”
Elliot held one paw before the light, obscuring most of it except for what slipped through the cracks in his fingers. “I think so.”
“Good, then we should leave once we are sure it is safe to do so. Julian?” Charles pointed towards the door, and the white rat solemnly pressed his ear against it, sliding his claw once again into the lock. It took him barely any time at all to catch the latch and draw it open now that he’d done it twice before already. The door gently drew inwards, slowly, though, for which Matthias was thankful. The hallway stood empty outside, and neither sound nor scent greeted them except the draughty mustiness of the cellars.
Nodding once, Julian stepped out of the way to allow Charles and Goldmark to step outside, with Elliot and Garigan following closely behind. The pale light shone over their shoulders and gave the hallway beyond a spectral cast. Old stones hung overhead, and now Charles could see the faint traces of moss and fungus that clung between the cracks. Yellows and greys filled the spaces between the stones, while rivulets of filthy water dribbled along them, charting the course of their growth as the moisture led down towards cellars even more remote from the lives of the Keepers. Where in places the stone had grown too mouldy, and had crumbled to the ground, the cavities remaining were filled with that creeping life, and sometimes the rats found that they could see those amorphous masses shining with gangrenous light even before the lantern illuminated their mildewed form.
Thankfully though, the floor was free of those cancerous infestations, but instead was choked with dust that rose into the air as they walked. It clung to their noses, nearly causing Charles to sneeze several times. The path that Goldmark led, though, was much less clogged than many of the other side passages that they happened to pass by. It would be obvious to any tracker, skilled or otherwise, that somebody had recently passed this way, but they found it hard to believe the Lutins would reach this far beneath the surface of the Keep. Of course they found it hard to believe that the Lutins would reach the Keep at all, much less enter it. And so Jerome and Zagrosek kept a wary eye behind them, their nervousness unspoken, but known by all.
Even so, they descended further and further into the dank confines of the cellars without incident. Several times, they had to skirt around an unseemly fragrant pool that had filled portions of the hallway. Charles feared even dragging his clothes through the noxious water, for fear they would be covered by the mucous clinging to the pool’s membranous surface like cadaverous flesh upon bone. Sometimes he fancied things lurking beneath the calm surface, waiting to reach out and snatch at his foot paw should it stray to near, only to smother him in some necrophagous abyss. Yet, they remained preternaturally still, aside from when a droplet of water fell from the ceiling, rippling outwards along that mucus in a rather subdued fashion.
The entire cellars possessed that same feel of being subdued, as if life and motion here were foreign concepts, ones that were squelched by the unbearable weight of the years and of the stone that rest over their heads. Charles was reluctant even to speak, for fear it might conjure some unsightly ghast from the walls of Metamor itself, covered in that profane muck and slime, and turn him into much the same, as punishment for his blasphemy. Again, he chided himself on letting his prodigious imagination overcoming his senses, but he still kept as quiet as he could be.
In fact, aside from one snippet of conversation that Garigan and Elliot had near their backs, none of them spoke a word the entire time they descended into the dark and untrod chambers of the Keep’s cellars. The dank and clogging mildew almost made Charles wish to be in the dungeons themselves, for they were much cleaner and not nearly as dreary. In fact, the walls about them felt almost hostile to their intrusion, as if they were trespassing on hallowed ground. That feeling clung to his heart the entire time they remained in that passage alongside the darkened rooms.
He did not even notice what they truly were until Garigan spoke, his voice hushed, but audible. “Was that a bedroom?”
Elliot nodded and replied, “Yes, they have mirrors in there, but they are too old to even show you your reflection anymore.”
“Who lived there? And why would they live so deep in the cellars like this?” Garigan’s voice stung Charles, springing up all sorts of unnatural fears. As his eyes traced along the walls, he could almost make out indistinct faces glaring back at him, their features twisted in fashions that were not recognizable even as human.
“As to who lived here, none of us know. But it must have been a very long time ago indeed, because I don’t think that these rooms were this far beneath the earth then. Hector thinks we should be right beneath the killing grounds now, so several thousand years ago, you might have been able to look out a window at the mountains from here. I don’t know for sure though.”
Neither Garigan nor Elliot spoke after that, for which Charles was glad, though he certainly would not say so, or even smile while they walked on past those glaring faces. After a moment, the rat realised that they were not just his fanciful imaginings glowering down at him from the walls, but they were the last remnants of statues carved into the walls themselves from ages long ago! With a trembling breath, he sucked in air that he supposed had not been breathed in several millennia.
However, it was only a short time after they had left that passageway that Goldmark stopped. They had come down more flights of stairs than Charles bothered to count, and had more stone hanging above their heads than he wished to reckon either! Before them was a thick portal of black stone, chiselled as if from the side of a mountain. It was clearly not the same sort of stone used in fashioning the rest of the Keep, for where mould had overtaken much of the structure that they’d passed on their journey, this was still solid and smooth, as like it was freshly cast.
Finally, after holding his tongue for so long, Charles asked, “Is this it?” He trembled as his paw felt the cold surface of the stone, as if it contained the icy chill that billowed outside.
Goldmark nodded, looking back towards the others. The light from the two lanterns glistened on the surface of the portal, lighting a small handle that was inset into the centre of its frame. “We’ve never been able to move this portal, but we know it points roughly Northwest. If there is anything that could take you from this keep, it must be beyond this door.”
“How do you know it is a door?” Jerome asked, peering overtop of Julian’s short head.
Goldmark knocked on the metal several times, and a hollow sound echoed back. Jerome nodded, smiling slightly. “Are you sure it opens outwards?”
“It has to,” Elliot interjected, pointing at the sides. “Look at the sizes of those hinges.” And indeed, a set of large hinges framed one side of the circular portal. “We’re just not strong enough to move it, and only two of us can hold that handle at a time.”
“Krenek,” Charles called, and the large man stepped past the two rats before him. “Let’s see if we can move it.”
Zagrosek nodded and put his hand around a good portion of that inset ring. He lifted it with ease, and peered down at the rat. Charles calmly slipped his own paw beneath that black iron, feeling the way it slid over his skin for a moment. Then, tightening his grip, he nodded emphatically, and began to usher his Sondeck through his arm and into the portal. It groaned, a loud resonating sound that made bits of mouldy stone dribble from the ceiling in consternation. The rats all stared at the ceiling and the walls, hoping that they would remain intact as the black door began to slowly but inexorably come loose.
Both Charles and Zagrosek grunted as they heaved. Jerome leaned back and forth on his feet, holding one of the lanterns his over his shoulder so that he might see, but it was clear to all those around that he wished to assist. Finally, after the two Sondeckis gasped for breath, leaning back against the portal, no longer pulling for a moment, he saw how he could help. Moving over between the door and the wall, he began to push at the frame. Charles flashed him a quick smile before he gripped the handle again and yanked for all the might he could muster.
With all three of them using their Sondeck, the door did finally come to rest wide open. It had been a rather thick door, at least an arm’s length thick at the middle, and so it was no surprise that the rats had not been able to make it budge. Lifting the lantern and shaking the stress from his arms out a bit, Jerome peered into the blackness that awaited them beyond. He was greeted only with another hallway, one that appeared to be slightly fresher than the one that they stood in, but otherwise unremarkable. The four Sondeckis were quick to note that it appeared to head off in the same direction for as far as the light could shine, and their eyes could penetrate.
“This looks promising,” Charles murmured, glancing back at the four rats who stood in the hallway, peering down past the portal as well. “Thank you very much, we owe you a great favour.”
The four of them smiled then, even Julian. Hector though spoke for them all. “Thank you for coming to us and warning us of Nasoj and his Lutins. We’re going to go back up and see how we can help.”
“You could come with us,” Charles offered, indicating the other Sondeckis.
“No, this is our home, and we will defend it. You defend yours,” Hector said, though the last was meant for Garigan alone, and the others knew it. Charles nodded, and then patted his fellow rodent on the shoulder. Hector leaned forward though, and whispered into Matthias’s saucer-shaped ears, “And I do hope you plan to tell us what that symbol you all have on your cloaks means.”
Charles found himself laughing, something he had never thought he’d do in these dank passages, or in relation to the Sondeckis. “I’ll tell you after this is all over. I’ll tell everybody, I think.” That brought a rather quirky smile to the muzzles of his friends. He disengaged himself from his fellow rats, and stepped towards the portal and the dark hallway beyond. “Best of luck to you, my friends. Do take care of yourselves. And remember, use what you have, and take pride in it always.”
“You too, Charles. Don’t get yourself killed!” Elliot called back, even while Goldmark lit one of the candles he’d brought with him by one of Jerome’s lanterns.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 7 AM
Josh has always been a very light sleeper.
It irritated his parents to no end when he was a young one - the slightest noise from the outside would wake him up bawling immediately, and so they rarely if ever got enough sleep to make it through their regular days, let alone take care of him. He's certainly a very open and high-spirited individual (for someone still years short of double-digits), but that came about more in spite of his parents' constantly high levels of stress from lack of wakefulness, rather than as a result of it.
Nowadays he no longer bawls loudly instantly upon awakening. This has increased the livability of his family's household a great deal, but it has other benefits as well.
In this specific case, it means Jono has enough time to put his hand over Josh's mouth before the child can speak.
"Shhhhh," he whispers quietly. "It's okay, it's Uncle Jono." His first priority is to keep Josh from panicking, so he has to say that, even though the situation for the time being is decidedly not okay. "We have to be very, very quiet, Josh. We're in trouble." He says it easily, calmly. Sure, there's trouble here, but I'm your big Uncle Jono and I can handle it, just you watch me.
The bit of false bravado seems to work, because Josh calms down very quickly, so Jono removes his paw, allowing Josh to look around. He sees Jo looking up, her face looking very worried indeed. He tries to track where she's looking, to see what's got Uncle Jono's friend bothered but there's nothing there but ceiling. And those other folks - the nice lady and the Really Cool big cow-guy - they're also looking upward. Daemion's and Jeremy's dads are both looking at tunnels, he thinks Dae's dad is in front of the tunnel they just took, and Jeremy's dad's in front of someplace new.
Then his thoughts cut off there as he hears again what woke him up. A fairly loud THUMP from above, presumably from a sack of grain (though Josh doesn't know that), and then the gravelly voices of somebody up there. It doesn't take him too long to realize what has all the grown-ups so worried.
“Bad guys! Right above us! Then, But they're not gonna get us, we gots Uncle Jono!”
The aforethought surrogate Uncle glances up briefly at the thump, looking worried, then quickly drops that expression from his face and turns down to Josh. "Okay, Josh, remember the deal we made back in my rooms?"
Josh doesn't need to remember to whisper. "Yep. I 'members good," he whispers proudly. Promises of big slices of any kind of pie you like do not easily fade from the mind of any child.
"Okay, good. I need you to make sure that anyone else who gets woken up stays very, very quiet, so we can keep the deal going. We can't let the bakers down, you know." Jono gives the child a conspiratorial wink. He's just shared a Big Secret - the bakers are waiting to make the pies for the kids. This is Big Stuff; Josh has to take it seriously.
"'kay, Uncle Jono," he says, nodding seriously. This is his moment; he's been trusted with the Secret Of The Bakers, and he has to make sure that he and the rest of the kids don't let them down.
Jono grins proudly, giving the child's shoulder a small shake of gratitude. "I knew I could count on you. Now go, make sure you notice when someone wakes up." He gets another nod before Josh turns and starts tiptoeing around various kids, looking to see if anyone else was awakened by the Bad Guys.
He manages to keep the grin for a few more moments before his expression turns serious again, and he stands back up, turning to Jo. "How long do you think they're going to be up there?"
"No idea," she says. Of course, she knows he already knows that, as well as everyone else in the room. They'd first showed up a few minutes ago and it doesn't sound like they're leaving, so even for Kevin the conclusions are elementary. The Lutins could be following orders to retrieve foodstuffs for the army, in which case they're going to be staying there for a bit, but probably will otherwise be okay unless spotted, in which case they're likely to be doomed due to large numbers of Lutins. The Lutins also could be simple looters, in which case the chances of discovery get much higher as the Lutins search around, but it's also likely that they'll be the only ones and thus escape wouldn't be too difficult.
Then, of course, it could just be that the Lutins already know that they're here and are searching for the trapdoor. This would necessitate immediate escape, but in doing so they'd have to rouse all the kids, and if they do that then it's almost guaranteed that some child will wake up loudly, and they'll be found out for sure, and then if it was one or the other situations then they'd be in Much more trouble that they were.
Nobody wants more trouble. So they're being as quiet as they possibly can and hoping that they'll pass by.
"Plan?" Kirk asks Jono.
"Jo's daggers. They'll definitely wake most of the kids up, but it's the quickest way we can take them down. If we bring the house down on us, Perry intends to stand there and block the doorway from entry while we get the kids out." In the background Josh can be heard silencing another child who has just woken up, whispering something about the pie deal.
Kirk nods solemnly, then flicks his gaze back up as another loud THUMP is heard, followed by a loud grunt. Then there's some rapid chattering in some kind of guttural Lutin tongue which, even if any of them could speak it, isn't loud enough when it gets to them to be heard. Footsteps. And some more chattering, from a voice that could possibly be different from the first.
Then everyone's blood turns icy cold when they hear a metal rattling which could only come from one source - The lock on the trapdoor.
Jo moves swiftly to the side so she has a clear view of the trapdoor, quietly slipping out one of her daggers as she does so. Perry moves towards trapdoor itself, tiptoeing as silently as he can, pulling out his sword as he does so.
The rattling continues, then is followed by a loud Clack, whereupon the wood starts to groan slightly, but doesn't give. “Pulling on the lock,” Jono thinks. He can see over to where the kids are; Josh has evidently recruited a few of his fellows to assist in the job of keeping waking kids asleep.
And then Perry puts a foot down on the floor and hits wood, which gives a very audible creak.
Everyone instantly freezes Totally still as the groaning of the wood stops, and a loud CLUNK indicates that the lock has been dropped to the ground. Then arguing. Perhaps one of them thinks it a result of their pulls and that they should pull harder, Jono hopes. Either that or they want to decide early how to divvy up the shares. Then silence.
They wait. It could be only a lull.
The silence continues.
Everyone takes a deep breath, then sighs and relaxes. They left. This occurs but moments before several loud clanking sounds, as though from metal against metal, start to come from the direction of the trapdoor.
They're attacking the lock!
Perry by now is almost right underneath the trapdoor, clearly very tense, sword already partway pulled out. Jo's arm is reared back, one of the daggers in her hand, ready to throw the instant anything pokes its head through. Jono has his whip out and has gotten into a corner where he has enough space to lash at the trapdoor if necessary. Kevin is shaking - he needs to do something to help stop them, but he doesn't dare start chanting a spell. Kirk and Dana are both hovering over the kids. Josh and his army of recruits are moving about as quickly as they dare to try to keep the other kids quiet, as they're waking up very fast.
Too fast. One child wakes up with a loud yawn and a "Wh--" -- an abortive start on a "Where" that gets cut off Very quickly by Josh's paw, but the damage is already done, as gets evidenced when the loud clanks stop briefly, then resume, far, far faster than before.
And then, quite suddenly, there's a human voice, difficult to hear but obviously shouting. "…hell are you doing there?" they manage to hear just before the clanking ceases. Everyone goes absolutely still; a mouse chewing on grain would sound loud in the cellars now.
"Diggin' for rats 'n Keepers!" a voice calls out. Presumably said voice belongs to one of the Lutins.
"Yeah, is hollow!" There follows a few nerve-jarring THUNK THUNK THUNK against the ceiling.
The human voice returns. "..n't give a damn f'n it's hollow or not! You're both suppose..." -- it fades out, then back in -- "...n Guard duty! You will get the Hell over here right now!"
There is a very long silence. Nearly dozens of seconds pass by, everyone in the cellars doing their best to suspend breathing.
Then there's another THUNK that makes everyone jump, several footsteps leading away, some assorted grumbling in that Lutin tongue, and then... silence once more, save for the slow deep breaths of everyone in the cellar.
Jacob woke with a start, snorting and grunting as he flailed briefly about the unfamiliar environment. He was buried in a pile of cloth. Some of it was cut, most was just off the rolls, but it did a good job keeping him warm considering that he was in a basement somewhere. Then the events of the previous night came back and he knew why he was here. The staggering home drunk, waking up and finding Lutins in his house, that house burning down; it all came back. And the masked stranger who came to his rescue. Jacob raised his head and looked out over the dimly lit basement, his eyes coming to focus on where the raccoon was sitting across from him.
“Good to see you’re awake,” Rickkter observed. “I was about to do that for you myself, actually.”
“Damn, how long has it been light out?” mumbled the fox as he rubbed his forehead.
“About an hour now. I took the opportunity to look around while it was still early, when the troops would be tired and not as alert. Not that it mattered. None of them saw me anyway.”
Jacob was yawning and rubbing his face, not paying much attention to Rickkter. Then something about the raccoon clicked in his mind and he stopped mid yawn to examine him more closely. “Um, Rick, where did you get that overcoat?”
“What this?” Rickkter pinched the lapel, lifting it a few inches from the coat. The overcoat itself was entirely made of white fur, arctic fox from the look of the slightly blued fur used to line the collar. However, a large rust colored stain that ran from the neck to about the crotch region, matting the otherwise pristine white, marred the whole front. “I found this on my little recon this morning. The owner didn’t seem to have further use for it.”
“You mean you stole that from a dead man?” the fox asked, snarling in revulsion at the very notion.
“Like I said, the owner wasn’t going to be needing it. Same for the gloves. He was better than half frozen when I found him, and it was a bitch getting all this off him. The Lutins who killed him had already taken his money, but I did manage to find this near by under some snow.” Rickkter reached under a small pile of cloth and slid a sword over to where the fox was sitting.
Picking up the weapon, Jacob couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of it. True he was not a connoisseur of such things, but even a blind man could appreciate the workmanship that went into the weapon. The hilt ended in a slight curl, both sides of which were set with large sapphires. The other jewels were set on the cross guard, those being emeralds and other sapphires. Unlike many weapons bejeweled for purely ornamental purposes, this one had a sturdy leather grip that looked like it knew well the touch of its previous owner. Jacob couldn’t help marveling that this was a weapon worth more money than he had made his entire life. “This is proof that the wrong people have coin.”
“And from now on that’s your weapon, so you can get rid of the crappy Lutin sword you picked up last night. That blade is a good steel alloy, not like some of the cheaper, poorer grades the militia’s around here use.” Jacob pulled a few inches of the blade from its scabbard. It was double edged with a fuller down the middle. “Edges are also razor sharp. Whoever owned that was a professional. It’ll definitely serve you better than that shovel you were using last night,” Rick added with a sardonic grin.
Jacob glared up at the raccoon, sliding the sword back hard. “So what’s the plan?”
“Visibility has picked up a lot,” Rick said as he turned to look up at the small cellar window. “You can see for about twenty feet in front of you now, and I think the wind might even be dropping.” He sighed deeply, giving his nose a rub in an attempt to warm it up. “Our main problem is what we’re going to do about the Lutins. They’ve overrun the town, or so I would assume by this point.”
Jacob rubbed his own nose in an effort to warm any part of him that wasn’t covered in fur. He nodded. “I think I saw fire out by the stables. It was a rather bright orange glow coming from the northern part of the wall around.”
Rickkter’s nodded, his gaze never moving from the small window. “That sounds about right. Burn the stables, kill the horses, prevent any quick dispatches for help. And that would also mean they’ve burned the granary, most likely the mill and the workshops as well. At least those make strategic sense, even if they are pushed back.”
The fox quirked his ears. “Oh?”
“If you can’t kill ‘em outright, starve ‘em out,” Rick elaborated with a sardonic grin.
“True. I’ve read of sieges lasting years.”
“I’ve seen them last years. And the results at the end. Trust me, we could never hold even a fraction of that time here. Not with how far they’ve already made it past our defenses.”
Giving up for the most part on his nose, Jacob started rubbing his paws. “So what are we going to do? Can you use your magic to get us by them?”
Rickkter shook his head. “No, I can’t. The storm prevents the use of teleportation spells, and as I told you last night, any illusions I used would most likely be quickly picked up by any shaman or mage in the area.”
“You mentioned something about that last night. What is this blizzard?”
“This blizzard is the single nastiest magical construct I have ever seen. It’s a natural storm front wrapped around a whole mess of spells. There are several dampening ones to prevent probes, teleportation, and message sending through the storm. Other parts stem the flow of manna to any source besides the storm. From that and the size, it must have taken several very powerful wizards to cast it. They can also control, to an extent, the interior: their army, or armies, hid out in pockets to shelter them from the worst of the storm.” Rick flicked his whiskers and cradled his chin in his paw. “Rather brilliant, actually. The storm drives any opposition to seek shelter, and then the army rolls in without anyone expecting it. That’s what happened to us. We walked right into their vanguard. They were doing a pretty good job of chewing us to pieces by the time I decided to make a break for it.”
Jacob nodded soberly. “You didn’t have much of a choice then. But still, where does that leave us? We definitely can’t hide here forever.”
“No, we can’t,” said Rickkter as he dropped his hand back between his knees. “The way I see it, our only option is to try and make it south to some other city or town and see if we can get help there. The problem with that is getting through their lines, and this damned snow.” He growled loudly at the swirling whiteness. “Based on what happened last night, I don’t even know if I’d make it in this. You’d have a much better shot.”
Rocking his head back and forth, Jacob murred to himself and mulled it over. “You know... there might be another way?”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You see, I’ve lived here all my life. I was changed by the fucking curse. But long before that happened, I was a kid. And like all kids, I explored.”
Rickkter briefly reflected how ‘wonderful’ it was to have gotten trapped with a storyteller.
“Our favorite place was not the wood surrounding the keep, but right underneath us. You see, one day my friend Perry showed us what used to be a sealed door in the basement of one of the warehouses near the mill. It lead to a series of small passageways, a labyrinth under the town!” Jacob was hunched forward and rubbed his paws together. “We managed to get down there, oh, about a dozen times before they caught us and sealed it up again. We used half spent candles, whatever we could scrounge up, to see and rarely had the guts to venture very far in. But based on how far we went, I think that it leads right under the curtain walls. So if I’m right, we can walk right under the enemy without their ever knowing.”
Rickkter slowly stroked the length of his chin with his claws and looked out the window. “Seems rather risky. There will definitely be more of them the closer we get to the walls. And you said yourself that you’re not even sure the door would be open for us. I still think that our best option would be to head to the nearest town and get help there.”
“And on the way there we can get killed, captured, lost, or freeze to death in this wicked stuff. Okay, I’ll grant that my plan is as risky as you say, but there are also advantages. Skills like yours would be desperately needed; whoever cast that spell and controlled that pocket is probably inside the keep.” The fox pursed his lips. “And I’m sure there are those you’d want to get back to, to make sure they’re okay.”
The raccoon’s scratching stopped for an instant at that last part before resuming. He kept looking out the window far longer than Jacob would have expected him to. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. Damn it. So where is this warehouse?”
“Where are we?”
“I thought you knew this area of town.”
“Hey, I was dead on my feet when I stumbled in here. I saw the smashed front, saw cloth, knew we could use that to stay warm. So just tell me the name of the place.”
“Sign outside said Philip Legrand, Clothier to Dukes and Kings.”
Jacob murred and nodded. “Okay, good. We won’t have to cross the town square and we’re only about four blocks south of the warehouse. I know the neighborhood well enough to get us there, even in this.”
With a small grunt, the raccoon tilted himself forward onto the balls of his feet. When his center of gravity was right, he simply stood up. “All right, let’s do this.”
Everyone was nervous, Arla could smell it. Not just from the keepers, but the from the dire wolves as well. Every motion of a keeper was carefully studied by the wolves intently for the least signs of attack. The large group moved slowly down the hallway, keepers in front and the wolves following a short distance behind.
“This is stupid,” Ralls said quietly.
“I should have stayed in the pantry,” Terrance commented.
“What do you suggest we do with them?” Arla countered.
“Once we get them to Long House Misha and George can figure out what to do with them,” Lisa said firmly.
“Getting into Long House might be exactly what they want?” Meredith commented.
“Enough of this,” Laura ordered loudly. “We’ve been through this already. The argument is over.” That ended the debate but not the nervousness. And the journey continued at its slow pace.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 8 AM
They've resumed the formation they established earlier. Kirk and Jono in front, Dana and Kevin in the middle with the kids, Perry and Jo in back.
This bothers Perry somewhat. He's one of the more versatile combatants, and he can easily block a passage while the others make off with the kids. But Kirk made a point of ensuring that each pair have at least one who has very good vision or at least perception in the tunnels, which is a quality shared mostly between himself, Kevin and Jono. And it's important for Jono to be in the front, because he's become what amounts to the leader of the Kids. Or, as Jono put it, the kids aren't panicking only because they know their Uncle Jono is up in front and they know him.
And besides, he'd reasoned, the most likely place for attackers to come from is from behind, given that they entered through an open staircase in a point under siege, and they camped in an area that's kept away from the marauders above by a wooden floor and trapdoor secured by a now damaged lock. Never mind that they sealed the entrance at the Inner Gate, and never mind that they piled enough bags of grain under the trapdoor to make it virtually impossible to get through that way.
But Perry doesn't complain, despite the tactical situation. Jono's reasoning as to the children's morale is very sound. They're his primary concern at the moment, being the future of Metamor, and thus they're the ones he has to defend. He's doing his best not to give special consideration to anyone, including his own Daemion. At least not until they're out of this, at which point he's definitely going to give Daemion the time of his life as recognition of how brave the boy's been and of how proud he is of him.
But that's not until things are over. This is still a potential combat situation. And so he distances himself for the duration, keeping himself consoled from having to do so by reminding himself that Dae is definitely going to feel better about this at the end, and he's going to make it to the end because if Perry does his job right, they're All going to make it to the end.
The kids, for the most part, are looking about in wonder and maybe a little fear at the surroundings lit up barely by Kevin's pseudo-witchlight. They aren't really in actual 'tunnels' in the classic sense of the word; what they're in ends up looking more like a series of cellars, or in some cases like a whole underground castle. A few of the kids are scared - this is obviously Very Old and so there could be Ghosts down here. Most of the kids are excited beyond belief. A Whole New Castle! Underground! And no grownups around to tell you No!
Derek and Jeremy and Sammy are already considering the possibilities.
"I bet we could have ourselves a room down here," Jeremy is whispering. "Get into the bakers' room and get all the cookies and pie, get it down here with some snowballs, and stay here when the grownups come to take us in!"
"Yeah!" Derek whispers, trying to keep his voice down so that the Bad Guys and the grownups don't hear. "We could have a" - he lowers his voice so it's barely audible; a Big Secret is about to be announced - "super-secret hidden base!"
"Super-secret," Sammy repeats, his face set in an expression of awe.
"Yeah, our very own spot," Derek continues, obviously excited. "Where we tell the grownups what they can and can't do. Make them go to bed early."
There's a concurring series of nods. Then they all join hands, to show that they're All going to keep the secret. "Snowfield Champions vow. This'll be Our secret place."
Sammy and Jeremy both nod solemnly. "Our secret place," repeats Sammy.
Jono in the meantime walks on, pretending to be oblivious of the children's plan. Cats have extremely good ears, though, and he can hear them quite clearly. He shakes his head slowly, smiling mostly to himself, then returns his gaze to the areas around him. The area they've just entered seems impossibly large for being underground; it looks like it could have been a dining hall, or quite possibly a chapel to some forgotten god in the olden days. Certainly the tapestries on the walls look like they've been crumbled for quite some time.
This fascinates Kevin to no end. I wish we could send a few historical expeditions down here... this room looks like it's been around since the days of the Seuliman Empire! Kevin's always been a fan of history, and this fascinates him to no end - so much, in fact, that Dana has to put her hand on his shoulder and shake him before he realizes that he's wandering towards the tapestries and away from the kids he's supposed to be watching. "Er. Sorry. Thanks," he whispers to her; she simply nods back.
Dana for her part has given up on wondering what she's supposed to do and is doing her best to keep watch over the kids. She figures at the rate she's going now she's probably going to end up a mother herself sometime, so she might as well get the practice in. Of course, she admits to herself, this isn't likely to be the most common problem with kids if she ever has any, but you take what you can get. Her curiosity is slightly piqued by the state of the room, but only slightly.
Kirk's only thought is that this looks like a good resting spot. "Okay, everyone," he says in as quiet a voice as he can manage. "We're going to take a quick break here, rest legs and such, and then we're going to keep heading onward, so everyone take advantage of the break while you can. Don't wander too far off."
Most of the children (and some of the adults, too) sigh in relief and just fall to their butts on the ground where they're standing. This is tough work. Sure, running around the snowfields is tiring, but that was fun. This is just so BORING, walking through some dumb tunnel. Kevin clearly disagrees, as he practically jumps for joy before practically rushing off to examine the tapestries. Oh wow.
Derek and Jeremy and Sammy don't think it boring either. "Okay, let's split up and start scouting around for good places in this room," Jeremy suggests. Derek and Sammy agree quickly, and the three break apart to go wandering up and down along the walls. Jeremy doesn't get very far though; he takes the same path his Dad was taking, and gets taken hostage. "Hey, Jeremy, take a look at this!"
Jeremy certainly finds what people do interesting, but he's not so sure about historian stuff. Of course, the stuff Dad looks at is really cool - you get to see about all sorts of things like battles people fought and how these guys tricked those other guys into taking over some Really Big Castle (cool!), but all those Other historians spend all their time in the library. Boring! Boring beyond measure. 'Course, when Dad took him to see that deer guy who had all the really old toys 'n such... that was really cool, 'cause the deer guy got to, like, go to places to get this stuff. Now that is what Jeremy considers fun. Finding cool old stuff that some legend guy used to beat the Bad Guys. How can you not like it? He's hoping now that when he starts his Change in... what, one year, two years?. he hopes that he becomes a rat 'cause he's heard that they pretty much own these tunnels, and he wants to be there too, just to see all the cool stuff.
Samuel (he always gets called 'Sammy', can't stand that other name) doesn't have any ambitions like that. He knows what he's going to be already - weaponsmith. After all, if he can make snowballs so easily, swords ought to be a cinch. He never really got Jeremy's thing for old stuff; after all, an old snowball is just a smear of snow. You can remake it into a new snowball, true, but you can make snowballs much more quickly if you use the snow that's already there on the ground. 'Course, it could just be Jeremy's dad playing with Jeremy. After all, Jeremy's dad clearly wants to be an old geezer real bad, and so Sammy can easily see Jeremy's dad trying to turn Jeremy into - GASP - a Grown Up. Not a serious, always capable grownup like Perry or Kirk, but some kind of old-guy-wannabe grownup, like all those guys in the big towers. Sammy is never, ever going to be an old guy wannabe.
Derek's not thinking of ambition now, he's thinking of finding some of that Cool Old Stuff that Jeremy's talking about, but for a different reason entirely. Jeremy keeps going on about how it's old and so it's Cool and such, just like his weirdo dad, but Derek has a different thought on that. If there's a super sword that the Super Old Guy Hero used to beat all the bad guys that's down here, Derek is willing to bet it'll work for these bad guys too. He's not thinking of running into combat at all - he's been watching Jono and Kirk, and it's obvious that he's Never going to be as good as the legendary Uncle Jono, or as big as the AWESOME! Kirk. No, he's going to be one of those Smart warriors that fights from a dista--
"Derek." The voice instantly cuts off his thoughts, and he whirls around. Nobody's there.
"It's okay, Derek, I want to help out." Sounds like some kind of girl's voice. But he doesn't see any girl, and more importantly, the voice is Too Loud!
"You need to be quieter, or we're not gonna get any pie," Derek informs the voice. Sure, he's older than most of those other kids, but this is a big piece of pie at stake!
The voice seems to giggle slightly. "Don't worry, Derek. You're the only one who can hear me here."
"Oh," he says simply, not knowing what to think about that.
"I need you to do me a favor, Derek. Can you do me a quick favor?"
"Um... who are you?" Derek asks, his voice a little shaky now. That's just a little too much, now.
"My name is Kyia. I'm not going to hurt you or any of your friends. I want to help."
Kyia? Wasn't she that weirdo lady that that whatever she was called, Lightbringer or something didn't that person at the ceremonies talk about her sometimes? So she's probably a Good Guy. "'Kay," Derek says in a slightly hesitant voice.
"There's a small bag right next to you; it's got some gloves and some other things in it. I need you to take them along."
Derek blinks, then turns to look at the wall next to him. Sure enough, there's a small sack with a belt loop there, and he can see a glove poking out of the top. So he picks it up slowly. It's not all that heavy, but there seems to be some metal things in there.
"Don't get out any of the metal parts without the gloves on," the voice -- or Kyia, whomever -- warns. So he pulls on a glove, then reaches in, and pulls out.
"Wow!" He's still speaking in whispers only by reflex. It looks like a tiny ball, except it's got big nasty spikes all over it. He just sits there, looking at it for a few moments.
"Just make some snowballs with those. You'll know when you have to. And don't tell anyone else except whoever is going to help you," Kyia continues. Derek nod nods agreement. This is so cool! Some mysterious lady just gave him a nifty looking weapon thing!
"Thank you. And good luck, Derek. I'll be watching." And then the voice doesn't come back.
"Thank you all for arriving promptly. What do you have to report?"
There was a moment's hesitation, as Raven cast her gaze around the circle of priests. Most of them looked weary from the frantic activity of the last several hours, though they clearly realized that this matter was too grave for lack of sleep to sway them from their duties. All the same, fatigue was taking its toll, and no one seemed quite sure who should be first to address the Lothanasa.
It was Brother Cardiff who first broke the silence. "The Baron of Komley has promised his support," the red-haired man said quietly, the wrinkles in his brow twitching slightly. "He will dispatch a troop of horsemen as soon as they can be made ready."
"Excellent," Raven nodded in satisfaction. "I fear it shall take them several days to reach us, but any assistance will be welcomed. Sister Heldah, what news from Sorin?"
Heldah grimaced, shaking her head slightly. "It appears doubtful at best, Lothanasa. Sorin was raided by pirates last September and many of our finest men fell in defense of the city. The elders fear that sending any troops at this time would leave us defenseless against another attack."
"The city elders would do well to remember their fealty to Lord Thomas," Raven said, her blue eyes as hard as ice. "See to it that they do not forget."
"Of course, Sister hin'Elric."
The wolf-woman turned her attention to Brother Larkspur, a tall and rather scrawny young man who had only recently become the head priest of his temple. "And what of Merith?" she asked him. "Have they also suffered from these pirate raids?"
"No, Lothanasa," Larkspur said, shaking his head. "The town has been peaceful this year. The baron is reviewing his forces now, and he has promised to send them no later than noon today. We do not have much of an army, but what we have is at Lord Thomas' disposal."
"Good." Raven turned her eyes on Brother Holdeman, who up till now had been sitting quietly. "What about Midtown, Brother Holdeman? You have the largest military force of any represented here, apart from Metamor itself -- and you are one of our closest neighbors, besides. Has the baron reached a decision?"
The gray-haired man sighed, folding his hands in his lap. "Metamor's request is ... under advisement," he said wearily. "The baron has said he will debate it today with the members of his council. You will have an answer before sunset."
Raven frowned. "I had expected better of Midtown," she said, half to herself. "They have more to lose than many if Metamor should fall."
Holdeman shrugged, somewhat helplessly. "I know not his motivations, only his message."
"I understand," Raven assured him. "Contact me as soon as you hear anything more -- and do what you can to influence their decision."
"As you say, Sister hin'Elric."
Finally, the high priestess turned to Myers and Byron, the priests of Lorland and Mycransburg. Apart from Raven, they were the only clerics present who lived in Metamor Valley.
"Has the storm shown any sign of clearing near you, gentlemen?"
Myers shook his head. "Afraid not, Lothanasa," the stag replied. "Everyone's still in the castle, hoping we can wait it out."
"Byron?"
"Nasoj seems content to bottle us up until he's finished with Metamor," the gendermorph shrugged. “A couple of cold hardy scouts have spotted at least a hundred, perhaps more, Lutins in the shelter of the tree line just beyond easy loft of our ballista or trebuchet.” She shrugged a bit, “I am going to review the situation at first light and see if anything can be done.”
Raven sighed, putting a hand to her forehead and gently rubbing her temples. "Very well," she said. "You all know what to do. Cuialye lothan, all of you."
The other clerics repeated the ancient salutation, then faded from view. A moment later, Raven was once again seated on the floor of her bedchamber. The candles that lined the Circles had burned low in their stanchions. Rising to her feet, she extinguished them with a wave of her hand. Stretching her arms overhead and yawning as only a wolf can, she sent up a silent prayer to Dokorath for the soldiers of Metamor before reentering the main hall of the temple.
The dawn sacrifice had already been performed, and Merai and Celine were sitting quietly on the floor, sharing a breakfast of bread, butter, and tea.
"Good morning, Sister Raven," Merai said, smiling up at her. The bags under her eyes made it obvious that she had been up all night.
"Good morning Merai, Celine," Raven said, nodding to both of them. Abruptly, her eye caught hold of something: three still forms lying on the floor near the end of the hall. "What happened?" she asked, her brow creasing in a frown.
"Injured townsfolk," Celine replied. She smiled a little. "Lady Kyia saw fit to let in a score or so of survivors from the battle outside."
Raven shot Merai a serious look. "No one has left, have they?"
"Oh, no. They arrived during the third watch of the night, and the doors shut quickly behind them. Nothing else came in with them, either," Merai added, answering the wolf-woman's unspoken question.
"Good." She considered the two men and the girl a moment longer. "Their prognosis?"
"Very good," Merai assured her. "Just a few arrow wounds, nothing serious."
Satisfied with that, Raven sat down with the other two women. They ate in silence for several minutes, chewing thoughtfully as they watched the storm raging outside.
"I wonder how the rest of the Keep is faring," Merai said quietly.
"I don't know," the elder priestess replied. "I am hopeful, however, that we shall receive reinforcements from the south in a few days."
Merai frowned at her. "How do you know?" she asked.
Raven shrugged, letting a small smile form on her lips. "I have my methods."
The cat-woman looked at Celine, as if wordlessly repeating her question. The acolyte's green eyes sparkled in a knowing smile, but she said nothing.
Just then the temple doors opened, and a slender young woman wearing the colors of the Red Stallion stepped inside. As she came closer Raven recognized her as Daria hin'Leon, Merai's longtime friend and compatriot. From her aura and the set of her jaw, she seemed to have come here for more than idle conversation.
"Good morning, Squire," Raven said, nodding at her as she approached. "How can we help you?"
Daria stopped a few feet away and came to attention. "Lothanasa, I request your permission to join the battle in defense of Metamor."
Raven gazed at her a moment, bemused. "No one can leave this temple, Daria. Lady Kyia has sealed us inside, as I said before. And, in truth, it seems to me that one squire would make little difference in the outcome."
"I do not propose to go alone, Mistress Lightbringer," the redhead answered. "And I do not propose conventional battlefield tactics. The situation calls for a different approach."
Slowly, Raven steepled her fingers. "I'm listening," she said.
Briefly, and with increasing animation, Daria outlined her plan: a strike team composed of volunteers from within the temple would act as a stinging gadfly on the haunches of Nasoj's army, using their knowledge of the Keep to attack swiftly and silently in weakly defended areas and disappear without a trace. Through a combination of stealth and terror, they would harry the invading forces and wear them down, making them more vulnerable to assault by more conventional tactics.
"It sounds like you are proposing to fight like thieves and bandits," Raven said with a wry smile.
"Aye, Mistress," Daria nodded. "Kayla called it 'otrinca' warfare."
"Kayla?"
"One of the survivors who arrived last night," Celine said. "She works for Prince Phil in Intelligence."
Raven scratched her chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Who would lead this team?" she asked. "You, Daria?"
"Aye, ma'am," the warrior-woman said. "I am being trained as a field officer, so I already know something of tactics. Kayla has pledged her assistance in planning the attacks."
There was another long moment of silence as Raven peered deeply into Daria's eyes, as well as her aura. The girl was brave, quite obviously. She was also competent, if the reports Raven had heard from time to time were true. But most importantly, she sincerely believed that she could perform this task -- and perform it well.
And self-confidence, Raven knew, could cover a multitude of shortcomings.
"Your plan has merit," she said at last, rising once again to her feet. "But I believe I can give you something which will make it even more effective. Wait here a moment."
Fifteen minutes later, after a brief descent through the depths of the Archives and into the Vault that lay beneath them, Raven returned bearing a small golden key. It was simply carved and unadorned, and it hung from a short gold necklace.
"Take this," Raven said, offering the pendant to Daria.
The young woman looked at it a moment, then took it from the priestess's hand. "What is it?" she asked.
"A facilitator," Raven replied. "With this key, you can shape the passages of Metamor around you at will. It can only be used to travel to a place where the user has been before, but I doubt that will limit you much under the circumstances." She bared her teeth in a grim smile. "Imagine the enemy's surprise when you appear out of the very walls."
Daria grinned broadly, fitting the chain around her neck. "How do I use it?"
"Simply name your destination. Though I am not sure of the details, I believe it acts as a magical focus for Kyia's space-altering powers -- a channel to direct her energies without requiring her to concentrate on the task at hand. 'Tis less likely, then, that she will be distracted in her efforts to hold the enemy at bay." She placed a hand on Daria's shoulder. "You'd best be going now, Squire," she said. "I believe you have a strike team to assemble."
The young warrior grinned once again, looking down briefly at the pendant around her neck. "Aye, Lothanasa. Thank you." With that, she turned and nearly ran out the door.
Raven chuckled as she sat down again with Merai and Celine. Within hours, she guessed, Daria and her fellow warriors would be making life utterly miserable for the invaders down below. Nasoj's generals would not be happy.
She bit into a biscuit with a feral snap of her jaws, swallowed, and grinned broadly. This was looking to be a fine morning after all.
The stranger came in three more times, each time building more and more to their supplies, and more to their numbers… now nearing 50, as he brought more children, and soon afterwards, their lost parents. A number of them had wounds, being saved just before a mortal blow could be inflicted. After 4 hours, he stood by the door, as if keeping watch. If someone chose to look closely, though, they would see his body shifting toward the door, as if something beckoned him to go out… just one more time.
"Are we packed?" he asked, the hood turning, so the silver head inside could glance at the crew as they bundled wood from the cord found for supplies into tight clothes to protect them from the weather. Outside the blizzard battered at the cellar doors, as if knocking, and they dreaded when they would have to open themselves up and let it in, "Start waking up, we leave in less than an hour."
December 25th, 706 CR ― 8:30 AM
The main hall of the temple was full of people. Its vaulted ceiling rang with the sounds of people who had grown weary of the close quarters. Some of the people were sleeping, some were praying, some were comforting their family and friends. Others weren’t involved in anything so mundane.
The group assembled in the center of the room was a mixed lot of men, women, and various animal morphs. They were dressed in various types of armor and carried a polyglot mix of weapons.
Thunder roared suddenly through the temple, a shuddering boom of sound that came from the main temple doors, repeated three times in rapid succession. The sound echoed through the whole temple. Everyone froze, unsure of what the sound portended.
“It’s from outside,” Someone said.
“They’re trying to batter the doors down,” someone said in a panic.
A person screamed and a loud clamor filled the air as people scrambled down the narrow stairs to the perceived safety of the archives. Others hugged their loved ones in fear; still others grasped weapons intent on selling their lives dearly.
“Quiet!” Raven shouted and the room instantly fell silent.
The priestess motioned to Daria and her group to surround the doors leading to the antechamber and the outer doors.
Slowly, and carefully Daria and a small group filed through the inner doors and into the tight corridor beyond. Ornate frescoes with elaborate scrollwork and complex calligraphy covered the walls.
Again the doors shook with the heavy reverberations, the booming echoes drifting ominously up the passageway.
Raven took a position just inside the inner doors, next to Jessica. The falcon mage was desperately trying to ready a spell. The wolf morph touched Jessica on the wing. “Relax child,” she said, comfortingly. “Move easily.” The falcon took a deep breath and calmly finished reading her spell. A throng of soldiers and acolytes quickly crowded around the two, drawn steel gleaming in the torchlight.
The heavy, bass thunder continued, pausing briefly every few seconds, only to repeat again soon after in a slow pounding at the doors. To many in the room it sounded like a death knell. To others it sounded like the ominous thunder of a battering ram.
“Is anyone in there?” Came a faint voice from beyond the portal during one of those brief pauses.
A worn, and ancient looking woman pushed her way through the crowd of people trying defend the outer doors. Daria recognized her as Malia, the Temple door warden. “Who is there?” the warden asked the doors in a calm, dry voice.
“It’s Misha Brightleaf with a group of my people. Can we come in?” the voice answered.
“Mistress Raven, there is someone at the doors asking for entry,” the ancient warden said calmly to the Lightbringer priestess as if announcing guests arriving for dinner.
The wolf nodded. “Let them in, but everyone stand ready. This might be a ruse by the Lutins.”
Two guards swiftly drew back the securing cross brace and lifted the two heavy bolts securing the leaves of the huge, heavy portal closed. After the bolts had been withdrawn the warden slowly pulled one of the massive doors open. Everyone tensed as Daria and Bradfox nocked arrows and Morel readied a spear for throwing. Daria wondered who was on the other side. Was it more Keepers or a horde of bloodthirsty Lutins?
Nothing came through the doorway immediately; instead it yawned, an empty chasm leading into darkness. The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity as the open portal remained empty. Finally just when Daria felt her heart was going to burst from excitement a shadow appeared in the doorway and a figure slipped into the temple. The tension in the room eased instantly as everyone recognized the figure as not being a Lutin; it was a Keeper. The person was dressed in tabard and pants that were completely covered with brown, green and black spots. There was a long bow on his back and a long sword on his belt. In his paws was a five-foot long, coal black, double bladed battleaxe. The Keeper’s vulpine head darted back and forth taking in his surroundings.
“Misha,” Raven said calmly. “It is. . .” she started to say.
The fox held a gauntled hand up to the wolf, interrupting her. He turned and motioned through the open door. Then he watched silently as a group filed in. It was a mixed group of all ages, species and sexes; some dressed in the tattered remnants of their holiday finery and others in ragged work clothes. Sprinkled in among the others were six who stood out as different. They walked and stood bolder, more confident then the rest, and they were all dressed in the black, brown and green camouflage of a scout. Last through the doorway was a tall ferret carrying a long bow across his back and a long sword in each hand.
The ferret carefully looked over the twenty people who preceded him into the room. Then he looked at Misha and saluted. “All present Misha. I’m the last one. Hallway’s clear,” he said as he sheathed the two swords.
The vulpine nodded. “All right. Keep half the team at the doors, the others get some rest.”
“Ok boss,” Finbar answered. “I’ll rotate them so everyone gets a rest.”
It wasn’t until the door was closed and barred that the fox looked back to the Priestess, who had patiently waited throughout. “My lady Raven hin'Elric, I’m glad to see that you and your people are safe.”
“Thank you Misha.”
“I have a about a dozen refugees I picked up in our travels. Can they stay here?” Misha asked.
The priestess turned to an acolyte, “Please see that these people get cared for. Be sure to find them places in the archive.” The woman began to quietly direct servants and other acolytes.
Raven turned back to Misha. “You bring word from the outside world?” It was as much a statement as a question.
“Yes I do,” the fox answered in a tired voice.
The entire chamber erupted into a tumult of conflicting and shouting voices.
“What’s happened to the town? I heard it was burning?” someone shouted.
“Have you seen my husband Paul, he was tall, with brown hair. He was working in the kitchens.”
“Are the walls still holding? My sister was on duty at the outer gate? Do you know what’s happened to there?”
“Have the Lutins over run the lower town?”
“Have you seen my father?”
“Have you seen my son?”
“My mother . . “
“Sister . . .”
“Do you think the Lutins will make it into the Keep?”
“QUIET!” Raven said coldly and the room went deathly silent.
Misha fidgeted for a moment before speaking. “The outer walls have been completely overrun. The outer gate has been taken and Andre the gate captain . .” Misha stumbled over the words. “My good friend Andre is missing and believed dead,” he finished in a faint voice.
“The outer ward?” Raven asked.
“Burning,” Finbar answered simply, moving up to stand next to Misha. “All three gates have been taken, and Lutins are running berserk inside the Keep itself.”
There were sobs and shrieks from the people in the room. In the background someone started weeping.
“Then Metamor has fallen,” commented someone from the crowd.
“No,” Misha answered firmly. “The monsters are in the Keep but they haven’t taken it yet. Getting inside the Keep is one thing, taking and holding it is another.”
“Metamor shall not fall, Kyia will see to that,” Raven answered with firm conviction. “What exactly is the situation?” The priestess asked of Misha.
“Nasoj’s forces are inside the Keep and are roaming the halls at will. But it seems Kyia doesn’t like her new guests and they’re getting lost as everything keeps moving around on them.”
“So we’re holding on?” Someone asked.
“Is anyone from the south coming to help us?” Another asked.
“Yes to both questions,” Misha answered.
“Forces are moving to aid us even as we speak,” Raven added.
“Is the Duke all right?” Someone asked. The room suddenly went deathly quiet as all eyes turned to the vulpine scout.
“Yes,” Misha answered without missing a beat. “His safety was the first thing we checked.”
The tension in the room eased noticeably. Finbar looked at his leader but didn’t speak. Then he turned and looked to helping the refugees.
The silent exchange didn’t go unnoticed by the Lightbringer priestess, who made no comment of her own.
The fox touched Raven on the arm. “We need to speak in private.”
The wolf priestess nodded and pointed to a doorway. “We can talk in my private chambers.”
As Misha moved to follow the wolf he was stopped by a tug on the arm. Turning, he recognized the skunk immediately. “Kayla, it’s good to see that you’re okay.”
“Thank you. Have you seen Rickkter?” the skunk asked.
Misha shook his head. “Not in a while. When Madog came charging in Rickkter took a group and headed out. I haven’t seen him since. Knowing him he’s in the thick of the fighting.”
The skunk’s whole body drooped. “I see,” she said in a small voice.
Misha touched her on the shoulder. “Listen Kayla, Rickkter is a survivor. Whatever happens he’ll come through it alive. He may be a little battered and bruised, but he’ll survive.”
She brightened noticeably and gave him a hug. “Thank you Misha.” The fox broke the hug reluctantly and moved after Raven.
Neither Misha nor Raven spoke until the door closed behind them and they were alone in her private chambers.
“What do you know about the Duke?” Raven asked.
“Nothing,” Misha answered. “I sent Laura and her team to find the Duke. They haven’t reported back yet. I’ve heard a lot rumors . . . “
“Rumors that have him dead?” The wolf finished.
“Yes.”
“Can they be true? Is Thomas dead?”
The scout shrugged. “Anything could be possible. We do know that Nasoj infiltrated a lot of assassins into the Keep before the assault.”
“Any idea of how many?” Raven asked.
“No, but Madog and Sir Saulius killed the seven who came after Father Hough.”
Raven looked shocked for a moment before regaining her composure. “They came after Hough? Is he all right?”
“Hough is fine. A little shook up but fine. He’s leading the defense of the cathedral even as we speak.”
The priestess nodded solemnly. “What is the general situation?”
“We in Long House were warned about the attack by Madog at half past eight. The actual attack began at about nine o’clock or about half past. They were over the outer wall before we even knew they were there. By ten the outer gate had fallen and there was fighting in the outer ward. We had Lutins in the Keep itself by that point, roaming the hallways.”
“We have to assume that everything but the Keep itself has fallen,” the fox explained. “And all three of the Keep gates have been taken and Lutins are pouring in. Long house is still holding out, as is the Cathedral. The outer ward has been taken and I have reports of it being looted and burned.” Misha gave a mirthless chuckle. “You can see the glow from the flames from any window.”
“So I’ve seen,” Raven said. “Also I can see another light.”
The scout nodded. “That’s from Oren’s tower. I hate to imagine what those poor folk are going through out there.”
“As long as that light burns, Oren and his people are still alive and resisting.”
“Don’t let Oren fool you, he’s a tough customer and hard to kill,” Misha answered. “I’ve sent my Longs out to reconnoiter the keep, harass the Lutins and find any other pockets of resistance. We’re finding groups of lost and cut off Keepers all over the place. The Lutins seem to be sticking to the main hallways and corridors. With all halls and corridors shifting constantly they seem to be having a tough time finding their way around.”
“Kyia is defending herself and us,” Raven commented.
“Right now that’s the only thing keeping them from overrunning the Keep. They can’t control where their troops are going. So far we’ve had only small groups attack Long House. Five to ten in each group and none of them coordinated. They’ve made only one serious try to take the cathedral but it has been several hours since we were there but I doubt they’ve been hit again. But that won’t last, eventually they’ll pin down all the remaining centers of resistance and starve us out.”
The fox paused in his conversation. “You mentioned outside,” he said pointing at the closed door. “That help was coming. Was that the truth?”
Raven nodded. “Yes it is. I have contacted several of the temples to the south.”
“We need Midtown, they’d make up the largest contingent. Who has promised to send troops so far?” Misha asked.
“Merith, and Komley, have both promised troops.”
“Too small,” the fox said shaking his head. “The best we can hope for from them is several hundred. What about Midtown. We need them.”
“I’ve entreated Midtown to send troops, but they have not replied yet. I am expecting an answer before dawn,” Raven answered.
The fox just sadly shook his head. “Those fools are bound and determined to see Metamor destroyed, even if they themselves get destroyed in the process. What about the towns here in the valley?”
“Besieged by the weather and the Lutins. So far they haven’t been attacked,” Raven answered.
“Of course not. Once Metamor falls resistance in the rest of the valley can be cleaned out at leisure,” the Long Scout explained. “How long before the first reinforcements arrive?” Misha asked.
“It takes time to muster a relief force. And the weather is only making it worse. Most likely a week.”
“I don’t think Metamor can hold out for that long. If we don’t stop him, Nasoj will take the Keep,” was Misha’s comment.
“What can we do to stop the attackers?”
“Strike back, hard and often. Keep the Lutins off guard, put them on the defensive and unable to attack,” Misha answered. “I’ve already dispatched two raiding groups besides the other Long Scout patrol.”
The wolf rang a small hand bell and a servant appeared. “Have Daria come here,” she told the woman. The servant left as quickly as she had arrived.
“I have set up a group to conduct raids against the attackers,” Raven said to Misha. “They were about to set out when you arrived. Daria is the leader of them. Your assistance and advice would be of great service.”
“Of course. Glad to help.”
“Have you had any contact to the south?” the priestess asked.
“Some. I’ve contacted my sister Elizabeth. She’s talking to the Mages guild now on sending help.”
Raven shook her head. “The Mages guild will not help. They avoid northern politics.”
Misha chuckled. “They’ll help all right. I told my sister to remind the guild that if Metamor Keep falls then Nasoj will capture Madog and Omega.”
“That should stir them to act.”
The fox laughed bitterly. “If I know the guild, they’ll panic and spend a week debating what to do.”
“Will they act?” was the canines question.
“Yes. What they send will be powerful, well trained, and completely untraceable back to the guild. But such help comes at a cost.”
“It always does,” Raven commented ruefully.
There was a knock at the door and Daria stepped into the room. She calmly bowed to both the wolf and the fox. “You called me, Priestess?”
“Yes,” Raven answered. “Misha has agreed to assist your group in getting organized.”
Daria was dressed in a green tunic, with a leather jerkin, leggings and a leather bracers and belt. One her back was a quiver full of arrows, and Misha recognized an expander bow, attached to her belt next to a sharp rapier. Misha shook the young girl’s hand with a strong firm handshake. “Glad to help you out. Let’s go look at your team.”
Once back in the main room Misha called over Finbar and all the Long scouts together in a group. Daria called her own people too and soon everyone from both teams stood together in the center of the room.
“All right everybody, listen carefully. My name is Misha Brightleaf. I’m head of the Long Scouts and I’ve brought a team of Longs here to the temple. Daria is head of a group that’s going out to strike at Nasoj. I want her team to stand in formation here in front of us.”
As the people assembled themselves in a ragged line Misha talked to Daria. “First we’ll look your people over and see how they’re equipped. Then we’ll break up into small groups with the Longs and get some personal training done. That sound good to you?”
A little over awed by the axe wielding vulpine, all she could do is nod.
Misha and Daria began slowly inspecting each of Daria’s volunteers. The first was a tall man, wearing a jerkin of leather studded with metal rivets. The man’s hair was liberally sprinkled with the silver of age and wrinkles covered his face. His sole weapon was a long sword that Misha noted was Lutin made.
The man saluted smartly. “Private Morel, twelfth reserve sword regiment.”
Misha nodded in approval. “How did you get that?” Misha said tapping the Lutin blade.
“With this,” came the answer as the man held up a large chopping knife.
“Any one else here from your unit?”
“No, I’m the only one I’ve seen so far.”
“All right. You’ll do,” Misha said nodding his head.
The next person was barely in his teens. The leather jerkin he was wearing was a size too big. The short sword he was carrying seemed too big for him. He saluted. “Tornok Sir.”
“Have you changed yet?” Misha asked.
“Not yet sir,” he answered nervously. “But that won’t stop me from fighting.”
Misha was silent for a long time staring at the boy. “I think you would better help us by helping to protect the temple.”
Looks of relief and disappointment flashed across Tornok’s face alternately. “But Sir, I . . “
The fox held up his hand silencing the boy. “They are going to find this place eventually and attempt to take it. I want you here to help defend it. A lot of innocent lives depend on you. You understand?” he said slapping him on the shoulder.
The boy nodded nervously. “Yes sir.”
“Good. Go stand over there, ok?” Misha said pointing to Finbar.
As Tornok moved off Misha turned to Daria. “Be sure he gets guard duty and that he’s treated like a real soldier.”
“Yes Sir,” Daria answered.
“Call me Misha.”
“Yes, Misha.”
Next was a black bear morph dressed in chain mail and carrying a large battleaxe. The ursine pointed to Whisper, the battleaxe Misha was carrying nonchalantly in one hand. “Great minds think alike.”
Misha gave a chuckle. “And who might you be?”
“Corporal Garulf of the first axe,” answered the bear in a calm tone.
“You’ll do,” commented the fox and moved to the next person.
Misha recognized the red tailed hawk instantly. “You’re Jessica, Wessex’s assistant.”
“Yes,” She answered.
“Very good,” the vulpine said, obviously pleased. “We’re going to need all your magic.”
“Have you heard anything about Wessex?” the avian asked.
“No,” the fox answered. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday. He was headed for Lorland, but with this storm there’s no telling whether he left or not. He’s on my list of people to find and protect. If he’s in the keep, we’ll find him.”
“Thank you,” Jessica answered.
“I hope the mage is fine. We’ll need all the help we can,” said a tall hawk morph standing next to Jessica.
“Who are you?” Misha asked the stranger. The five foot tall avian was dressed in a blue surcoat.
The hawk bowed to Misha. “I am Weyden.”
“One of Yonson’s body guards?” the fox answered. It was more a statement then a question.
“Yes, I have the honor of being a member of Ambassador Yonson’s bodyguard.”
“Have you seen the ambassador since the attack started?” the Long Scout asked.
A shake of the head was Weyden’s answer. “No. I was here in the temple when it started. I was hoping that you might have some knowledge of him.”
“No, nothing yet but we’ll keep a look out for him. Unfortunately we just don’t have the people. Any idea where he might have been?”
“He was going to stay in the ambassadorial apartments.”
“Nothing special planned?” Daria asked interrupting.
The hawk shook his head. “No, Yonson’s not a religious person.”
“All right. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Thank you. I’ll be grateful for anything you can do.”
Standing next to the hawk was a nervous looking tomcat morph who was fidgeting in his chain mail armor. “Can you use that, Brenner?” Misha asked, pointing to the spear the feline was holding.
Brenner took a step back and leveled his weapon at the fox. He jabbed at Misha several times sharply. Misha watched calmly as the razor sharp point breezed past his side. “Good. What unit are you with?”
“The fourth reserve spear. Nicknamed the Hedgehogs!” Brenner answered with obvious pride.
“Very good. How is Captain Farmer? I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Good Sir,” the feline answered. “I’m dating his daughter Amanda. She’s here in the temple.” The cat’s ears drooped. “I don’t know where he is though. We were going to meet after the services, when he got off duty. Have you heard anything about him?”
“Where was he on duty?”
“Patrol, on the west wall, near the Bakers tower.”
Misha didn’t answer for a moment but looked to the floor. “The curtain wall was breached and we have to assume that the whole wall was taken,” the fox answered calmly.
Brenner nodded. “I understand,” he said in a faint voice.
“Don’t assume he’s dead Brenner. All I know is that we haven’t seen him yet. Even with one arm he’s a tough old marmoset. No Lutin could kill him.”
“Yes sir,” Brenner answered, but his voice betrayed his doubt.
Misha touched the feline on the shoulder. “Brenner, don’t assume anything, until you actually see the body. I’ve been away on patrols so long that they’ve written me off for dead more then once.”
Brenner brightened at that comment. “You’re right.”
Misha started to move on, and suddenly stopped. “You’re only carrying that one spear? I suggest you get another one, or another weapon. Something shorter, like a sword, or a mace.”
The fox turned to Daria. “I suggest that everyone carry at least two weapons and a bow or javelin if possible.”
“There are only so many weapons to go around, Misha,” Daria answered.
“All right, do what you can. I suggest that your first target be the Keep armory. If we still hold it make sure it’s well defended before you move on. If the enemy has taken it, retake it and hold it.”
“What if we can’t retake it?” The woman asked.
“Leave people behind to watch the place and come to Long House and tell us,” Misha answered. “We’ll send a strike force out and retake it.”
Daria nodded and took notes on a piece of parchment. “All right.”
“And while you’re at the armory make sure you get all your people equipped with weapons and armor,” the fox ordered.
“Don’t forget food and water,” Finbar added walking up the group.
“Very good point Finbar,” the fox said as he moved to the next soldier in line.
The tall, brown haired man next in line was calmly drinking from a bottle of wine. The fox simply grabbed the bottle and threw it over his shoulder.
The man grunted in startled surprise, his face contorting in anger a moment before he swung a punch at the fox. Misha caught the man’s fist in his gauntleted hand with a meaty smack. Then the fox gave a short rabbit punch straight in the man’s face, knocking him to the ground.
He was up in a moment and stood nose to nose with the fox; his face purpled with anger. The man was fuming but he did nothing, instead he just stood there glaring down at the fox. After a moment the anger faded as he let out a disgruntled sigh. “My apologies sir.”
Misha grunted noncommittally. “You are?” he asked.
“Bradfox.”
“I hope you’re better with that bow and arrows then you are with your fists.”
The man drew his bow and nocked an arrow. Then he took aim at a point on one of the great doors. A snap of the string and an arrow was buried in center of a decorative circle barely three fingers wide.
“Nice. You’ll need something better to protect yourself with than that dagger,” the fox said pointing to the short blade on Brad’s belt.
“I have no intention of letting those green bastards get so close,” came the answer.
The Long scout turned to his counter part. “Daria, make sure he gets a sword, and that he carries it at all times.” Then before the archer could complain he moved on to the next soldier.
The next person in line was a young girl. Her dark brown hair framed a face that had barely entered puberty. She was fourteen, desperately trying to look sixteen.
“How old are you?” Misha asked.
“I’m an expert with the bow, Sir,” she replied.
“That wasn’t my question,” the fox answered in a hard voice.
“Fourteen and a half,” came the reluctant answer.
“No,” Misha answered calmly. “You’re too young to have even changed yet. You stay here at the Temple and stand guard.”
“NO!” the girl answered forcefully. “I’m ready to fight.”
Misha didn’t counter her words, instead he took off a gauntlet and tenderly caressed her cheek. “You’re too young and beautiful. If the Lutins captured you alive you wouldn’t last twenty minutes among those creatures. Death is nothing compared to rape.” He said quietly, his muzzle twisting with the disquieting memories of what had been done to his own love, Caroline, at the hands of Lutins. She had recovered, at least outwardly, but he knew the hurts ran deep within her yet. And she was out among the attackers even now, sent by his own orders to harass the foe. Shaking his head slightly he moved off leaving the horrified girl behind.
The girl started to protest but Daria shook her head. “I have to agree with Misha on this. We’ll talk more about this later.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
Next in line was the strangest. The fox recognized the tall carpenter ant instantly. “David! Its good to see you're alive. Where did you run off to?”
David gave a bow, “Thank you, And I am sorry for worrying you but I had to make certain that my Library wasn't in danger of being sacked.” The insect looked terrible, His dull leather jerkin was stained with blood. And a rent down the front showed an expanse of shiny carapace.
Misha sighed, "I see getting here wasn't any easier for you than it was for me."
The insect’s cloak was similarly gashed and torn, but it was difficult to see much of it in the shadows. It seemed almost to devour the light. The ant had outfitted himself for battle. His Staff hung in its baldric from his side, and a bandoleer of slender throwing blades hung over his chest.
“I hope you’ve brought some of your magic as well as those,” Misha commented.
The ant’s mandibles clicked in a disquietingly strange ant version of a grin, “Of course.”
The towering man who was next in line had long black hair that fell loosely around his shoulders, his bronze-skinned arms rippling with even the small movements. He looked down at Misha and Daria and smiled, his gray eyes glistening.
"Good day to you," he said softly, his voice still carrying a commanding air.
Misha started to ask a question but Daria spoke first. “I don’t think so,” she said calmly.
The man scowled and Misha turned to her. “Why?” the fox asked.
“Thomas needs to have a father,” she answered.
“Who is Thomas? You don’t mean the Duke?” Misha asked.
“Thomas is my son,” the man answered.
“His baby boy, barely six months old,” Daria commented.
“Step over there,” the fox said pointing off to the corner.
“I’m a superb fighter, you need me,” Dana said.
“We need you more as a father then as a fighter,” Daria countered.
“Agreed,” the vulpine complimented.
“But . . “
“Take care of your son. He’s the future of Metamor Keep,” was all Misha said in a cold tone. “I’m putting you in charge of those staying behind to defend the temple.”
“Yes sir,” Dana said, his baritone voice resigned.
Misha turned to Daria,” Is that all of them?” he asked.
“Yes Misha. I was thinking of keeping the group small at first. Then build on it from there when we have more experience.”
“An excellent idea,” Misha agreed. “A small . . .” A heavy object landed on his head and a small reptilian face looked down at him.
Daria smiled as Misha jerked his head back out of reflex, the small dragonet’s wings flaring as it clung to its perch there, the fox staring up at it in surprise. “I think we have another volunteer.” She chuckled.
“Who might you be?” the fox asked.
The image of a small bird entered their minds. “Your name is Starling?” Daria commented. And the small dragon nodded.
“What can you do?” the woman asked.
A jet of flame shot out of Starling's mouth.
“That could come in handy,” Misha commented patting out the flames on a nearby tapestry. “What else can you do?”
The image that next came to them was of Starling holding a large shield. Arrow’s and magic spells bounced off of the shield leaving the dragonet unharmed.
“A eldritch shield?” Daria exclaimed and Starling nodded. “Excellent!”
“A very useful ability,” Misha agreed.
“All right, you’re in the team,” Daria said scratching Starling’s head.
“A good looking team you have Daria,” Misha commented. “Have you considered where you’ll have you team go first?”
“Well, no,” Daria answered hesitantly.
“I have an idea. My team was headed toward the armory next and your team needs more equipment. So why don’t we join forces?” Misha asked.
The girl nodded. “Sounds good.”
“All right,” the fox said. “Let’s go plan this thing out.”
“I still think this is a stupid idea.”
Jacob grunted and pulled away another charred board. “What is it you soldiers say? If it works, then it’s not a stupid idea?”
Snorting, Rickkter tossed his own board out of the way. “It still has to work.”
“Are you always such a pessimist?” said Jacob as he hauled away another board. Finally they could see the frame of the door. Good, it was never sealed up properly. “Or is it just when you’re trying to impress people you’ve just met?”
“I like being a pessimist,” Rickkter told him as he kicked aside a crate. “You’re either always being proven right or pleasantly surprised.” Rick moved the last of the boards from in front of the door. Thankfully they didn’t have to worry about breaking into the warehouse. The place was a smoking ruin when they found it. It must have been a hell of a blaze, too, reflected the raccoon, for the ruin was still mostly bare of snow. He just hoped that it would remain bare of Lutins as well. The door itself was made from thick oak boards with iron bands across them and a lock on the outside that looked somewhere close to fifteen years old. And, while it would probably stop a curious child, the mechanism sprang open with just a few hits from a stout piece of timber that Jacob had picked up. From there they just had to remove the lock and latch.
Jacob dropped the board and brushed some ashen snow from his muzzle. “Okay, let’s get out of this miserable cold once and for all.” That proved easier said than done, for when he tried to pull on the iron ring, the door refused to budge. Frowning, he tried again with both paws.
“Oh, no. You’re kidding me!” Rickkter exclaimed. He shouldered his way beside the fox and added his own strength and paws to the stubborn door. Even with the two of them grunting and pulling, the door barely moved an inch. “Figures it would have to happen now,” cursed the raccoon through his clenched muzzle as he added a foot to the doorframe for added leverage.
“Don’t tell me you’re bitching about the cold again,” Jacob cursed, his own muzzle set in a snarl as the door moved about a half inch. Whether it was warped in the frame from years of neglect or just the metal hinges having rusted shut he couldn’t say.
“No, I’m not bitching about the cold. I’m bitching about the rather large patrol of Lutins that are coming this way.”
“You serious?”
“Very.”
“Bloody hell!’
“Yup.”
Jacob changed position, trying to wedge his shoulder between the door and frame and push outwards. He managed half his arm. “Are you sure they’ll see us?”
“Do you want to risk it?”
“We’d better hurry then.”
Rickkter grunted and strained against the iron ring while the blue fox attempted to force the thick door open further. The door cracked and shuddered under their combined efforts, eventually giving way.
It gave way in a method neither would have preferred, however. The entire handle assembly came free of the apparently rotted wood and pulled right out in Rick’s paw, almost sending the raccoon down on his tail in the process.
“That’s it, back up. We’re doing this the easy way,” growled the raccoon before whipping the now useless handle into a pile of rubble and backing up several paces. The expression on his face was one of pure murder and the fox quickly sought to remove himself from it. He had barely made it clear before Rickkter threw up his paws and sent a shimmering silver ball of magic hurtling at the door. What would not budge before for mortal hands shattered like fine crystal under a little magical coercion. Jacob looked back at the now gaping back doorway to the underworld of his childhood.
“Come on, let’s get going,” Rickkter said to him, slapping him on the back as he jogged past. The fox was quick to find his feet once more and follow.
At least the way down had not changed. The stone steps were frozen over slightly with their normal film of slimy water, so both had to be careful as they went down. At least the wall was of pretty uneven stone and provided something to grip. But of course the tunnel didn’t provide any way to see. Night vision works at night, not in pitch darkness. He was just about to call that fact out to the raccoon ahead of him when a feather of witchlight burst into being above the mage’s head. The sudden illumination was blinding, though, and almost caused the fox to lose his precarious balance on the slippery steps. At least it lessened to bearable levels when Rickkter moved past the first turn. Jacob stood in the weaker glow of the witchlight and tried to blink away the afterimages. And that was when he heard the first of the Lutin war cries echoing down the steps from above.
That got him moving again. “Rick, we got company coming!” He hit the flat level of the switchback and braved a look back. Sure enough, the silhouette of several Lutin warriors could be seen bounding down the steps. “Rick?” he called out again down the second flight while still watching the Lutins. No answer. “Rick?!” he yelled louder. The little green horrors were making excellent progress, getting far too close for his comfort. Plunging down what he long remembered to be the final flight, he saw Rickkter standing there under the unearthly halo of his witchlight. “Gods, what are you waiting for? They’re right behind me!”
“I know they’re right behind you! Now get out of my way!”
Jacob quickly skidded to a halt, his toe claws scraping the stone floor before he threw himself to the side. It was a rather ungraceful landing, a sharp corner from a stone poking him in the ribs as he rolled onto his side and looked back at the stairway. He was just in time to see the mage reach out and wave his paw in an arch mimicking the shape of the stairway roof. Then to see that roof collapsing in on itself and hear the death screams as the falling blocks caught the Lutin pursers. Well, all but one of them. The lone lead Lutin just cleared the falling stone before becoming engulfed in the ensuing dust cloud. Jacob was able to make out the silhouette of the Lutin against the glow of Rickkter’s witchlight, and able to see that glow shift behind the Lutin, followed by a wet thunk. The Lutin silhouette promptly disappeared.
“Okay, what did you do?” Jacob demanded as he got to his feet after the dust had cleared.
“The only thing I could. We couldn’t have fought them off, they were too many.”
“So you sealed us in here?”
“Good motivation,” Rickkter explained as he returned his drawn sword to its wooden scabbard. “Now we seriously need to find another way out of here. So which way?”
Jacob licked at some dust that had settled on his muzzle. “Left. That tunnel turns towards the Keep itself, it should take us where we want to go.”
The mage nodded and headed off in that direction.
The blue fox started to follow, then paused to look at the Lutin corpse. Its head had been cleanly severed at the shoulders. “What is with you, Rickkter? Don’t you have any qualms about killing someone?”
Rickkter’s reply was an eerie echo in the tunnels. “An entire person or just parts of a person?” He never broke his forward stride.
Jacob could only shake his head and draw his cloak tighter about himself, wondering just what kind of person he had met up with and when he was going to turn on him.
Arla stopped and stared at the figure in front of her blocking their way. Standing in the center of the hallway not twenty feet from Arla was a very tall, stoutly built, wolf morph.
She stared at the figure for a long moment. “Who are you?” she asked. The wolf morph was at least eight feet tall and his body seemed to bristle with muscles. He wore no clothes, except the deep black fur that covered his body. She didn’t know who this person was but all her instincts were telling her something was wrong. Behind her she heard one of the dire wolves whine in fear.
The wolf morph didn’t say anything but started moving towards the scouts at a slow walk. Arla could feel her hackles rise and a shiver ran down her spine. The wolf’s scent came to her nose, it was wrong, strange, not the scent of a keeper.
“Stay right there, come no closer,” Lisa ordered coming to stand next to Arla.
In return the strange morph snarled and broke into a run. As he brought both hands over his head she could see long, razor sharp claws tipping each finger.
“That’s no keeper,” Lisa said drawing her sword.
“SHIT!” Arla shouted pulling her sword from its sheath. “AMBUSH!” Behind her she could hear the other scouts drawing weapons.
“Get down Arla!” Meredith’s voice thundered from behind her. Without thinking she obeyed and dropped to the floor and rolled to one side. Behind her she heard the snap of the bear’s crossbow and a bolt buried itself in the attacking wolf’s chest. A second later two arrows joined it.
If the missiles hurt the creature it didn’t show. The stranger just brushed them off the way a child might flick away an annoying fly. It kept charging straight at them, a feral look in its eyes. And then it was among them. Lisa met the creature head on, lashing out with her sword catching the creature across the stomach. The monster grabbed the girl in its jaws and shook her like a dog shaking a sock. Then it released her and Lisa flew backward in a bloody spray. She hit the wall, slid to the floor and lay in an increasing pool of her own blood.
Without hesitating Ralls leapt over Lisa’s bloody body, swinging his war hammer for all its worth. Charging right beside him, was Meredith, who in spite of the narrow confines of the hall still managed to swing his axe. Fast behind them was Laura and Allart. Allart’s face was drawn into a furious, rictus snarl, his deep blue eyes as hard as winter ice and burned with a dark rage as his shout rang over the clash and screams of the fight, “You’ll die.”
Without hesitating Arla leapt up and rushed the creature. She ducked one of those massive paws and lashed out with her own sword the point aimed at its stomach. She saw Ralls thrown backward by a powerful backhand and sent flying out of sight behind the beast. The creature took Meredith’s axe blow across the chest and lunged forward, it’s teeth snapping the two-inch thick wooden handle like it was a twig. The bear had to leap backward to avoid being killed but didn’t move fast enough, those sharp claws caught him across the chest.
“What is it?” Someone screamed.
“It’s a werewolf,” Allart said calmly as he attacked, his sword biting deeply into the creature’s side. He dodged a swipe of a paw and backed away.
Suddenly there was just Arla, Allart and Laura facing the creature; all the other scouts were gone. The werewolf calmly looked at the age morph. “Clever little boy,” it said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. Then it rushed the three remaining scouts.
Allart flicked a pair of throwing stars at the creature, one burying in itself in the monster’s muzzle. Arla’s sword flashed as she lashed out at the monster’s paw. She heard it bellow in pain, and she felt a jolt like some one had hit her, and warm blood splashed over her. The monster simply rammed into her and she was sent flying backward into a wall.
Dazed and confused she felt something warm and moist touch her muzzle. She looked up into the eyes of Crooked Jaw, the leader of the dire wolves. She had completely forgotten about them in the midst of the fight. They just seemed to be watching the battle. At least they weren’t fighting against the scouts.
She turned to the fighting and saw Meredith, shedding all traces of civilization, had changed to his full animal form and was charging the werewolf on both hind legs. The one ton brown bear was a terrible sight, his chest was a mass of blood and there was true rage in his eyes.
A whine brought Arlas attention back to dire wolves. They were staring at an object laying on the floor. It was a paw from the werewolf. She saw the terror of many of the wolves who were crouching in the corner, tails between their legs. They were truly terrified of that werewolf. She looked at Crooked jaw for a long moment and something passed between them. Then she stood up and retrieved her sword from a corner. Behind her she heard the wolf give a short, sharp bark, and then the sounds of the wolves moving.
With a loud howl Arla rushed back into the fight and with her came twenty dire wolves. She saw the werewolf shake off the bear and send him tumbling down the hallway. Arla leapt over the bear and the wolves simply flowed around his body. She couldn’t spare the time to help her friend.
It was a swirling chaos of a fight. Men, women, morphs, and wolves leaping, snapping, and rushing the creature as it lashed out with its remaining paw and it’s dagger-sized teeth. She saw Ralls trip and fall to the ground, his leg shattered from a snap of the werewolf’s jaws. Before she could help him a dire wolf clamped onto his armor and pulled him to safety. She saw Laura, a dire wolf by her side, rush straight at the monster, sword slashing. Then she saw a dire wolf, it had to be the smallest of the pack, run straight up the monster’s broad back and clamp its teeth onto the werewolf’s head, right across those rage filled eyes. The monster gave a flick of it’s head and the wolf was sent flying. It hit the wall with a thud and a crunch, it struggled to stand up for a moment then collapsed to the floor. The small wolf’s attack had not been in vain though. The monster’s eyes were a mass of bloody bone and shredded flesh. The creature blindly flailed around for a moment, before Allart stepped up and drove his sword deep into it’s left leg. With a bellow of pain it crashed onto the floor, and wolves and keepers alike swarmed over it, biting, slashing, stabbing, and ripping in a brutal, killing frenzy.
It was a long time before Laura ended it.
“ENOUGH!” she shouted in a ragged voice. “It’s finally dead.”
Everyone just stood still and looked at the corpse, unbelieving that the fight was truly over. Finally Allart sheathed his sword, and that broke the stillness. “See to the wounded,” he said calmly.
It was a sad business picking up after the battle. Everyone was hurt. Arla found Laura gingerly bandaging the broken ribs of a small, female dire wolf. No less then four of the dire wolves sat nearby intently watching. Laura’s right arm was covered in a bandage from elbow to wrist. Tired, Arla sat down and rested her back against the wall. She suddenly recognized the female Laura was helping. “That’s the one who blinded the werewolf by running up its back?” she asked.
The woman nodded. “Yes. One really brave soul.”
“Very brave.”
“What’s the count?” Laura asked.
“Four of the wolves are hurt, but not badly,” the collie answered. “Ralls has a broken leg. Meredith has some deep cuts across the chest, but they’re minor. Allart has a few cuts and bruises. And me, I’m fine except for a few bruised ribs.” The canine hesitated to continue.
“What about Lisa?” Laura asked.
“You’d best talk to Ralls about that,” was all Arla could say.
The woman just stared at Arla without speaking. “That bad?”
Arla just nodded.
Laura quickly finished bandaging the wolf and hustled over to where the girl was lying. She passed Terrence. The boy was calmly bandaging his wrist and arm. She hadn’t noticed him in the mayhem of the fight but the long, claw wounds on his arm told that he had fought. The woman paused long enough to be sure the boy would be fine and then rushed over to where Lisa lay.
In spite of his broken leg Ralls had all the equipment of healing spread out on the floor and was working on the girl with Allart’s help. It was not a pretty sight. Lisa was lying on a blanket and was covered with a second one. Her face had lost its color and was a pasty white. She was breathing shallowly and looked to be asleep. Arla couldn’t help but look at the mangled remains of Lisa’s right arm. Ralls motioned both of them forward.
“How is she?” Laura asked.
“Her right arm is completely shattered,” Ralls said. “Plus she’s broken at least four of her ribs and she’s lost a lot of blood. I’ve stopped the bleeding but we need to get her to help immediately if she’s going to live.”
“All right, rig a stretcher for her and yourself,” was Laura’s answer. She turned to Arla. “Do you think you can talk one of the wolves into doing a little stretcher pulling?”
Arla pondered before answering. “Probably, as long as we save room for Little Tail on that stretcher.”
“Little Tail?” Allart asked.
“That’s the female wolf who blinded the werewolf,” Arla explained.
Laura smiled. “Sure. The Longs always take care of their own.”
The two groups met together in a small room of the Temple library. The walls were lined with shelves full of books that went all the way to the ceiling.
Daria noticed Misha examining the books on one of the shelves. That surprised her. She’d never considered the fox to be a reader. His reputation painted him as a blood thirsty killer.
“Misha, how do we start?” Daria asked.
The fox put down the book he was reading and moved to stand in front of the girl. “Let me introduce my people to you.” He pointed to the ferret, who had sheathed his sword. “That’s Finbar. He’s team leader. Standing next to him is Danielle.” The pine marten nodded to Daria. She was carrying a short sword, a bow was slung across her back and three hand axes hung from her belt.
The fox pointed to three other scouts, a man, a woman and a red panda morph. “The woman wielding the spear, is Georgette.” The brown haired woman smiled at Daria. The girl noticed that besides the spear she had a long bow and no less then five daggers.
The short man standing next to Georgette bowed deeply. The mace hanging from his belt had long, sharp spikes and the two hand axes hanging next to it had razor sharp edges. The ever-present bow was firmly gripped in his right hand. “My name is Jotham,” he said shaking Daria’s hand.
“This tall fellow,” Misha said patting the panda on the back. “Is Kershaw.” The panda looked Daria in the eyes with a piercing gaze.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” The panda said.
“Is that your whole group?” Daria asked. “It’s small.”
Misha chuckled. “You know what they say? Good things come in small packages.”
After a few more nods, smiles, and farewells, the four rats were nothing more than a faint glimmer of light beyond the portal. Charles watched them until they disappeared around a corner and up a set of stairs. Sighing, he turned back to his fellow Sondeckis and gestured into the darkness before them. “Shall we see if this takes us where we want to be?”
Jerome handed Garigan the other lantern, and soon they were walking down that narrow passageway. Charles took the lead, with Jerome at his back. Garigan followed quickly on the heels of the broad man, while Zagrosek stayed in the rear, watching behind him, though all that could be seen was a passage dwindling into darkness. Of course, that was all Charles could see before him as well, and that did not appear likely to change anytime soon.
Yet the passage did not contain the same sort of stink and disrepair that was prevalent in their descent through the cellars and sub-cellars of the Keep. Even so the passage, or at least what they could see of it in the hooded light from the two lanterns, appeared to be rather old, with a dry musty scent that neither Charles nor Garigan could place. The stone lining the passage was uniform black for the most part, though no signs of tunnelling or other construction could be seen. Even the corners were looked seamless, or very nearly so. It was as if the passage was formed from a single slab of stone, shaped according to the will of the very earth.
“I must show this to Murikeer sometime,” Charles said aloud, without realizing he had done so, for the very thought that magic could have been involved in its construction was startling to the rat. He knew that the skunk was familiar with the magics of the earth, and in fact that it was his speciality. Surely he would be intrigued by this ancient passage that did not appear to have any normal construction.
“Who?” Jerome asked from behind him, peering ahead, and seeing nothing but the endless passageway.
“A friend I’ve made recently. I think this passage might have been made magically.”
“It does appear to be abnormally straight and smooth,” the larger man confessed, his head nearly touching the roof of the hall. It was not a large passage, despite its length. Instead, it was narrow, barely five feet across, and only two feet more from floor to ceiling. Charles was grateful for the light; for otherwise he knew the madness that had crept upon him only a few hours ago would overwhelm him here. As it was he felt confined and squeezed on all sides, for the illumination provided by the lantern in his hand only pierced a few paces of darkness, and the black walls leaned heavily in to either side. It was as if they were in a room made entirely of shadows, the floor revolving beneath their feet as they progressed from nowhere to nowhere. The way it appeared to narrow ahead only made him more nervous with each step forward he took. Yet, it never turned and it never changed its proportions.
And so far, it did not appear to end. “I wonder if we won’t end up in the Dragon Mountains before we leave this tunnel.”
Jerome let out a guarded laugh at that. “If it does, the fighting will be done and over with before we even escape this place!”
“And we’ll be damn hungry too,” Charles murmured, gently pressing a palm to his belly. The thought of food had stirred his stomach in revolt, and it voiced its misgivings to him quite vocally then, gurgling through his fur and clothes.
Jerome heard it and gave another of his light chuckles. “I’m sure we will find something to eat when we leave this place. It will be at least a day’s walk to this Glen Avery if I reckon the distance correctly.”
From behind the two of them Garigan spoke softly. “That sounds about right. But I have no idea what time it is down here. For all we know, a day could come and go and we may never see the sun.”
Charles let out a bitter report. “With this blizzard, we could never see the sun anyway!”
There was silence for a few moments after that, as the four of them trudged on in the dark, only that feeble light from the two lanterns any consolation for them. Yet every step felt like the last, and every new bit of the tunnel looked just like the rest of it had: endless and unchanging. The rat found himself half-wishing for the fungus and mould that had been a common feature of the Keep’s cellars. To see it adorn the walls in any fashion, even a tiny bit of it, would relieve the monotony the black stone represented.
Running his paws across its shiny black surface he pondered aloud, “Is this obsidian?”
Jerome reached out to feel the wall as well as he walked, the lantern held in the other hand. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel quite right. It’s not glossy enough, I don’t think. It isn’t jet at least, doesn’t have the right smell.” Charles tried not to snort. He could have told him that! However, Jerome, not noting the comical nature of his statement, went on. “Strangely enough, it almost reminds me of pearl.”
“Pearl?” Charles said in some surprise. “Do you have any idea how expensive even a fragment of this wall would be if this were indeed pearl?”
“I have more an idea of that then how this wall came to be if it is fashioned from pearl,” Jerome pointed out, letting his hand fall from the stone. “Do you know where they find pearls?”
“Somebody told me once, it had something to do with the sea if I recall.”
“Oysters,” Jerome exclaimed, though in a subdued tone of voice. It was clear he found the process a bit disconcerting. “They’re found in oysters, and rarely at that. So I ask you, how could they possibly have found enough to fashion a tunnel as long as this out of black pearls, which are the rarest of them all?”
Charles had no choice but to shrug helplessly. “I really don’t know. I don’t even know for how long we’ve walked even! It feels like forever already.”
Zagrosek’s voice came from the rear of their group, and despite his quiet whisper, they both knew he was being sardonic. “At least won’t have to worry about Lutins attacking us down here. You two will bore them to death first.”
That ended the debate on the composition of the tunnel walls, though both Charles and Jerome continued to ponder it. Even so, the walk soon took their minds to other places. After what seemed hours, the rat finally stopped a moment, stretching both of his legs. The others saw this and did likewise. Soreness had begun to creep into their bodies as if it were born there. A short while later, after having travelled a bit further, they did the same thing again. A third time they stretched, not twenty minutes after, and it was about that time that they realised that they had to make a decision.
“This is longer than I had realised it would be,” Charles said, leaning against the black wall. He rubbed his paw over the stone, no longer wondering whether it was obsidian or pearl. The aching in his joints occupied his thoughts. “I think we ought to take a short rest before moving on.”
Zagrosek, who had already collapsed into a sitting position, cradling the collapsed Sondeshike in his hands, nodded emphatically. “I agree, we’ve walked at least four or five hours, and seen not a single change in this whole place. For all we know, this tunnel may never end.”
Though it had been a jocular statement, neither Charles nor Garigan was apt to take it as such. “What if it doesn’t?” Garigan asked, his musteline frame quite suddenly erect. “I mean, what if this is a magical passage, and this direction continues on forever? There are stranger things at Metamor. We’ve seen as such.”
“That room, for instance,” Jerome finished the unspoken thought. They each dwelled on that for a moment. The room in which they had faced Wessex and his summoned shrieker had been constructed oddly, with every angle appearing to be a right angled corner, but finding many more of them than should be in any room. Things had distorted oddly about the space in the centre, and every time they touched a wall, gravity would shift with it. Yet, it had disappeared as soon as the vortex had closed. Who could say if an endless corridor did not exist?
Charles shook his head though, slapping his paws on the floor. “Look, that’s merely a speculation. I cannot imagine the Keep herself creating something like this, especially since we are trying to fight invaders to the Keep.”
“Are we?” Jerome asked. “We’re running off to this Glen Avery to see if it is okay. For all we know, they could remain unmolested, and this is just the Keep’s way of telling us where we are needed.”
Charles glanced at Garigan. This whole expedition had been undertaken at his insistence. Only he could lead them to turn around. As long as he was set on venturing to Glen Avery, Charles and the other Sondeckis were dedicated to accompanying him. The ferret though, appeared to take Jerome’s remarks seriously, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Finally, after a moment of silence, he spoke, slowly, and carefully. “If what you say is true, then our travelling to Glen Avery would have wasted our talents in the defence of Metamor. Maybe even give the Lutins some tactical advantage. For all we know, we could be the bird that breaks the branch, as my people say.”
He picked up one of the lanterns, and peered inside the receptacle. “We have about two thirds of the oil we started with left in this lantern. If, as we continue down this hall, it reaches the half-mark, then I am willing to turn around to help the Keepers. Would that satisfy the rest of you?”
Charles nodded and smiled warmly to his student. Though it was just as chill in this ancient tunnel as it had been in the cellars beneath the Keep, he could feel the cold leave his body as he gazed at his student with profound respect. Rising to his feet, he nodded yet again. “All right, that settles it, a few hours more, and if we see nothing, we turn back. Let’s just hope our legs an hold out that long!”
“A-men!” both Jerome and Zagrosek chorused together. Garigan blinked once at the expression, but said nothing as he resumed his place in the line. The two Sondeckis though switched places, and so Krenek carried the lantern behind the rat, the familiar sound of his breathing filling Matthias’s round ears.
The plan they agreed upon was simple. They would head to the armory, if the place was held by the Lutins they would take it back. That took all of ten minutes to come up with. Preparing everyone took two hours. Misha broke up both teams into small groups, making sure there was a Long scout in every group.
“I don’t care if you could hit a fly with an arrow at a mile off,” Finbar shouted. “You’ll carry a sword just in case.”
“I don’t need one,” Bradfox countered.
The ferret’s small ears laid back against his skull and he opened his mouth to reply, but he said nothing. Instead Finbar stood for a moment and considered. When he finally spoke it was in a calm voice. “Battle is a chaotic place. There is no telling what will happen. There is no way to guarantee that a Lutin won’t get past us and come at you with a sword. If you don’t have a way to defend yourself you’ll endanger everyone else. We need to know that in the heat of battle we don’t have to worry about you.” The ferret held up the sword and the man, glowering at the weapon, silently took it.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 9 AM
The snow had slowed to a light powdering when the group arrived at the outer gate. Most of the wreckage had been removed but numerous bodies still littered the passage. The smell of burnt and boiled Lutins filled the air. The small group on horseback took no notice of the many dead Lutins littering the passage in the gatehouse.
In a few moments the seven mounted figures moved into the courtyard beyond. There were bodies everywhere, human, Lutin and keeper, all intermingled in death. The harsh smell of smoke and the putrid stink of death filled the air. A mute testimony to the ferocity of the fighting that had taken place here. The riders took no notice of any of that, their midnight black steeds trodding with heavy hooves upon the shattered bodies scattered before them.
A tall Lutin dressed in plate mail armor rushed up to the riders and flung himself on the ground in submission. “Welcome, Lord Polteen. General Selig reporting. The enemy has been crushed at the outer gate and is in full flight back to the keep itself.”
The person at the head of the group of riders was tall, even for a human, standing well over six feet tall without the imposing height offered by being in the saddle. He was dressed in long, flowing black robes that were edged in silver and gold. Brown hair framed a hard face and steel gray eyes which showed no warmth or mercy. “Good,” he said coldly. “I don’t wish to annoyed by any keepers.”
“No my lord. I have a bodyguard ready to protect you,” the general said pointing to a group of ogres and Lutins that were off to one side. All were like the general, flat on the ground in submission.
Polteen laughed, a cold, hard sound that frightened even the ogres. “We have no need of those stupid oafs. Just keep your people out of our way.”
“Yes, my lord,” Selig answered.
Polteen slowly moved his horse forward, forcing the prostrate Lutin to scramble aside lest he be strode upon by the human’s massive black horse. Gleaming, blood red eyes glared balefully at the Lutin as the beast tossed its head. Selig backed away from the magically enhanced horse, head bowed as he noticed a very similar red-eyed black horse slightly behind the mage and to one side. Astride the nightmarish beast was a short woman also dressed in black robes. Her red hair was tied into a ponytail with a mithiril chain. Her face showed nothing but disdain as she looked down at the general.
Behind the two wizards, were four more riders all dressed in the black and silver robes of mages. The seventh and last rider was a woman, dressed in expensive furs and wearing the gold collar of a trusted slave. She was leading two horses. The first animal was piled high with bundles and bags containing all sorts of equipment. As the last animal passed, Selig noticed that a young girl was tied to the saddle. Looking barely twelve years old she was dressed only in rags and looked close to death from the cold. The Lutin saw panic and fear in the girl’s eyes but he felt no pity for her. He didn’t care about what happened to any Keepers. All that mattered to him was his own life and those of his soldiers. The general could not waste time and emotion on the enemy. Still, as she passed he couldn’t help wondering what hideous fate awaited the captive.
In a few moments the figures were passed him. Selig stood up and motioned for his soldiers to do the same. He turned and looked in the direction the mages had taken. The riders slowly disappeared into the swirling snow leaving the living and dead behind them.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 9 AM
Finally everything was ready to go. All the supplies and been packed and every weapon had be double checked. Final good byes had been said and the last plan finalized. The group stood silently in the main temple somber and quiet. A large group of people came to see them off and wish them well all stood as still as mourners at a funeral.
Misha came up to Daria, moving with a silent grace that surprised her. “You ready?” he asked in a warm tone.
She nodded in return. “Yes. Lets get moving.”
“Good. One thing, I’ll leave first to check the corridor. If everything is clear our people will come out one at a time as quietly as possible. I want you to be the last one out. When you do leave I want you to come up and signal to me that everyone is out.”
“I understand.”
Raven, who had been watching silently from the sidelines until now, came up to stand beside Misha in front of the group of warriors.
"A moment, Misha, if I may."
Misha inclined his head fractionally toward the priestess. "Of course, Lightbringer."
The wolf-woman took a long look at the men and women before her, meeting the eyes of each one. At last seeming to find the words, she spoke. "You are all headed out into battle -- perhaps the most important battle of your lives," she said. "I could stand up here for an hour talking about the trials and the challenges you will face, trying to instill some kind of courage or tenacity in all of you for the road ahead. But when you walk out of those doors, you will be the ones who have to go into battle. And in that moment, no words that I say here today will give you the strength that you need to win. Ultimately, it is your strength ... your skill ... your courage ... and your faith ... that will bring you through to victory. So believe in yourselves. Believe in each other. And believe in whatever gods you serve. And know that whatever happens, we will be here praying for your safety."
The Lightbringer stretched out her hands, palms facing the group. "May the blessings of Kammoloth, Dokorath and all the gods go with you this day," she said solemnly. "Fight well, and fight with honor."
With that, she stood aside. Misha gave her one last look, then turned and headed for the doors leading out of the temple.
Daria signaled Misha with the wave of the hand that everyone was out. Behind her the massive doors of the temple slowly closed. The two doors came together with a massive boom that made everyone jump. No matter what happened the die was cast, there was no turning back now. Misha tapped the stones with the hilt of his axe and all eyes turned to him. He began moving down the corridor without saying a word and the rest followed silently after him.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 10 AM
The town was burning. The light of countless fires danced and reflected off of his metal skin creating an exotic display. The bits of debris raining down all around didn’t seem to bother him as he continued to wander the streets. Malabrinum was confused, this didn’t look like any part of Taroshi he knew and as the Amber Orders guard he knew the whole fortress intimately. Still the town did look vaguely familiar, but why? It didn’t look like any normal Seuliman town. The buildings were mostly wood and plaster instead of brick and marble. And the road beneath him was paved with small gray stones instead of the usual massive stone blocks.
As the creature walked the sounds of shouting and screaming came to his metal ears and he broke into a run. Turning a corner he beheld a strange sight. Some strange animal-like people were cowering in the ground floor of a burning building. He watched as the animal people shrieked and screamed as debris rained down on them. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t leave the building and go to safety. They were standing in front of an open doorway, all it would take was a few steps. Then he heard the sound of laughter and cheering.
He turned to the out of place sounds and found a group of human like people and three large dogs watching the animal-persons plight. The animal people Malabrinum didn’t recognize, but the other group he did. “Tekshi,” he said out loud. Lutins. All doubts disappeared from his confused mind; he knew what to do with Lutins.
They were having a great time, both Lutin and moondog. It was so easy too, all it took was a burning building and a few Keepers. All they had to do was stand and watch as the keepers had to choose between the terror of burning to death and the mind killing terror of the moondogs. The Lutins were betting to see which of the cowering retches would die first. The moon dogs were enjoying the rush of power they felt as they absorbed the fear from the people. The moon dogs didn’t care who died first as long as they died in fear. The keepers would die of terror, literally frightened to death to feed the moon dogs. It was wonderful sport.
“Ta woo shenamo, Tekshi.” All eyes turned to the voice that had spoken those words. There standing in the shadow of a burning tavern was a large animal debris raining down around it as the flames cast dancing shadows all around it.
The Lutins as a group laughed. “More fun!” one shouted. The largest of the moondogs; Jhauzros, nodded in agreement. This Keeper was different, more powerful and watching him squirm in terror would be all the better. The keeper broke into a run and came straight the group.
Jhauzros watched as the creature cleared the building and came into the open square. He was surprised that this keeper could even get so close, most people simply couldn’t handle the fear. He expected the charging animal to stop any moment and then flee in panic. But it didn't stop, instead it picked up speed, running at an impossible speed straight at them.
“That no person,” a Lutin shaman said as realization set in. “That a golem.”
“Destroy it!” another of the shamans ordered.
A Lutin spear arched out and down toward the wolf. Jhauzros watched as it hit the canine in the shoulder and bounced off with a loud “Clang.” Then a fire flared up to one side and illuminated the charging creature. It was like no golem ever seen before. Smoke gray metal covered the creature’s body and fire reflected off of gold teeth and claws. The monster fox, closed with the moondog at unnatural speed as arrows and spears bounced off its hide. Jhauzros had a moment of pure surprise before Madog slammed into him knocking the magical creature to the ground.
The other two moondogs charged the metal creature. Erizth bit down on the monster’s muzzle with her powerful jaws while Xscahas grabbed both if it’s hind legs with his own powerful teeth. The giant fox gave an almost casual flip of it’s head and sent Erizth tumbling into Jhauzros. Then he turned and attacked Xscahas ripping his head off completely. Then he closed with the prostrate forms of Erizth and Jhauzros. He heard Erizth snarl and there was the crunch of bone.
Suddenly the metal covered vulpine loomed over Jhauzros. He caught sight of those gold teeth just before they clamped down on his throat and crushed it, killing him instantly.
Malabrinum looked at the corpse of the hound that lay in front of him. Even though it was now dead he could still see the evil aura that surrounded it. The other two monsters lay nearby as dead as the first. Also there were the shattered remains of three Lutins, of the others there was no sign. The animal-people crowded around him and patted him on the head. Why were they calling him Madog? It wasn’t his name, was it? It did seem familiar and he did like it. He studied the faces, but none of them looked to be an Amber mage. Suddenly he remembered. They’re called Keepers. And this place was Metamor Keep. It was his new home. Not the Amber Order, that was long destroyed. Metamor Keep had become his new home, its people his people, and he would protect them.
He heard the sounds of Lutins shouting in the distance. There was work to do. “Go to safe place,” he ordered the ones he had just saved. Running quickly he headed towards the Lutins. Once long ago he had defended a fortress and failed.
This time he wouldn’t fail.
Laura, Arla and Allart gratefully accepted the plates of hot food and the cups of tea from the woman. It had been a long time since any of them had eaten a hot meal. Laura had just taken her second bite of food when Hough sat down next to her. Behind him stood the Duke. The boy priest and the equine Duke both looked tired and worn out.
“Lisa will live,” Hough said quietly. “The great one saw fit to answer my prayer of healing.” There was a sense of awe in his voice despite his obvious weariness.
Relief flooded through her body. “That’s great to hear.”
“What about her arm?” Allart asked between bites of beef.
Hough shook his head sadly. “Her arm was too far gone to save.”
“I figured as much,” Allart commented. “That monster didn’t leave much for you to work with.”
“I’m happy she’ll live,” was the collie’s statement. “We can worry about her arm later. What about everyone else?”
“They’re all fine,” Hough answered. “Even that giant wolf. She’s already eaten several pounds of meat. Ralls is getting some sleep, and Meredith is looking in on Lisa.”
Thomas shook his head. “Dire wolves,” the stallion said amazed. “I never expected to see a live dire wolf in Metamor. Certainly not a score of them as our allies.”
“War breeds strange allies,” Hugh intoned.
“Indeed,” the duke replied. “It also breeds strange enemies. Do you know what it is you fought?”
“Werewolf,” Allart answered calmly drinking a mug of ale.
“Evil creatures,” Hough answered. “Must have been very powerful to do this much damage to the Long scouts. The prayers and blessings I did should stop any of you from becoming a lycanthrope,” Hough said.
“I hope so,” Laura commented dryly. “We have enough trouble already.”
“It will,” the priest said confidently. “As long as it’s done before the first full moon the disease is removed. We have dealt with such things before. What did you do with body?”
“Burned it,” Arla explained. “Doused it in oil and made sure it burned completely.”
“Good,” Hough said. “I wonder who he was? How he came to have the curse?”
The collie shrugged. “From what Crooked Jaw tells me, the pack has been controlled or bullied by him for years. He was definitely working for Nasoj.”
“Nasoj collects evil people the way manure attracts flies,” Allart commented.
“They flock to vile cause,” Thomas added.
“I don’t think Nasoj found this werewolf,” Arla commented. “I think he created it with magic.”
“What makes you think that?” Allart asked.
“Strong Jaw called him magic born, “ the canine explained.
“I have heard of forbidden magic that can be used to create werecreatures,” Laura commented. “But no normal wizard would use such magic, it’s too dangerous.”
"Nasoj is no normal wizard," The Duke said. "He delights in the most foul and dangerous as long as it aids his victory."
Arla nodded. “It’s lucky we killed that thing before it had a chance to go on a rampage.”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think it was chance it attacked you.”
“Oh?”
“You say the werewolf had been controlling those wolves for years and they get into the keep and he just lets them wander off?” the Duke asked.
“Then what did he do?” Allart asked.
“He used them as bait,” the horse morph answered. “He knew if he waited long enough we Keepers would find them and send someone to kill them.”
“Some one powerful like us Longs or a group of knights,” Arla added.
“Then while we were busy killing the wolves he would attack us from behind,” Allart commented. “A smart plan. But things went wrong when we didn’t attack the wolves.”
Hough smiled. “That creature never considered that you might befriend the wolves instead of killing them. Love won out over hate.”
Allart laughed. “Yes, love won out. Love of food.” The whole group laughed at that.
When the laugher died down Hough spoke, “When are you going out again?”
“Within the hour,” Laura answered.
“You can at least sleep for a few hours?” Hough asked.
Allart shook his head. “No, Nasoj and the Lutins won’t rest and neither can we.”
“The fight continues,” Laura added.
One of the things Jono has always strived to avoid is the story cliché. While he recognizes the value of allowing for a few expected variables -- the good guys always winning, for example -- he also is very aware of the fact that a story whose whole course is completely known is one that is not nearly as effective. For how can one be enthralled by the presentation of the story if they know the story already? How can they stay with their attention to the storyteller without that lasting mystery of what is about to happen next?
The problem with this is that Jono's stories are often based on real life events. And while a crafted story can be made to avoid these problems, occasionally reality will intrude in such a fashion that it becomes unavoidable to tell the story without resorting to this.
He is reflecting on this because he has just experienced a particularly fine example.
Only fifteen minutes previously he was getting his confidence back. The tunnels have still been going, none of the kids are feeling all that tired, his fellow 'grownups' (he still chuckles a bit to himself as he thinks of the children's word for them, despite the situation) are all alert and ready, and they've been safe from any Lutin attacks. As a result, he'd actually gotten to the point of believing that this was it; the last of their problems was at the Mill Tower, and that nothing else could stop them. He even went so far as to say this out loud to Kirk.
This, of course, was before they came across the door.
They'd run into several other doors along the way, of course, and most of them opened quite easily. But this one was different in a very significant way. Specifically, it was heavy. Very, very heavy. Kirk and Jono together made an attempt to pull it open and it didn't even budge.
So they can't get out through that door. And for some unknown reason, the Keep's variable geometry isn't doing a thing to help.
This is why Jono is now where he is. He's standing in a corner in the cellars of what looks to be some kind of bakery next to Kevin who is preparing to chant his warming spell Again, watching the kids huddled in a corner with Dana and Jo, while Perry, poised on the end of a 'staircase' put together from grain sacks, slowly lifts up a trapdoor and peeks out, Kirk standing nearby in case of alarm.
Jono is, suffice to say, not pleased at all by this development.
"Looks clear," comes Perry's voice from the trapdoor. "Help me up and I can get a better look of the place." Kirk obliges, leaning down to catch Perry around the sides and heft him up, mindful of the spines, allowing the hedgehog to climb up.
There's a brief silence as Perry presumably looks around, then... "We're clear. Start bringing folks up."
It takes but a few minutes to move enough grain sacks to extend the staircase high enough, and then they start hefting kids out, Kirk at the bottom and hefting up, Jono at the top and lifting the child up and to the floor.
There is one positive effect of this detour, at least, as Jono notices when he first gets up. The bakery, remarkably, hasn't been raided yet; there's plenty of bread in the kitchen. So once all the kids are up he brings them all over to the kitchen areas and starts passing out bread rations, reminding everyone to stay quiet. The Deal's still going on. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), there isn't any actual pie around, so he can't reinforce the idea. None of the kids seem to notice, though.
Jono is starting to get weary, despite the few hours of sleep he's gotten. Just twenty-four hours ago he was with most of these kids telling them the story of Alexander of the Northlands and his faithful friend Randolph. Back then, the world still had a measure of sanity. Kids were happy and growing up. He was active and telling stories he'd learned in his youth. Jo was preparing for them to go see the Lothanasi ceremonies for the first time in... gods, it's been almost six years, hasn't it? Perry would most likely be joining them there. Kevin and Jeremy would have been off to see Father Hough. Kirk and Dana would be staying at the gates, resolute and determined to keep the Keep safe from until about fourteen hours ago had seemed a merely symbolic threat.
And then, of course, he had to go and get Derek. And this, of course, is the very moment that damned wizard they always blabbered about decided to show up. And then, of course, he finds himself playing Uncle to two score kids with only Jo and four others to help defend three others, he corrected himself. Kevin hadn't been able to gather together enough mana for any of his attack magic’s ever since this whole mess started to come on.
Jono slumps into a nearby corner, suddenly unable to stand under the responsibility he's been carrying for the past twenty-four hours. Then he closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and tries to get himself to relax. We're going to make it. Everyone is going to make it. Every. Last. One.
Then he opens his eyes to see one of the children -- Andrea, if he can recall the name right -- staring up at him.
"Uncle Jono, could you tell us a story?" she asks timidly. Still whispering... the kids are obviously very determined to get their pie.
A weary smile. It is time for story time, isn't it? And he could use the chance to relax... "Give me a moment I'm not ready to tell a story; I need to figure out which one I can. But sure."
Andrea looks quite pleased. "Thanks, Uncle Jono!" She almost slips on the last word, but then quickly goes back to a whisper, obviously she's thinking about the pie still. Then she heads off.
That, also, has Jono worried. One of the kids slipped this morning, and while it didn't put them in danger, it very well could have. He's going to have to talk to Josh and the folks he recruited, make sure that all the kids stay as quiet as they possibly can for sure. Even if the Deal gets broken once, he needs it to be clear that they have to stay quiet.
But why keep focusing on that? He needs to tell a story.
And suddenly he's got just the selection.
With a smile, Jono gets up, heading for the kitchens where the kids are. Best not to delay. After all, it's time for a story.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 10:30 AM
As their walk resumed, so resumed the silence and the never-changing tunnel. It stretched on before the rat in a way that was almost maddening after a fashion. Any change from the endless dark passage would have been welcome, even a sudden army of Lutins pouring down the tunnel en masse would have been relieving to Matthias’s nerves. The feeling of being trapped in this endless corridor was rather oppressive of his mind, and it reminded him far too much of his feral flight down the fissure many months ago. He’d had no idea if he was ever going to escape that ever-present blackness and twisting crack either.
Shaking off such thoughts, he decided after a short bit to distract himself with talk. He doubted that any Lutins would invade this way, after all, there had always been talk of tunnels beneath the Keep coming out into the valley, but almost none of them were known, and those that were, were blocked. So, with that knowledge safely in mind, he felt there was no harm in speaking quietly.
Glancing back at the black-robed Sondeckis, he asked in a quiet voice, “So, Krenek, what do you think of Metamor so far?”
Zagrosek chuckled lightly. “What do I think of it? Well, it appears to be a rather exciting place.” He waved one hand as he shook his head, ticking off on his fingers, “ So far, I’ve been set upon by an undead wizard, a Shrieker, and a host of these disgusting little green-skinned Lutins. I’ve slept in an ancient wine-cellar with a handful of talking rats, and now I’m walking down an endless hallway through a mountain.” He snorted as his hand closed into a fist, then fell at his side as he laughed hollowly. “I should have come here long ago to relieve my boredom!”
Matthias did have to laugh alongside his friend at that. “It’s normally not this tumultuous, I can assure you!”
“I’m sure. From what I have seen though, it strikes me that this is one of the most pleasant places I can think for any to spend out the remainder of their life. I think it a pity though that once here, one can never leave if they so choose. You Keepers have a solidarity that I wish others possessed as well. You fight together, not because of hatreds, but almost in defiance of it. A very noble aspiration, I think.”
“You give us more credit than we deserve,” Charles added wryly, idly lifting his chewstick and nibbling at it in a vain effort to distract himself from the interminable march. “We fight so boldly together because it is the only way we’ll survive.”
“Possibly,” Zagrosek murmured, as if he too were chewing on something. “Still, watching you with those other rats really set me thinking. You looked natural together, as if you all belonged where you were. I don’t quite know how to put it into words, but you were very comfortable as you were.”
Even thinking about his fellow rodents made Charles yearn for their companionship once again. Taking a moment to chew at the end of the walnut chewstick, savouring the pleasant flavour, he collected his thoughts on the matter. What Zagrosek had told him was plainly true, a fact that he had not given much thought of late in fact.
“Well, I’ve found that most of the animal morphs here at Metamor prefer the company of their own species in a way that they can’t easily describe. Oh, there are many couples here of different species, but there are also many of the same. My betrothed is also a rat, and the Lord and Lady of Glen Avery are both squirrels.”
“When is the wedding going to be? And are we invited?” Zagrosek asked, nudging him slightly in the ribs with one finger.
Charles laughed slightly. “Kimberly and I haven’t decided that quite yet. We’ll see about that latter, once this is all over.” He then took a breath and went on. “There are eight rats here at Metamor, and we’ve tended to stick together for the most part. You’ve met five of them, including myself now. The other three are my fiancèe, one of the Head’s of the Writer’s Guild, and a knight. We’re a motley bunch, but we stick together. I can’t explain it any better than that I think. If you stay here long enough, you might get a chance to understand.”
Zagrosek nodded slowly at that. “It would be interesting to see what I would become should I stay, but I do not think I am ready to find out quite yet. If there is no choice, I am willing to accept that, but I’d rather not have to.”
“Most wouldn’t,” Charles said softly, staring at the black before him, wishing that it would change in even the slightest respect, but it kept on going, as endless as it appeared.
However, Zagrosek said nothing after that, instead simply holding the lantern near the ceiling of the passage, shining down before the rat. The dry air was beginning to grow stale to the four of them, almost noxious. Charles wished that his friend had not stopped talking, for he could feel his imprisonment in this tunnel begin to weigh heavily on his shoulders, as if the entire ceiling had come to rest there. He did not dare let the oil in the lanterns be spent more than half, for being trapped here in the dark would surely push him over the edge, no better than a common rat, except that this one could bite very, very hard.
He reminded himself of the travails of Prince Phil, their lapine chief of intelligence. Every night, Phil had to be locked inside a wire cage with hay and food in case he woke the next morning as just a simple bunny. How was Clover taking that fact now that they were married? Surely she was not going to be sleeping in the cage with his Highness. No details of the arrangements of their married life had been disclosed, so the rest of the Keep was left to ponder.
And it made Charles wonder how he would deal with being only a rat in mind as in body. It wasn’t so much as how he would deal with it, he’d simply act like a normal rat, but how those who cared about him would handle things. They might cage him, as Phil had been done, if he hadn’t crept off into some quiet corner of the Keep never to be seen again, until one of the felines captured and ate him -- that thought made him shudder visibly. He imagined that Kimberly would probably care for him, tears in her eyes as she called to him, and he barely even able to recognise his own name.
Tears nearly fled from his own dark eyes at the thought of her subjected to such daily torment, to see her beloved but to find her love unrequited. It would be as if he were dead, only his corpse was left to rot in her chambers instead of being buried. If it came to that, he might ask Misha to kill him to spare Kimberly that terrible pain. That thought alone brought a chill to his cheek fur, one that took him a moment to realise was not wholly self-generated.
As he let thoughts of being completely a rat pass from his mind, he realised that the chill did not come from his own imagining, but instead was caused by a slight breeze passing him by, one that was colder than the surrounding air. He blinked a few times an stopped in his tracks, peering ahead at the endless corridor, certain that he smelled something other than the dry mustiness that had pervaded his nostrils for almost half a day. Zagrosek stopped behind, asking a question that Charles did not listen to, while he tried to catalogue that odour.
A smile crept over his muzzle then as his mind finally brought the pieces together, the culprit’s name escaping his lips, “Snow.”
“What?” Zagrosek asked, looking ahead in bewilderment.
“Snow, I smell snow!” Charles said, a bit excitedly, and louder than he really aught.
“You do?” Jerome cried, his own voice rather exuberant.
“And I feel a breeze coming this way. Don’t you?”
Garigan was the first to nod to that, as it was easier for him to notice the way it moved his fur and whiskers. But both Jerome and Zagrosek acquiesced only moments later. “There must be an opening somewhere up ahead,” the thick Sondeckis at the rear of their little group pointed out. His broad face could barely contain his smile.
Zagrosek nodded, but he appeared dourer. “We must be quiet then; if there is an opening, then the enemy may be lurking about. No need to alert them that we are here.”
Charles nodded and kept his muzzle shut, though his whiskers did twitch with glorious anticipation. After waiting so long, and walking so far, it was a wonderful relief to know that they might soon be walking out under the sky again. The darkness, as if in protest, only appeared to grow thicker about them, clutching at them as if to keep them locked in that tunnel for all time. Yet they pushed on for several more minutes, undeterred, but renewed.
And soon, they saw a pinprick of natural light streaming into the tunnel from its end. The black stone abruptly stopped, and thick rubble lined the opening. A trickle of snow had collected at the base of the opening, falling through that tiny crack. Yet, by the light they could see pouring through, they knew that it was both daytime, and that the blizzard had lessened significantly.
Being the tallest, Zagrosek and Jerome set themselves to moving the old rocks that had piled in front of the doorway. Drifts of snow poured down in upon them, as did that bright light. Charles and Garigan both shielded their eyes as the sun’s rays fell in upon them even more. And as he peered past the two Sondeckis at that lovely celestial sphere, a terrible thought clutched the rat’s heart.
“Why is the sun in front of us?” he asked, trembling, and not from the chill that was blowing in with the snow.
Storytime.
The children are gathered around on the floor in front of the front counter in the bakery. They're seated in a semicircular fan arrangement, very close in so they can hear him (he will still have to whisper), yet still all positioned in a way such that they can all see the storyteller and whatever or whomever he might employ for assistance. This is all which occupies their focus (excepting, of course, the promise of pie, which reminds them to whisper only); there are no thoughts of Bad Guys, or the cold, or whatever else might interfere. After all, it's Storytime.
At the center of all these lines of sight is a Storyteller. Jono, of course. He's leaning easily against the counter, waiting for the focus to come completely on him, and also waiting to gather his thoughts together for the telling of the tale. He has to be sure he can tell the story absolutely right, so that it will inspire and invigorate rather than depress and disturb. But he knows what he's doing -- he's done this hundreds upon hundreds of times before, and he's sure he can handle it.
He can also catch sights of the others around the place, watching through various spots to make sure that nothing interrupts. Thankfully, they didn't need to be convinced of the value of Storytime. The morale of their charges has to stay high. He's picked a story that he normally doesn't tell kids, but for these circumstances he thinks it very appropriate.
So here he is, preparing himself for the Story, turned mostly away from the kids, while the kids sit and watch, already transfixed. It's time to listen, for that's what you do when you have a Story.
Then Jono turns back around, and spreads his hands wide. He clears his throat, then speaks, his voice not quite at a whisper, but still largely quieted.
"It is said by many in this World that no matter what Story you Tell, you will always be telling a twice-told tale. What this means to say is that Whatever is happening to you" -- he points a finger and sweeps it back and forth, indicating All of the children -- "is almost certainly not unique; that it has happened to persons Before. Thus, if a person Knows of these tales, said person can apply them to their Own lives, and Learn from them!" He brings his paw up as he says this; this is a Lesson To Be Learned. "And, indeed, the situation we have before us has occurred before, long ago in a land far, far to the south of where we live here."
The children are still listening. Some of them are a bit puzzled; this isn't like the normal stories Uncle Jono tells! But most aren't caring -- it's Uncle Jono, and he's telling a story! And it's a New one, which is going to be so very cool!
Jono is currently facing a small challenge; he has to retell this story from a different perspective. The facts of what happened to Sarcomand are well known, but most of them aren't things he wants to dwell on. He's going to have to re-embellish so that things will involve the kids more. Fortunately, any good tavern bard can re-embellish.
"So, once upon this time, there was a village named Sarcomand, on the border of the Southern Midlands and Outer Midlands, in between Three Mighty and Fast Rivers!" He spreads his hands outward as he says the last -- these are Big Things! They really Are big things; a child would easily be impressed to see it, but he has to Show it to them without actually going there.
A collection of "oooooh"s and looks of awe seem to communicate that he's gotten the message across.
"Now, Sarcomand was this amazing place to live. All the kids there got to do all sorts of things! Snow would come down from the mountains and so they could have snowball fights; the rivers were heated from hot springs and so you could swim when you were tired of snow, and all the Mommies and Daddies had things to do like farming, making bread, telling each other stories, all sorts of things!" Jono spreads his paws wide as he says this, to convey the awesome number of just Fun Stuff To Do. So many things!
One child asks quietly, "Did they get to play 'Tag'?"
Jono chuckles as softly as he can manage. "Of course they got to play 'Tag.' The place in general was nice and flat for running, and there were All sorts of good hiding places in the buildings and along the riverside." He grins widely, giving the child a conspiratorial wink. You could have the game of your life there! the wink seems to say. The child gets a very happy grin on her face.
"So, Sarcomand was a very neat and a very happy place, where Everyone got to do stuff they loved to do. But" -- and he drops his voice lower; we're about to get bad stuff here -- "not everyone liked things the way they were with Sarcomand."
One child blurts out "Bu-", then he catches himself and starts whispering again. "But why? Isn't there all that stuff to do?"
Jono smiles. "Ah, that is a Big and Complex thing, but I will tell you. You see, Sarcomand was a place that lived with all the other people of the Southern Midlands, much like how Lorland and Glen Avery and other villages here live with Metamor. And they liked it that way; they had all sorts of friends in Kelewair - those're the people in charge of Southern Midlands," he says quickly as one child starts to raise his hand; the hand goes down. "and they could go over to visit friends in Lanton nearby, where they could trade food and other things for wood and such to make more homes and more toys for the kids!"
Everyone's face brightens up at the prospect of more toys, and Jono smiles briefly, then drops his voice low. This is the bad part...
"But other people in the Outer Midlands wanted Sarcomand for themselves. They liked where it was, but they didn't want that spot to be with Southern Midlands. So they wanted to take it! Take it without asking, without doing any helpful chores to pay back!"
A collective series of gasps come from the children. That's means you're ALWAYS supposed to ask permission!
One of the younger children raises his hand. "Uncle Jono? Did they get in trouble with their moms and dads?"
Jono has to resist the urge to chuckle; he doesn't want this to go into their heads as something funny. Yet he can't resist smiling inwardly. "Ah, I'm afraid they didn't; that's a problem when you start working with whole Countries. You see" -- he puts a hand back up now; this is another Lesson -- "sometimes when someone gets to looking like they're grown up enough to be in charge of all those people, they start deciding they don't want to be grown up anymore, and start being like kids again. But since they look like they're grown up, their Mommies and Daddies are letting them live all by themselves. And so they can get in trouble, and the only people that can tell them No are other people who are in charge of other big groups of people who are deciding to stay grown up. And sometimes the not-grownup says he doesn't Want to, and then" -- voice drops again -- "Very, very bad things happen."
All of the children go quiet at that, and some tremble a little as their imaginations try to think up what kind of very, very, bad things might be happening.
Then another child -- he realizes with a bit of a start that it's Jeremy -- raises his hand. "Are those very, very bad things kinda like the bad things that are happening here?"
Kevin is suddenly looking immensely proud of his son. Jono is very much inclined towards the same opinion. "Exactly right!" he says, beaming. "With us right now, there's a big bad guy wizard called Nasoj" -- everyone seems to look up or nod at the mention of that name; evidently they all know about him -- "who wants to take the Keep without asking, and this is the sort of very, very bad things that happen when someone is being that way. With Sarcomand, there was a Big Bad Guy in Outer Midlands named Kelewin who was in charge of Outer Midlands at the time, and he wanted to take Sarcomand without asking. This is why you always have to ask for things!" He raises his paw again; he wants them to remember this very clearly. It seems to register in many of their eyes, thankfully.
"So, Kelewin decided one day he was going to just up and take Sarcomand. He didn't even think to ask the people in charge of Southern Midlands, he didn't even talk to Sarcomand people. He decided to be a bad guy and just take it." Emphasis on the last few words -- it has to be absolutely clear that this is an Incredibly Bad Thing. There's a few nods from the children.
"So that day Kelewin gets a whole bunch of good guys and forces them to become bad guys, and makes them go over to either make Sarcomand belong to him, or" -- he lowers his voice -- "destroy it entirely."
There's a collection of gasps again. Now that's really bad.
One child, evidently confused, raises his hand. "But how could he force good guys to be bad guys?"
Oh dear. This is going to be a tough one... "Kelewin was a very, big bad guy, and so he was able to do things that made it such that people had to do what he said. He'd do things, like, threaten to send you to bed without supper, only much worse, and just because you were a good guy! So to keep from getting unfairly punished, the good guys had to do things that only bad guys would do, and so many people thought they were bad guys."
The children are looking very frightened now. Clearly the thought on their mind is what if I end up around a bad guy like that?
"So with the good guys doing bad guy things for him, Kelewin went over to try and take Sarcomand. But the folks at Sarcomand wanted to keep their homes. They liked their baking, and their snowball fields, and all the good hiding places in the river. And so they were going to fight back, and they did!"
"Di-" one kid starts to shout, but another puts his hand over his lips and says "Shh!" before removing the hand. The kid restarts, a little chastised, "Did they beat the big bad guy?"
Jono grins. This is the cool part. "Yes they did. They found out that what they thought were bad guys were actually good guys, and so they got those good guys to help them out!" He spreads his paws very, very wide; this is about to be a very big thing. "And when all the other good guys in the Outer Midlands found out about that, they Also decided to go help out Sarcomand, and pretty soon Kelewin wasn't able to be in charge anymore, because EVERYONE was now a good guy, and good guys don't do what bad guys tell them to!"
The kids manage not to cheer only because they're all still waiting for a slice of pie. The Sarcomand folks did win! The big bad guy who punished good guys unfairly got beat!
Kirk, all throughout the storytelling, is shaking his head in wonderment at Jono's ability. His first thought when he heard the name Sarcomand was along the lines of Oh dear Gods, Jono's gone insane. Sarcomand was one of the most horrifying events in Midlands history. Kelewin had been trying to get into the fertile river valleys that crisscrossed along the area, and he'd been petty enough to send in an army, and what had followed was the bloodiest massacre in the history of the Midlands, directly by Kelewin's orders. A few of the solders had had the morality to object to that, the villagers had pleaded with them, and before long a few small objections had grown to the point at which there was a full-on rebellion up and down the Outer Midlands. Kelewin had woken up that morning to find himself surrounded by mutineers whose kindest thought towards him would have been swift regicide. They'd tortured him for days, then dropped him somewhere in the middle of the Great Barrier Range, completely naked, and left him to die. Of course, there were rumors that he'd survived and become one of Nasoj's nobles, but nobody thought that likely.
And yet Jono was taking the story of a massacre and a resulting revolution, a story usually told as a lesson in defeating evil early to protect the weak, and had turned it into a story of the Good Underdogs beating the Big Bad Guy. And the kids were enthralled.
Kirk is simply amazed.
"And thus it came to pass that the people of Sarcomand did manage to stop a very, very bad guy and make him go away forever and thus preserve their home, and here this story ends." And with that Jono drops his paws to his sides, to show that the story is over.
Thirty seconds later the Lutins start trying to break down the door.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 11 AM
"Everyone get back behind the front counter! MOVE!"
The kids do not need Any convincing at all. It doesn't take much thought to realize that anyone who is pounding on the door like that and scaring the grownups is a Bad Guy. Nobody wants to be around for when the Bad Guys get in.
Jono already has his whip out and is running for the back door. Nothing's showed up around it yet, so he's willing to bet it'd be a safe(r) means of escape. Currently the front door is being held back from being broken down primarily by Kirk. And while Kirk is certainly qualified to hold something like this back, the door clearly isn't. Which means they have to get out now.
Dana, by contrast, is heading towards the front door. "Kirk! Get out of the way! I can deal with these things!" She's already got her sword out.
Dana's experience focus has traditionally been in single combat. But she's capable of handling multiple foes under certain situations, most of them pretty simplistic but effective nonetheless. That's a fair description of her move when Kirk steps aside, allowing the door to fall down.
All she does is swing as the Lutin who was banging charges through unexpectedly. He doesn't even get a foot into the room before he's bleeding dead on the ground. The same goes for the second immediately following the first.
And then Dana is there, holding the doorway against two Lutins at once while Kirk is yelling "GO! Get out of here!"
Perry is the first one out the back door. This is a good thing, primarily because he was prepared for the ambush. All he has to do is drop to his belly as the Lutin drops from above. He gets a bit of a shock; the Lutin gets impaled. Then next comes Jo, with both daggers flying to take down the next two Lutins moving in. Then Perry is running forward, swinging his sword to nearly decapitate a fourth Lutin while Jo leaps out of the way for Jono's exit, who instantly moves to the side and starts keeping watch as kids start streaming out from the back door.
"Perry! Kevin! Take the kids and get them to the nearest shelter!" Jono screams as Kevin runs out, doing his best to chant the warming spell on the fly.
Jono, if he felt like he had time, would be mentally kicking himself for this whole fiasco. So far everything has held together primarily because he's anticipated scenarios and set up plans for the kids ahead of time. But he didn't think to include a plan for this, and so gods know what all the kids are going to do. Fortunately most of them seem to be following Kevin and Perry, but...
He shakes his head clear, then quickly runs around the building, Jo following close behind, just in time to see another Lutin fall back from the door.
Jono can't use his whip here; the weather is still very hostile, and the winds would badly throw off his attempts to use it. Normally in conditions like this he'd fall back to using his claws and engage in a bit of melee. But there's far too many Lutins for him to be able to pull that off effectively, and so he has to go for a different tactic.
Fortunately, Jono does have a very nice curved sword, which he's gotten a lot of practice in. He's very quickly reassured that he hasn't lost any of that practice when he whips the sword out from his scabbard, flicking the blade outward as he does so and dropping the first Lutin who had the misfortune to notice him.
He shifts into the ready stance he's been practicing for years ever since his first few lessons with that old master he and Jo met on the docks of Elvquelin, and takes count. One Jono. One Jo. One Dana, presumably at the door. Fifteen Lutins.
This is probably going to be a bit of a stretch.
That bit of a stretch is exactly why Derek and Sammy are separate from the rest of the kids right now.
Derek, of course, has his nifty bag thingy with him, which he showed to Sammy. There's, like, an endless supply of the little spiked ball things in there, so they can prepare as many as they want.
Derek didn't really want to show anyone the bag; the lady who told him about it was pretty specific about telling very few people. But then again, she'd said to make snowballs with them (which is an exceedingly obvious thing to a talented snowfields warrior like Derek; just pack snow around them so they look harmless). And Sammy is by far the fastest snowball maker in Metamor. And she did say that he could tell people who were helping him out. There was even an extra pair of gloves in the bag for him to use.
So he showed it to Sammy, and told him about how he's supposed to make snowballs out of them. Sammy, being a clever and capable fashioner of snowballs, caught on very quickly, and even prepared two in advance; one for each of them. And they're sneaking around the Other side of the building to help out Uncle Jono, because once again a Comrade In Arms is certainly in trouble, and this time Derek is not going to allow himself to run away.
They're very prepared for the first Lutin that comes around the bend; it grunts in surprise, then grins evilly and starts to slowly advance on them. Sammy is the first to get his snowball off; it crashes into the Lutin's chest and causes it to scream out in pain. But only briefly, for Derek's shot smacks it right in the center of the head, and it falls.
And Derek and Sammy are grinning at each other as Sammy passes Derek another snowball, having already fashioned two replacements. “Ohh, YEAH!!!!
Jono, in the meantime, is busying himself with the several Lutins in front of him. One swing downward at a head, then a snap back upwards to another's chest and throat, then across to another's throat, up to parry a falling blade, twist and to the side to parry another, step back, while behind him Jo keeps her daggers flying, dropping Lutins left and right.
What hasn't encouraged him is that the count isn't going down any. It's going up.
Derek, in the meantime, is feeling absolutely exhilarated.
He still retains all-too clear memories of last night, back when Uncle Jono had to stop that one Bad Guy, and he wasn't able to do a thing, and in the back of his mind he's been partly frightened out of his wits still over that event, and partly yearning for a sort of vengeance.
He's getting that vengeance now. Because THESE snowballs stop the bad guys.
They've just about made it to the corner now, Derek having already dropped two more Lutins with precise throws of deadly snowballs. And from here they can see that's Uncle Jono! And he's fighting the bad guys big time! But there's too many bad guys.
Derek gets a very big grin on his face, then, and gets ready to start throwing. Not going to be too many bad guys soon enough...
Jono is just about to dodge an expected thrust from a Lutin that has slipped past his sword when to his astonishment a large snowball SMACKS against the back of the Lutin's head, splattering snow and blood in a finely mixed spray, leaving a small spiked ball that looks to have nearly crushed the back of the Lutin's skull. It falls before he can react.
Then, while he's staring at that one, the Lutin that was just about to take advantage of his momentary lack of attention takes another such snowball to the back of it's head, and he has to leap out of the way to insure that it doesn't fall on top of him.
“What in the...” Then his eyes flick up to see...
“Derek?”
And then his eyes go even wider as he sees what's immediately behind...
Derek starts to turn. "Sammy! Need anoth-"
His words drop off as he catches a quick glimpse of what's behind him.
To his immediate back and right is Sammy, being held up by a very big and nasty-looking Lutin. His feet are dangling off the ground, and he can't reach the Bag at all. Said Lutin has got a knife to Sammy's throat.
But Derek's more immediate focus is on the Lutin right behind him. It too has a knife in its hands, and it's looking down at him with fiendish glee. He can easily see the scars along his face that seem to correspond almost exactly to those on the Lutin that he'd hit with the ineffectual snowball that frigid night that seems so, so long ago.
This, of course, all registers within less than a second. Because Derek doesn't even have that much time before the Lutin snatches him up, drawing him up off the ground and shaking him until he drops the snowball, then puts the knife to his throat.
Ulgath Grimtooth is feeling DAMN proud.
He's always known that he's going to be a great Lutin warrior. First he'd led his daring charge against the North Gate, nearly breaking it down and showing his battle prowess for all the Generals and members of his tribe to see. Then there was the ingenious raid he'd lead into the tower adjacent to the big Inner Gates that kept the puny wood village and the infuriating stone Keep separated, which lead to the gates' eventual capture -- again with the generals watching and noting his bravery and his willingness to do battle.
And now he was just sending a platoon of Lutins up to the Town Gate when he heard these Keepers hiding in here, got all his people into place and attacked. And even now that they've gotten some of their people out and fighting, he's managed to take two of the kids they've got with them hostage. And he knows Keepers will do just about anything for their precious children.
Life could not be better than at this very moment.
"Drop your weapons, or these die!" he yells at the two Keepers who have been fighting off his men from the flank. Both quite capable warriors... too bad. "You in doorway too! Drop your weapons!" He's keeping his eyes on the both of them as he yells. They've managed to fell at least twelve of his soldiers; they could easily have a trick planned.
The larger Keeper -- the one that looks like some kind of cat -- looks very shaken, but it nods regardless. "Okay," and drops its strange-looking sword. The dog-like Keeper behind it drops her two daggers as well, and he can see a broadsword clatter to the ground near the doorway.
"Now let the kids go," the cat says resolutely.
Ulgath Grimtooth simply smiles. Then he turns to Sekkh, holding the other child, the one that was throwing the weapons.
"Cut," he says simply.
"NO!" And then suddenly, to his immense surprise, there's a flash of light just beneath the dog-Keeper's paw-hands, and suddenly it's holding the daggers again! And Sekkh has only just started to cut when the dagger has become a flash of light again, slashing through his head.
And Ulgath knows he's next, so he quickly starts to draw his knife across his hostage's neck, just to be sure that he can kill his last Keeper before the knife rea-
And then the blade pierces, and the last thing Ulgath is conscious of is the dog-keeper's scream of horror, as it runs towards the Keeper he knows he's just killed.
"DEREK! SAMMY! NO!"
Jo is running. Running as fast as she possibly can towards the kids, already reaching for her herbal bag, hoping beyond hope that she can beat the clock. She's barely conscious of Jono as he gives a loud scream of horror -- something between a human scream and a cat's yowl -- before he suddenly shifts into a non-anthropomorphic form, throwing off his clothes, and pounces, spitting and snarling, at the Lutins in front of him.
And suddenly Kirk is rushing too, bellowing a cry of hatred to the winds as he charges the rest of the Lutins, his axe flashing around and around as he starts sweeping it through the hordes, cutting down dozens with each arc.
But none of this matters to Joanne as she leaps and skids over to stop right next to Derek.
Oh gods oh gods oh Gods I hope I wasn't too late...
Somebody's been hurt!
Daemion doesn't know how, but all of a sudden it's as absolutely clear as though he'd just seen it happen right in front of his eyes. Derek and Sammy are hurt bad!
"Derek! Sammy!" And he turns and starts running back towards the bakery, to the astonishment of every single last kid around him, and especially to his father, who blinks, then cries out "Daemion! Come back!" and starts to chase after him...
Derek is lying facedown on the snow; fortunately the Lutin isn't on top of him. There's a sickening red stain that's still spreading on the snow as she stops next to him.
Jo flips him over and quickly puts down a compress on the wound she can see, leaking a large amount of blood. From what she can tell it looks like the vein just nearly got nicked, but the compress should keep the wound from expanding. She hopes.
Derek actually blinks his eyes open, then, looking up at her. "...missus jo...? ...is sammy...?"
Sammy! She quickly ties the compress under Derek's shoulder so it stays against his wound, then rushes over to the other boy...
Daemion has never run so hard before in his life. Every single time there's simply never been a need. It's always been races with other kids down the courtyard, or to get to a bakery when they're giving out cookies, or to get to someone who's just been hit with a snowball. Small things.
But this is far more serious. Far, far more serious. Even more so than when he was running from the Southern Gate to the Inner Gates tower. Even that was nothing compared to this.
Behind him he can hear his father yelling. "Daemion! Get back! I can't help keep the Lutins away if you keep running this fast!"
He doesn't care. “Got to help Derek and Sammy!”
Sammy is in far, far worse condition.
Jo picks him up and takes a look, and almost has to look away. The blade has cut very, very deep; the vein is almost spurting, and... gods, the windpipe's been cut...
She starts quickly preparing another compress, knowing that it's not going to matter but unwilling to just give up right there...
Daemion turns the corner and sees Jo there, desperately trying to combine various herbs. He doesn't call out to her; he can't afford to waste the breath. He just keeps running...
Jo's ears perk up as she hears the footsteps. A Lutin? Not now... She looks up, and to her incredible surprise...
"Daemion! Don't get any closer! They've been hurt!"
"I know! I gotta help them!" he screams as he keeps running forward.
"But there's nothing you can do!" she yells back, even as he makes it right up to her, dropping down next to her.
"Yes there is!"
And then he places both his hands on Derek and Sammy, and...
Daemion is suddenly elsewhere.
He glances down at himself briefly, feeling oddly different somehow -- and he blinks in surprise, as he's looking down at what looks to be a white-furred paw.
A further quick self-examination reveals a large floofy tail kinda like Jo's except all white, feet that are... what was the word, dijidigade, something? Also kinda like Jo's, except again all white, and that he's clad in some kind of weird robes that have a very interesting-looking double spiral pattern on the front.
Then he hears a whimper of fear from right in front of him -- feeling his ears swivel towards it, which is Really weird -- and he looks up to see... Derek?
Derek looks a lot like he's always been. Slightly older, maybe. But the big thing is that he's wearing really fancy-looking leather armor, and he's got a big sword on his side, and a dagger in his belt behind him.
He's also wearing, on his face, an expression of the most absolute terror. And he's seemingly being dragged forward, slowly.
And Daemion knows that he's got to stop Derek from scooting forward. So he runs towards Derek, leaps on him as though he were pouncing like Jo sometimes does, and drags him to the ground. His ears barely pick up a small snap from somewhere, and Derek stops moving.
"Derek, you okay?" he asks.
Derek simply nods, then points over behind Daemion.
Daemion turns around.
And there's Sammy, a little further away. He's looking Very weird -- one moment he looks like he does now, the next he looks something like that one guy... whatsisname... Copersomething, dunno. He keeps flickering back and forth between those two appearances, and it's really weird and distracting.
The flickering is slowing down though; he's starting to look more and more like he does right now. It's picking up as he gets dragged forward, pulled by what look like dozens and dozens of ropes latched Gods know how all to his front. Moving much faster than Derek.
And when Daemion turns to look where those ropes are going, his eyes go very wide.
Because what is standing there is a grim figure around which the very light seems to dim. A giant, armored being, his armor all covered over with skulls, raising a sickle above his head and twirling it, pulling the ropes in closer with each twirl, and seated atop an inky black horse with fiery, dripping red eyes, rearing back and whinnying.
And Daemion is more terrified right now than at any other time in his life.
Jono has never before been in a berserker rage.
In fact, the very concept seems utterly alien. He's always been the coolheaded, smooth talking type; he'd only resort to actual fighting when it was utterly unavoidable, say when the drunken warrior is charging you right that minute. Mindless violence has never been a problem for him.
But something new seems to have been stirred up in him with the changes the Keep has made.
He's always rather liked what he got out of the Keep -- much more athletic and graceful, voice restored to him (improved, even!), and a large variety of audiences that always appreciated his services and oftentimes also had stories of their own to create and relay. His only real regret so far has been his occasional bouts with frustrated wanderlust, and that's all.
If he were in full control of his thoughts right now he'd almost certainly be realizing that his new feline nature has come with something else new.
But he's not thinking clearly. The only thing he can think of right now is destroying every last Lutin in front of him, which he is doing with disturbing efficiency.
He's not absolutely perfect; one Lutin manages to get in close enough to bring its club down on one of his rear legs. But he barely even notices any wound as he turns, yowling, and rakes at the Lutin several times with his claws. The Lutin doesn't get in a second shot.
NO!
Daemion stares at the apparition, dragging Sammy in inexorably. Somehow he knows that this giant horseman is some kind of representation of Death. And that once he's got Sammy he's never going to give him back.
Daemion is not about to let that happen.
"Derek! We've got to go help Sammy!" He pulls his friend to his feet. "C'mon!"
Derek blinks, shaking his head a bit as if trying to get his bearings, then notes the apparition for the first time. His first reaction is not fear. Indeed, it is far from it, as he draws his sword and charges at the apparition, screaming a battle cry and swinging his sword over his head.
But the apparition simply laughs, then rears back his horse and has it kick forward, throwing Derek back like a toy and sending him sprawling onto the ground.
Next to Jono is Kirk, his battleaxe flailing about, cutting down Lutin after Lutin. A casual observer would believe him to be under similar influences as the berserker cat near him.
Kirk usually isn't berserking at all. He'd be proud if he heard said observation; that's exactly the image he likes to convey. Kirk learned very early on from Dana (from back in her Darren days) that one of the primary uses of being a large individual is intimidation. In other words, making it look like you're in a state of powerful, unstoppable Rage. It tends to cause the enemy to hesitate, and in melee combat, a few seconds' hesitation is usually all it takes. So most of the time in battle he likes to make it look like he's immortal and invincible and that nobody is going to escape him.
Right now, however, the casual observer would be much more correct than Kirk normally wants. Two of the children he's been trying to protect have been badly wounded, perhaps even killed. He hasn't even looked over to them, though; he knows there's nothing he can do directly for them. The only thing he can do is to keep the Lutins off Jo's back while she works, and that means killing every single last one.
He does have his wits about him more than Jono, though. So he does realize how much more trouble he's in when, with nine or so Lutins to go, Jono takes a blow to the head and lets out a loud yelp before falling to the ground, dazed.
Kirk's first action is to bellow and charge again, swinging the axe as he did before, hoping to scatter them long enough so that he can finish them off individually. He manages to get three of the Lutins with his axe, but the rest manage to dodge out of the way, then start closing in. He swings the axe upwards, catching one of them under the chin and flinging it upwards as well, but that gives another one of the Lutins time enough to sneak in and score a hit along his side with a sword. He bellows again, this time Not planned as he turns and decapitates the Lutin responsible. This only opens him to another attack from behind, this time with a Lutin spear. This time the bellow becomes almost a scream…
...And then suddenly there's Perry, yelling his battle cry, cutting down two of the Lutins as they seek to stab at him with their spears, hurrying to try to help. But before he can get all the way there the Lutin immediately behind Kirk has its club moving, striking him in the back of the head and dropping him to the ground. It'll take a few seconds for him to be able to get up again, and by that time the second spear-wielding Lutin can--
And then Kirk's eyes go wide in surprise as said Lutin lets out a loud cry, as though transfixed, and then goes thud against the ground, with Perry still twenty feet away and running. He manages to turn just enough to see some black-furred thing swinging what looks like some kind of halberd into the final Lutin's chest, causing it to groan, then finally fall.
He blinks his eyes, trying to clear his head. “Doesn't he look familiar someh-“
"Corporal Jahnsen?"
He gets a weak sounding "Sir, pleasure to be of service, sir" before the batmorph falls to the ground from exhaustion.
Derek leaps up, seemingly unfazed, grabs for his sword and charges again, swinging the sword just as the horse kicks forward again, fire issuing from its mouth as it whinnies while Derek attempts to remove a leg and cripple it. But the blade passes right through the leg, not harming it at all, while Derek is thrown back again. And the apparition cackles loudly, sending a deep chill down Daemion's spine.
And somehow Daemion realizes what's going on. "You can't attack him! We have to cut the ropes!"
"Ropes?" Derek asks. "What ropes?"
"What do you mean, wha-" Then it hits him. He can't see the ropes! He can only see the big bad guy!
"Jahnsen! Are you all right?" Kirk is trying to get to his feet, and mostly succeeding. Jahnsen isn't really trying.
"...more or less, sir..." comes the weak reply.
At least he's alive. Then Kirk turns to Jono -- who is already up, back in his usual anthropomorphic form, and staring in the direction of where the kids were. Kirk turns to look in that direction and freezes.
The first thing that he notes is Jo. She's almost sprawled back, leaned up on her paws, staring incomprehensibly forward. Her herbal bag is next to her, some of the contents sprawled out a bit, as though they'd been shoved.
The second thing he notes is Daemion. For some reason he's seated in what looks like some kind of meditative posture -- both of his hands touching both of the wounded kids, his eyes closed, his head leaned downward. He seems to be trembling slightly, but otherwise is showing no signs of life.
The third thing that registers in his mind is the globe of radiant light that has Daemion and Derek and Samuel all surrounded.
"What in the name of all the Gods is that?" he manages.
Jono just seems to shake his head.
Daemion now knows exactly what he has to do.
"Derek, give me the sword."
"What?"
"I need it!" he shouts. "I've got to cut the ropes! You've got to hurry and keep Sammy from getting dragged all the way in!"
Derek looks confused for a brief moment, then gets back up on his hands and knees, puts a hand on the sword and shoves it as hard as he can, sliding it across the ground to Daemion. Then he gets to his knees and charges towards Sammy, leaping at him and tackling him down to the ground.
The apparition then starts to chuckle quietly, in a low, deep tone, spinning the scythe faster and faster, light flashing off the blade, his horse rearing back again and letting out another burst of flame as the chuckles start to grow into a hideous laugher, getting louder and louder and louder...
Daemion doesn't allow himself to be shaken. He CAN’T.
"NO! You don't get Sammy!" he screams at the apparition. Then he grabs the sword, rushes up to the ropes, and starts hacking away as hard as he can at the ropes binding his friend...
Kirk and Jono both manage to crawl forward, towards Jo and the globe. "Jo!" Jono calls out. "What happened?"
"I..." Jo stammers.
Just a few short seconds ago, things were still making sense for Joanne. A tragic sort of sense, in that there wasn't anything she could really do for Sammy, but it was still making sense.
That was before Daemion moved in.
One moment she was preparing a compress for Sammy's neck in the hopes that it might perform some kind of miracle to heal his damaged windpipe and thus save his life, and trying to get Daemion to stay away as well. The next thing she knows, she's being flung away from the child, herbal bag and all, coming down to a not-so-soft landing only to see...
... this....
"What is it?" Jono is asking her. "What happened? What's going on in there?"
"I..." she starts again. "I have no idea..."
The ropes aren't breaking! It's having no effect!
He's been swinging at the ropes for what feels like hours, though it could be merely seconds, and there's no effect whatsoever...
Derek keeps pushing vainly, trying to keep Sammy away from the apparition, but Sammy keeps moving. Sammy himself is now looking more and more like himself and less and less like that lizard guy, and he's sobbing and shuddering in absolute fear. And the apparition is laughing and laughing and laughing...
...And then the wind picks up, and Daemion himself slips to the ground, then starts to slide towards the dark-suited figure, and Derek calls out "Daemion! I can't stop it!"
And the apparition is still laughing, a hideous grin now apparent through the face on the helmet, and then as Daemion watches it suddenly turns into a blackened human skull with fiery red eyes, and screams piercingly at him... "Foolish boy! Do you really think you can beat the Master of Death?"
Daemion gets back up.
Oddly, his thoughts are not of rage, of revenge, or of any other sort of hostile emotion. All he feels now is a quiet, almost subdued, but firm defiance.
"No," he says simply.
"Of course not!" the apparition screams, cackling once more. "You'll never beat me!"
"No," he says again. "No, you're not going to win. You are not taking my friend."
His voice is firm and final as he raises the sword, closes his eyes, then brings it back down on the ropes.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
The hideous cry comes from the apparition as it flies backward from the loss of the tension on the ropes, suddenly looking more and more like a skeleton, fading away... and the other ends of the ropes catch Daemion, and he's flung back as well, and he lands next to Derek and Samuel who is looking solely like the lizard now... and then...
Without any warning at all, the globe of light vanishes, right in front of the astonished eyes of Jono and Jo and Kirk and Perry. And yet not one of them moves a muscle. They simply watch as Daemion stirs, breathing in very deeply.
Then the wound in Samuel's neck closes up, blood vanishing from around it as though it was never there.
And Derek and Samuel both open their eyes, blinking a bit, and sitting up just before Daemion falls to the ground, exhausted.
And all anyone watching can do is stare.
December 25th, 706 CR ― Noon
It took two hours of careful searching to find the right room and clean it out. It had been a guard room for the south gate and many of the guards bodies still lay slumped in the chairs where they had died, poisoned. Betrayed by a fellow Keeper. Polteen waited impatiently as a group of just captured slaves cleared the room of everything so they could start their ritual.
Once cleared they began the process of setting up. Grand Master Polteen and Adept Mistress Thryza watched as their four apprentices unpacked the equipment which was carefully placed by the door.
The apprentices Tilock and Quizano picked out six large pieces made of some dark wood. The two men carefully assembled the pieces into a long, low table that was placed in the exact center of the room.
The captive girl was striped naked and bound to the table by Rankin and Stenger. Both took a lot of joy in removing the girls clothes, laughing as they pulled off each piece. Polteen let his apprentices have their fun since it enhanced the girl’s fear, and fear was a great multiplier with the magic they were about to perform.
Polteen and Thryza chanted as they started to paint the complex formulas onto the bound girl themselves. The ink was a special mixture that had taken over two years to produce.
Preparing the girl took long hours to finish but the four apprentices had work of their own to accomplish. Freed of their burdens two of the horses were led into the room and placed at opposite corners. Tilok and Quizano held one animal, Rankin and Stenger the other. Tilock and Rankin each produced long, rune etched daggers. Holding the blades over their heads for a moment the two mages began a deep, sonorous chant that wavered chaotically between musical and dissonant. The ominous, dark chant lasted for several minute, during which they held their poses, only swaying slightly in time with the incantation. The two other apprentices said nothing and did not move, holding the spooked animals still by their own magics. Finally lowering their arms, the inchanters brought their blades down, sweeping them under the throats of the immobile animals. Left hands were placed on neck to steady the stroke that was to follow.
With practiced motions they slit their animals throats. The horses let out terrible screams that echoed and re-echoed throughout the room and out into the corridors outside the door. Blood fountained from the wounds, splashing across the floor and into bowls held under the neck by the other two apprentices. In spite of their wounds and obvious panic neither creature moved, held immobile as their flesh twisted and rippled with their stifled death throes. Once the animals were dead and the last drops of the precious life fluid drained the spell holding them upright was removed. The dead bodies dropped to the floor with the thud of flesh hitting stone and the shattering of bones. Now useless to the mages the carcasses were removed from the room.
There was enough blood from the two horses to fill four large bowls full. Each of the apprentices, with a bowl and a fine paintbrush in hand, moved to separate corners. Once in position, they began to chant in slow, monotonous voices as they started the long difficult task of painting the formulaes and symbols.
December 25th, 706 CR ― Noon
Daria watched as Misha stopped at the corner and listened. Then he held up his hands and tugged on his left ear. With his right hand he signed the letter L, and then pointed around the corner. “I hear Lutins around the corner,” was what he had just signed.
A flurry of hand signals followed before the group retired to a nearby room to consider strategy. Danielle and Bradfox stood guard at the door as the rest planned.
“No doubt, the armory is being held by Nasoj’s people,” Misha announced in a whisper.
“How many?” Finbar asked.
“A score of Lutins, four giant wolves a half dozen humans, and some sort of Lutin chief, guarding the doorway” Daria replied.
“That Lutin chief is a shaman,” Misha added.
“What tribe are the Lutins?” Kershaw asked.
“Slaughterers,” Misha answered.
“Terrific,” Finbar said shaking his head.
Garulf was also shaking his head in agreement. “Are you sure?”
Misha nodded, “Yes, I did a thorough recon. There’s no doubting the markings.”
“What’s wrong with fighting the Slaughterers?” Brenner asked, un-nerved.
“Slaughterers are renowned for their fighting. They don’t surrender and they don’t run away,” The panda explained. “The only way we’re going to get rid of them is to kill them all. With most Lutins if you kill a few of them the rest will run, but not the Slaughterers.”
“The Lutins aren’t the problem,” Misha said calmly. “We’ve killed lots of Slaughterers in the past. It’s the humans who we need to worry about. There’s no telling how skilled they are.”
“Another problem is that shaman,” Misha said. He turned and faced Jessica, “that will be a problem for you to get rid of.”
The hawk nodded. “I can handle him easily enough.”
“Don’t underestimate a Lutin shaman,” Finbar warned. “They can be as powerful as any human.”
“Kill the shaman quickly,” Misha ordered calmly. “He’s too big a threat to be allowed to live.”
“I’ll take care of him. He’ll never cast a spell,” Jessica answered. “I have an appropriate spell that will kill him and anyone near him.”
“Good,” Daria answered.
“About the Lutins, if there are that many outside the armory how many are waiting for us insides?” Kershaw asked.
The fox shrugged. “No way of telling. The armory itself is really two rooms. The first room is on the other side of the door that band is guarding. That’s the antechamber, basically that room is used for preparing; putting on armor and checking weapons.”
“There are two other doors leading out of the ante chamber; a steel door that leads into the main armory and a wooden door that leads directly to the courtyard.” Misha scratched his ear. “Taking out the guards outside aren’t a problem. What is a problem is by the time we get done outside the armory thirty of forty more could come streaming in from the courtyard and out into the corridor.”
“We need to keep anyone from getting into the armory from the courtyard,” Kershaw commented. “And keep anyone from the antechamber from coming out into the corridor until we’ve dealt with the guards already there.”
“How?” Weyden asked. “Perhaps we can come at it from the courtyard.”
“Misha shook his head, “No, there must be several hundred Lutins outside. We need to block those two doors. That would split the Lutins into manageable pieces.”
“How do we block those doors?” Finbar asked.
“I can see that both doors are blocked at the appropriate moment,” Daria said calmly.
“How?” the fox asked.
“With this,” Daria said and held up a gold key that hung from a gold chain around her neck. “It’s a gift from Kyia.”
“What can it do?” Misha asked.
Daria looked at a blank section of wall and held up the key. “A door please, wooden, leading to the temple.”
One moment there was a gray stone wall and the next there was a wooden door, painted with a beautiful flower design. Brenner tentatively opened the new door and found himself looking into the main room of the temple. “Wow!”
“A good little trick,” Misha commented.
“Come in real handy,” Finbar added.
Bradfox smiled broadly. “We can block all the doors and kill the guards in the hallway without being bothered. Then we can unblock the door and when the guards in the antechamber run out,” the man smacked his fist into his palm. “They won’t even have the time to yell.”
“I like the way you think,” Finbar said enthusiastically. “Once the all the guards are out of the way we can clean out anyone left in the armory easily. And the door to the courtyard can stay blocked permanently.”
Misha looked at Daria. “What do you think?”
The girl nodded, “I like it.”
“People,” Misha said calmly. “We have ourselves a plan. Let’s work out all the details.”
Daria took one last look around the corner and pulled her head back. Nothing had changed since the last time she had seen them. A wooden door stood in the center of a large room. Behind that door was the anteroom to the armory.
In front of that door a score of Lutins were standing, eating or gambling. Daria noticed four dire wolves lounging in a corner. Sitting amidst the Lutins was a short Lutin dressed in finely made, red robes. He was holding a large staff in one hand and a dagger in the other. That Lutin was a shaman, the staff was a sure marker.
Standing off to one side separate from the Lutins were six humans, all male and dressed in armor. A tough looking bunch of rogues they were talking to each other and trying to ignore the Lutins.
Daria looked down the corridor, the members of her team were waiting there. Jessica stood next to her, nervously preening her feathers. Behind her Garulf stood calmly waiting. Morel was next to the bear, seated on the floor with his back to the wall, eyes closed. Both were old soldiers and it took a lot to phase them. Brenner poked Morel with a paw to wake him up. The soldier stood up and soundlessly stretched his limbs.
The girl looked at her team one last time to be sure they were ready. Everyone was ready, they had gone over what was going to happen in great detail. Misha and his people were waiting down the hall, waiting for the sign to begin the attack. That sign was when Daria used her key to block that wooden door. Once that was blocked, the killing would start. That thought startled the girl. She looked at the gold key. Until now it had never occurred to her that she didn’t know how the key worked. Did it contact Kyia directly and she did what was needed? Or maybe it worked the magic by itself, without Kyia having to interfere.
Suddenly the sound of stone grinding and sliding came from around the corner interrupting her musing. “What happened to the door? It just vanished,” came a concerned voice from around the corner.
Jessica brushed past Daria and stood in full view of everyone. The bird spread both wings out and shrieked loudly, “TI FU LANITAW.” And the she brought her wings together. A cold blast of air suddenly swept down the corridor and a from the tips of the hawks wings razor sharp icicles shot straight into the waiting Lutins.
Bradfox stepped next to the hawk with his bow in hand and loosed an arrow into the enemy. The shrieks and shouts of dying Lutins came to Daria intermingled with the thumps of arrows, javelins and axes sinking into flesh.
In a moment David joined the woman and the bird, his arms moving with a blinding speed as he threw knives into the fray. Daria joined her teammates in the open corridor. The scene that greeted her was pure chaos.
A cold frost covered the floor and walls. A quick glance showed her the still ice covered form of the shaman and many Lutins and wolves. Humans, wolves and Lutins were screaming, and tripping over each other as a hail of arrows, and spears ripped through their ranks. Five Lutins led by a short human charged straight at Daria and her team. Without thinking she brought up her own bow and put two arrows into the man’s face. He crumbled to the ground, but the Lutins kept coming at her.
Suddenly Garulf pushed past her his axe held low to the ground. The bear swung his weapon in a great upward arc and two of the Lutins were cut down. The keepers as a group rushed forward right into the midst of the Lutins. Swept up with them was the woman who was their leader.
A horrible, confused melee broke out in the hallway as keeper and attackers fought each other. Somehow she dropped her bow and drew her rapier. She saw Morel fighting three Lutins at once, cutting the arm off of one in an instant. Nearby Brenner drove his spear deep into a mans chest pinning him to the wall. A Lutin rushed the tomcat who let go of his spear and lashed out with his claws shredding the monsters face. There was the panda named Kershaw slamming his heavy mace down on a Lutin. The creatures head exploded on a spray of blood and gore that covered everyone. She caught a flash of Jotham as he drove two daggers into a Lutins throat. Daria lost all sense of what was happening and concentrated on just staying alive. She parried a blow from a Lutin and stuck her blade into the green creatures stomach and it fell to the floor. Starling swooped down out of the shadows above and sprayed a Lutin straight in the face with a blast of flame. The creature was fully engulfed in a moment and ran screaming down a hall. He made it only a few paces before an arrow put him out of his torment and his burning corpse fell to the pavement. The flames adding a ghastly light to the battle.
Someone shouted Daria’s name and she looked up in time to see a huge wolf coming straight at her intent on killing her. As it leaped she saw the long dagger-like teeth that would rip out her throat. Without thinking she brought her blade up and the point went deep into the creatures chest. Daria staggered backward as the huge animal fell to the ground at her feet, dead.
She stared at the great beasts still body as a pool of blood started to form underneath it. That such a huge creature could die so quickly was a surprise to her.
“Check to make sure they’re all dead,” a loud voice said startling her back to reality.
David came up to her and touched her on the shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked in a voice filled with concern. All she could do was nod.
Misha came up to her his great axe in both hands its blades had a crimson gleam to them from the fresh blood. The vulpine looked at the still corpse of the dire wolf. Then he bent down and pulled out Daria’s blade which was lodged in the monsters chest. He wiped the blood off the blade onto the animals fur and handed it to Daria. Numbly she took it and sheathed the blade.
“Nice kill,” Misha said calmly. “Neatly done.”
The woman couldn’t answer at first but finally stammered, “Thank you.”
Next to her Brenner and Finbar were checking the dead. “Now Brenner, always be sure to stab every dead body just to be sure they’re actually dead and not pretending,” the ferret said. “Never assume an enemy is dead until you’ve checked him.”
The cat nodded and pushed his spear into a dead Lutins stomach. “This one is dead.”
The ferret nodded and then turned to Misha. “All dead.”
“Now comes the second part,” Misha explained. “Clear the dead away from the doorway and prepare for the ambush.”
Daria watched as the Keepers calmly dragged the bodies of the dead away from the area in front of the doorway. She saw Kershaw drag the corpse of a tall human by the feet. She wondered who the body had once been. Was he married? Did he have a wife and children? She tried to look at his face but what had been his head was just a bloody mess. As the panda pulled the body past her Finbar calmly walked up and casually dropped something onto it. It was a bloody lump about the size of a mans hand. With a shiver of horror she realized it was part of the dead mans head. The ferret turned and walked off. Kershaw never broken his stride, but kept on pulling paying not the slightest notice to the addition to his burden. It was all done so casually. Like it was merely a sack of grain he pulled.
Daria sagged against the wall as she felt the bile rise in her throat. Horror, pain and disgust raged through her mind as she fought to keep from throwing up.
“Don’t fold on me now Daria. You can be sick later, we’ve got too much to do right now,” the fox said sternly.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve just never fought a dire wolf before,” she said.
Misha placed a bloody paw on her shoulder and stared into her face. She found herself looking into his eyes. She found them full of warmth and concern. “This was your first battle?” her asked softly almost like a parent talking to a child.
She nodded. “I’ve been in a few skirmishes with Lutins, but I’ve never fought humans except in training. And I’ve never even seen a dire wolf.”
“You did good, girl, very good. Not many people kill a dire wolf.”
“Thank you. He just seemed to jump onto the point.”
“Nonsense,” Misha countered. “He jumped onto the point because you held it correctly.” He slapped her on the back. “Well, now you’re a full blooded warrior and a leader. Now we need to get ready for the second part. When I give the word you’re to drop the stone blocking the door and open it.”
Cheered by the encouragement the fox had given her Daria stood a little straighter and smiled. Gone was the fear and pain. She looked to where the door to the armory had been, it was gone. There was just a blank wall where a few minutes before a large wooden door had been. The key had worked. She looked around her and saw the others dragging the dead bodies out of sight. In a few short moments the only signs of the quick and brutal deaths of some forty living beings was gone except for a few blood stains.
“We’ll open the doorway into the armory and then give a shout of alarm,” Misha ordered. “That will bring anyone inside running out to help. When that does we hold our shooting till we have a large group standing in the open and them we’ll cut them down with missiles. Anyone left we can finish off with swords.”
“Sounds good to me,” Bradfox said.
It took a few moments to arraign everything. The keepers returned to their initial hiding places and waited for the door to reappear. Daria found herself again at the corner peering around. This time she was ready. She had retrieved her bow and nocked an arrow. “Kyia, put the door back please and open it,” she said out loud.
The door just seemed to blink into existence, one moment it wasn’t there and the next it was. The door opened, there was a loud shout and a score Lutins poured through into the hallway. With weapons ready they looked around in bewilderment for their comrades.
“NOW!” Daria shouted and loosed and arrow that sank into a Lutins chest. In a moment all the keepers were shootings. Spears, axes, arrows and daggers filled the air.
The Lutins panicked. Scattering in all directions trying to escape the deadly hail but there was nowhere to escape to. Daria watched with cold detachment as the missiles ripped through their ranks.
It was all over in moments. As quickly as it had started the fight ended. Dead Lutins lay scattered on the floor, some still writhing in their death throws. There was a loud bang as the door to the armory closed again.
Stepping over the dead, the Keepers converged on the armory entrance door. Brenner tried the handle but the door didn’t open. “It’s locked.”
“I can open it,” David said. The tall ant came forward and stood next to the door. He held up a slender metallic rod. After a slow breath a glimmering pin prick of light appeared at its tip. Taking this he drew a complex design on the hard wood above the lock. Next he felt along the edge of the door, pressing against it at several points. It would give a little to his strength when he pressed. Near the top, one press didn't move the door at all. After another deep breath he traced a sigil there as well.
"Everyone please step back." The ant took a position against the wall next to the door as the others moved away from it. Daria heard the insect mutter something under his breath and the mark next to the lock glowed brightly before a small gout of flame spewed from the keyhole, followed by the sizzling splat of superheated metal. Again the ant muttered something, this time the rune at the top glowed and there came a grinding snap as the hidden bolt was drawn as if by some phantasmal hand.
The insect stepped in front of the door and kicked it open. He dropped suddenly and rolled to the side as a pair of arrows flew out passed his head.
“It seems someone still feels like fighting,” Garulf commented.
Bradfox leaned into the doorway and loosed two arrows in quick succession, then ducked back as an arrow narrowly missed his head. From inside the room came a gurgling noise. “Not anymore,” was the dry comment.
“I’ll go first through the door, followed by Jotham and Kershaw,” Misha ordered. “Finbar, Georgette you guard the door.” Misha was about to step forward when the insect placed his hand on the Fox's shoulder. "How large a room are we talking here?" Misha was slightly impatient. " Main room's maybe thirty feet square. Why?" The insect spread his mandibles in his version of a grin and held up a small metal ball covered in arcane markings. "You do still remember how to use this don't you?" Misha's eyes widened as a sly grin spread across his face.
The ant calmly tossed the sphere to the now jubilant fox. Misha stepped back to the doorframe. Daria was about to turn back towards the door when she saw David snap out his staff and begin running his armored hands over its shiny surface. Where his hands touched fiery lines began to glow.
Daria turned just in time to see Misha hurl the ball through the door. Another arrow greeted this new intrusion, but Misha had already pulled back. The almost cheerful sound of that small ball bouncing its way into the room slowly came to a stop. A Lutin made a perplexed sound and Daria saw Misha's grin intensify as he shouted out "Huyria Kormun!" There was a deafening bang and a blinding flash of light from the doorway. A wall of flame shot out of the door and into the corridor. A huge, thick cloud of smoke billowed through the doorway as the flames died away.
Misha was through the door in an instant his battleaxe already swinging in an arc. David and the others followed the vulpine into the smoke. Daria took a deep breath and rushed through the door.
The acrid smoke stung her eyes and made her choke and cough. A strange sight greeted her. One wall of the room and a good portion of the floor was charred almost black, here and there a burning corpse could be seen. After a moment she retreated back to the hallway for a breath of fresh air. Soon Misha and the others joined her, coughing and choking.
“Wow, David. That’s some neat little toy you have there,” Jotham said between coughs.
“Yes,” David responded. “A little too indiscriminate, but a very good weapon.”
The keepers had to wait ten long minutes before the smoke dissipated enough for them to re-enter the anteroom. Their next entrance to the room was calmer. Nothing recognizable greeted Daria when she came through the door. Various charred lumps were scattered around the room some had to have been furniture, others were more human shaped.
Misha slowly walked around the room examining everything. “About ten Lutins I estimate.”
She noticed Finbar and Kershaw standing in front of a section of wall. “The doorway to the outside is completely gone,” the ferret commented.
“Your key worked perfectly,” the panda added.
Daria smiled. “Kyia would never let us down.”
“Great,” Misha said as he continued his tour. “That will make it all the easier to defend.” The fox paused in front of an iron door, his battleaxe was strapped onto his back.
Daria recognized the metal door as being the one leading into the armory itself. She walked over to the fox and stood next to him. Both stared at the metal door. Soon everyone had clustered around the vulpine and the woman.
“This is where it gets nasty,” Garulf said ominously.
The fox nodded. “This is knife work,” he said and drew a dagger and long sword. “Close in fighting. We’ll split into two groups; Daria’s and the Longs.”
“Is that wise?” Daria asked. “No telling what’s waiting for us inside.”
“No choice. The place is too big to cover with one team,” the fox explained. “Finbar, Jotham, you two guard the door. Anyone you don’t recognize comes towards you, kill them.”
Daria pointed to Brenner and Bradfox. “Both of you stay here with Finbar and Jotham.”
“One final word of warning,” Kershaw said. “Keep together. Don’t let yourselves get split up. If you get lost, head back to the door.”
“Good point,” Misha agreed. Then he looked the group over. “Everyone ready?”
With a few nods as an answer Misha took hold of the handle and pulled the door open. This time no arrows came flying out, instead total darkness greeted them.
“Not good,” Finbar muttered under his breath.
“What happened to the lights?” Brenner asked.
“What were the lights in there?” Weyden asked. “Lanterns?”
“No,” Morel answered. “Magic globes were placed around the room.”
“I can see the shattered remains of one near the door,” Daria said, peering in.
“Safe to say that who or what is in there prefers the darkness,” Misha said in a quiet voice.
“I’ll light a lantern,” Garulf said and started rummaging through his pack.
With a slight nod of his head Misha led his team into the inky blackness.
“Wait,” Brenner asked, “Don’t you need a light?”
Danielle paused at the doorway. “No, a light just gives away your position,” she said and then walked into the darkness after her friends.
“What do we do?” David asked. “Do we take a light or not?”
The woman leader thought on that for a moment before answering. “Jessica, David can you create light?”
Jessica nodded and the insect agreed.
“Good. As we move along we’ll create light. Brighten the place as we go.” Daria looked at the blackened doorway. “What ever is in there, doesn’t like light. The first rule of warfare is pick your battleground carefully.”
Daria stopped just inside the room to gain her bearings. The dim light of the lantern held in Garulf’s paw vaguely illuminated the great room faintly. She could make out the rows of shelves, tables and racks that marched off into the darkness. Flanking the door they had just entered metal staircases wound upward into the darkness. Of Misha and his team there was no sign. It was as if the darkness had swallowed them up.
Daria had been here many times but this was nothing like it had been before. All the other times the room had been brightly light and friendly. Nothing like this shadow haunted place she was in now. A shiver ran down her spine. She stood straight trying to look bold and unafraid for the benefit of her team. The last thing she needed was for fear to take hold of the group.
A soft whisper echoed behind her and a golden glow erupted, casting a bright light around the room. Turning around she saw a glowing sigil carved into the wall. “Thank you David.”
“Which way do we go?” Jessica asked. “Left, right, straight ahead or up?”
Up,” was her leader's reply, “and we’ll work our way back down to the door.”
With her rapier in hand Daria started up the spiral staircase. Behind her the other people made their way after her. The stairway was dark in spite of the light the bear was carrying. She took each step carefully, slowly, looking for the slightest sight or sound of an approaching enemy. The trip up went slowly but without any interruptions. It was at the top that she found the body.
Her first sight was of a trail of dried blood on the top few steps. Beyond that she could make out a shadow laying on the floor some ways from the stairs. Moving cautiously she reached the top stair tread and stepped onto the balcony. A few short steps brought her to the corpse. It had been a fellow Keeper, a man, someone she did not recognize. Daria stared at the body for a long time. “Who was he?” she thought to herself. “How did he die?”
Morel touched her on the shoulder. “Come along, we can’t help him anymore.”
Reluctantly, she followed the man’s advice and started off again. She saw David carving another sigil into the stonework at the top of the stairs. Its amber glow illuminated the area and its deceased resident.
Walking among the racks was a chilling experience for Daria. The faint light from the staff did nothing but make eerie shadows that danced over everything. The sharp tap, tap of her boots on the stones seemed to echo louder and louder until she was sure everyone in the keep could hear it. Occasionally they would pause for David or Jessica to work their magic and light would flood the area. Daria would be relieved for a moment and then they would head back into the darkness and her anxiety would return.
The endless rows of weapons and armor slowly moved past as she walked. There was a strange silence in the room. She knew that the other group was out there somewhere but she hadn’t seen any sign or sound of them. Had they been attacked and wiped out? Brutally killed in the darkness? Daria shook her head to dispel such fear. The Longs were too good to have been killed without a fight.
After a long time the group came to an area with no racks or shelves. Instead there were a few tables and chairs scattered about. Daria paused at the edge of the clearing next to the last of the racks. She watched as Morel behind her took a bow and a quiver of arrows from a shelf.
“Daria!” David shouted out loud. She turned to the speaker and saw David pointed back along the way they had come. Looking in the direction the insect pointed all she saw was two lights glowing in the darkness. As she watched one of the lights flickered and died leaving only one.
Garulf cursed softly. Something was destroying the lights. “Now what do we do?” Bradfox asked.
“When it’s done destroying the lights it will come after us,” Daria answered. She pointed at the one light that remained in the vast blackness. Then she began to move carefully toward it.
The group got only a few feet before that light went out as well leaving them with only the faint light of the lantern. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Everyone stay alert,” she warned in a whisper. ”It will be coming for us next.”
As she started moving she heard Morel speak, “Good,” the man said. “I’m getting tired of skulking around in the dark.”
The next four minutes were the longest of her life. As they moved the source of light in her party cast strange shadows that all seemed to leap and dance around her. Very slowly she moved trying to look everywhere at once and wishing she had Misha’s sharp nose or excellent hearing. Instead she had to make do with the faint light from the staff.
When she reached the place the last light had been, Daria paused and looked around. To her right was the faint outline of the railing, beyond that was open space and a long drop to the floor below.
From one side she caught the flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and spun around. Daria lashed out with her rapier as some shadowy figure came at her. The figure let loose an inhuman shriek and fell to the ground.
Behind her she heard the sounds of her fellows fighting. She saw Garulf drop his lantern as three figures leaped at him from the top of a rack of bows. Wild and garish lights and shadows suddenly bounced, flashed and dueled around the giant room, making the whole area look surreal and terrifying. In a flash of light she saw the bear grab one of his attackers and bodily throw it against the balcony railing. Even over the sounds of the fighting she heard the crunch of its spine breaking. The corpse flopped over the railing to the main floor below. Then the light was gone, leaving her alone with the darkness.
Suddenly a figure loomed up next to the woman and threw itself at her. The two fell to the ground together with a thump that took her breath away and sending her weapon flying out of reach. She felt course fur scrape against her body and a foul breath from the creatures maw made her gag. It’s great weight pressed her down and threatened to simply squeeze the life out of here. She grabbed her attackers muzzle with one hand and pushed their razor sharp teeth away from her throat. The power in those jaws was immense and she had to struggle with all her might to keep it at bay.
With her free hand Daria drew the dagger from her hip and drove the blade deep into where the creatures skull should be with all her might. There was an earsplitting scream and some foul smelling liquid splashed over her making her choke. Then the great weight disappeared, letting her breath again.
A soothing, white light played over her and the feathered face of Jessica loomed above her. “Relax, everything is fine.”
David and Morel helped Daria to her feet. She still smelled terrible from the foul creatures blood and she was a little unsteady on her feet. “What happened?” she asked.
“We got hit by a group of Lutins,” Weyden said from his perch on a table.
“What I fought was no Lutin,” Daria said and looked around for the creatures corpse. All she found was a large pool of black ichor.
“What ever it was, it’s dead now,” Garulf said poking at the puddle with the tip of his axe. “Gone to what ever hell it came from.”
“Seems we missed all the fun,” a chipper voice said from the shadows. Before anyone could react the slim forms of Finbar and Danielle came towards them followed by the rest of Misha’s group. The fox came last of all, his sword still in his hands. Daria noted the blood on the blade. It was black.
Misha came up to Daria and looked at her carefully, his concern plainly visible. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she stammered. “Just this evil goop is clogging my nose.”
“What’s it from?”
All Daria could do was shrug her shoulders in ignorance. “I don’t know. It melted when I killed it.”
“It was some sort of summoned creature,” Jessica commented.
“You’ve made quite a kill today, Daria,” Misha said with admiration. “Not many people can claim to have killed a summoning and lived.” He put his arm around the girl and hugged her.
“Thank you,” she stammered. A thought occurred to her. “What about the rest of the armory? There might be more of those things around.”
“Nope, We’ve cleared the bottom floor and the rest of this one,” Misha answered.
Everyone visibly relaxed. “Now what?” David asked.
“First we outfit ourselves with what we need,” the fox replied. “Then you’ll take your team back to the temple and gather up about twenty guards and bring them here.”
“Then what?” Daria asked.
“Then the guards will guard the armory while we go out and cause more mayhem,” Kershaw explained.
Daria smiled. “I can think of a few targets my team can wipe out.”
Misha nodded. “We’ll have to coordinate our efforts so we don’t both attack the same target.”
“I can work with that,” she answered.
“Good, let’s get planning,” Misha replied.
Getting into the wall tower was simplicity itself; there was a very convenient door through which they could pass easily. The Lutins weren't a problem either; Jono was able to use his whip (having retrieved his clothing and supplies after the earlier adventure), and Jo kept her daggers flying, and Dana even got a chance to take a few down. None of them even broke a sweat.
Perry did not get involved in the fighting. Perry is still looking down at his son, still asleep from his apparent ordeal.
Derek, when he realized that what had happened wasn't some kind of dream, had told them all about what had happened to them while he and Daemion and Samuel were under that mysterious globe, and Samuel was able to confirm a great deal. Perry is still stunned from the ordeal. He'd recognized the description of the apparition almost instantly. Revenos. The Daedra of Rage and Death. If what Derek was telling them were true, then his son managed to defy one of the major dark powers of the realm - and not only survive, but bring his friend back from the abyss.
Perry doesn't really know what to think with regards to that. Perhaps it was some kind of illusion; a few of the daedra get mentioned during ceremonies, and perhaps the three of them somehow imagined it all collectively. But that still doesn't explain the globe, or how Samuel and Derek's wounds were healed.
"Well, you've gotten what you wanted, anyways," he says, whispering, to his son's sleeping form. "You're a healer for sure, Daemion."
"...really?" Perry startles, then calms as he sees his son's eyes open. "Derek and Sammy... they're okay?" he asks in a sleepy voice.
Perry grins and nods. "Yep. They're all better. Whatever it was you did, you did good, son."
"I did..." Daemion manages to get out before he slips back asleep again.
Poor boy's exhausted. Perry picks him up, then takes him over to a corner where most of the rest of the kids are resting, down in the tunnels. The entrance was easily found towards the bottom of the tower, and as soon as they'd all gotten through it mysteriously covered itself over again. Kyia, of course. Always good to have your home on your side, he thinks, patting the side of the tunnel.
He can almost swear he hears a woman's chuckling in reply, but dismisses it. Could be just imagining things.
Then he catches a glimpse of a slightly scarred bovine. "Kirk, you doing any better?" he calls to his comrade in arms. He gets a stiff nod. Kirk has not been in a very positive mood ever since he got the news from Jahnsen - the Inner Gates were taken over by Lutins several hours after they left, and he'd survived only because he'd landed in a snow bank after being tossed off the wall. Apparently it was the merest chance that he'd shown up when he did. Fortunately for Kirk and Jono, anyways.
Jahnsen himself is curled up in a corner now, he sees, trying to warm up using the blanket Kevin managed to put a heating spell on. Evidently he'd been wandering through the snow for hours; it was a miracle he hadn't frozen to death already. Jo had a healing draught prepared for him fairly quickly, though, and the blanket seems to be doing him a lot of good. They ought to be able to move out within, oh, about another hour or so. Hopefully Daemion will be awake by then.
Jo, interestingly, has taken off her clothing and shifted to a more animalistic form, and curled up around and under a blanket of hers to catch some rest. Perry got a bit puzzled by that, but Jono had a ready explanation when he'd asked. "It's how she likes to retreat from the world, sometimes," Jono had said. "Don't worry, she'll be back up and at 'em after a while." Jono's worried that she's blaming herself for nearly losing Derek and Samuel; she almost certainly is wishing she could have done more. Perry can easily understand that; she obviously considers protection and healing to be her Duty, and being unable to perform one's Duty when it's needed is obviously a very serious thing. And -- he looks back down at his son -- it's pretty certain that if not for what Daemion somehow did, Samuel would most certainly have died.
Jono is still recovering from his own ordeal, it would seem. Perry himself has never understood the berserker rage, and so can't really fathom what Jono must have been going through. Evidently it's shaken him a great deal, however, which is probably why he proposed this resting period for everyone to get their bearings. Of course most everyone agreed even though they're almost certainly at the final stretch, the past few events have been rather nerve-wracking for all.
Perry shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his paw on his son's head, careful not to stick him with any of the spines, and closes his eyes, trying to get some rest while he can. They're not out of this yet, but they're at the final leg, and he intends to be ready for it all the way.
December 25th, 706 CR ― past 1:00 PM
The blizzard blew harshly against the low cluster of tents, slamming jagged peaces of shale-like sleet and snow against the thick hide. The wind screamed as it clutched the smoke coming out the top of the largest one and sent it sprawling to the ground.
Inside, things were relatively quiet, as people hugged themselves tightly, as the heat of the fire spread throughout the self contained world, filled with the banging of cloth and shrill shrieks of the wind, as they all attempted to regain the heat they had lost that day, which consisted of a nearly four hour forced walk. The only blessing they had was that the wind screamed against their backs, but they still were nearly blinded by the stinging snow. A baby's cry pierced the incessant, yowling calm of the blizzard, as the mother huddled over her, hushing softly, tears coming down the adult's cheeks, finally able to feel again, but only fear.
"She's cold?" a hushed voice said behind the mother, as she jumped looking back at the speaker, nodding at the quiet wolf-armor clad 'savior'. The mother huddled around the child, keeping her body between her baby and the stranger. She shivered, whether the cause was fear or the cold, she did not know, but she nodded in reply.
"How old is she," he said, kneeling down beside her, his hood thrown back, his lupine features, although inanimate, somehow conveying a sense of concern, sadness, and perhaps paternity. He peaked over the mother's shoulder, eyes gleaming happily from the firelight.
The crying baby's voice trailed, and then squealed in pleasure as it glimpsed the metallic wolf. The stranger cocked its head to the side, and the baby giggled. The mother looked up, turning toward him. As he took a glove off, a golden talon touching the blanket around the baby as he hugged the mother again, and she closed her eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling warmth moving through her body.
"Not even 5 months old," she said, relaxing.
He motioned with his hands, "May I . . .?"
She again nodded, and offered the fragile bundle to the guide, who took it in golden talons very carefully, making sure to support its head.
"Hello there little one, how're you doing?" he asked, as if carrying on a conversation, his voice still hushed. "I see you're doing well, and mommy, how's daddy doing?"
The mother answered, "He's cooking food at the moment."
The man's shoulders slumped with a relieved sigh, holding the baby in the crook of his arm, stroking her face with an ivory talon, "You're an awfully lucky child, honey. Don't worry, I'll look after you, and mommy, and daddy, and you'll have a very happy life." With a yawn the baby fell happily asleep.
The guide scooted back over to the mother, gently placing the baby back in her arms, nodding to the man approaching.
"I see you've met my daughter and my wife, Susey and Rachel," he said, sitting down, his tail curling under on the ground.
"Yes Mr. Mason, and you were right, I envy you," the stranger got back up, "If you three well excuse me, I have some business to do, we have to leave in a moments notice, I don't want to be around here five hours from now, make sure you're well rested. He walked off to another corner of the tent, squatting down next to a boy as the mother watched on.
"You know him?" Rachel asked, the husband shaking his head. The boy talking to the stranger, no older than 11, a gangly youth, suddenly broke down in tears and hugged the black clad, cloaked guide, who hugged back, rocking him gently back and forth, muzzle protectively draped across the back of the boy's neck.
"No, I don't, oddly enough, but he talked to us as we prepped the fire, very friendly. When he left, I felt extremely hopeful. I watched, and he's been walking around to everyone, and every person he talks to, they seem more alive.
"He's going to help us."
There was no doubt in his voice as he said so, and no other possibility in his mind.
The wife looked up, smiling at her husband, as if there was nothing wrong, as if the attack hadn't happened, as if their home hadn't been gutted, or chased off by Lutins, or a thousand other terrors that had happened.
She looked over to the boy and the guide, who pointed back at the couple, waving to them. The boy got up, and walked over, stopping by the father, standing there, as the two looked at each other. Without a word, the boy hugged the man.
The wife smiled, and had a feeling they just received another family member. "I know what you mean," she said, looking at her baby, a happy tear rolling down her face.
Topo crept down the corridor, instinctively keeping to the floor where it met the wall. He had been wandering around like this for hours, ever since he had been caught by morning. Although his mind remained, his were-blood was dormant and he was once more trapped in the body of a simple mouse.
Not that he minded it for the most part. It was just a thrice damned nuisance right now. He was cold, he was hungry and he was stuck as a creature half the size of a human hand. He sneezed violently. He was sure to get a massive cold out of this adventure. Suppressing a shiver at the chill he continued on his way.
He scurried around a corner trying to keep to the darkness as much as possible. Hearing a slight noise he froze, his ears seeking the source of the sound. All of a sudden the entire passage shook and was filled with roar of a tremendous explosion. A door set into the wall of the corridor blew outwards and a cloud of smoke billowed out.
Topo was torn between investigating and leaving as fast as his legs would carry him. Then the clash of steel on steel came from the inside the room. His choice was either to investigate and hopefully follow the other keepers to a place of safety, or continue wandering these freezing corridors.
Drawing up what courage he could he dashed towards the door. A battle was raging inside. The room had apparently been taken as a barracks by the Lutins. The explosion had wiped many of them out, shown by the scorched and blackened bodies that littered the room. A team of keepers of all shapes and sizes was there finishing the job, from appearances it seemed they still had their work cut out for them.
Topo heard the pounding of booted feet running down the hall and taking a deep breath he plunged into the room just as a group of soldiers joined the fray, against the keepers.
"All of you, come this way!" A red haired girl shouted as she launched herself into battle, followed closely by a fox morph, who dropped his bow and swept out a short sword.
Topo's only thought was of the opening she had come from. He saw to his amazement that it was being guarded by a tiny dragon, no bigger than a house cat. That thought itself frightened the mouse to no end. A dragon of that size would find a mouse a tempting appetizer indeed. But his choice was to either go back into the halls or try and sneak past the watchful dragon.
He would have chuckled if he could have. He had to cross the room first and that meant leaving the wall behind. Clenching his tiny teeth tightly the rodent launched himself away from the wall, sprinting towards the door.
He dodged past a booted foot and continued his headlong drive for the passage. He was nearing the Keepers now. The battle growing more furious by the moment as the Keepers edged their way towards the escape route as quickly as they could while defending themselves against so many.
He was almost past the main tangle of legs when a kick sent him spiraling across the room. He landed with a startled squeak of pain, his entire body aching, He tried to drag himself to his feet but his legs wouldn't hold him. Then he felt a cold hand close on his body and he gave himself up for lost.
David slashed again with his dagger, raking a Lutin across the face, splitting the ugly leering expression in two before using a kick to send him spinning back out of the fight. Resheathing his blade, he once more swung his staff in a whistling arc. It smashed into the shield of a human soldier and the force of the blow bore him backwards.
David reversed the weapon and brought the other end up underneath the soldiers chin. The man's teeth came together with a painfully metallic click as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backwards.
He noticed that Weyden had also finished off his attacker and was turning towards the main fray once more. David was about to join him when he heard a pitiful squeak near his feet. Looking down he saw a tiny mouse lying on it's side, struggling to regain its feet.
Reaching down he gently picked up the weakly struggling animal. He turned the tiny face towards him hoping the seeing that he wasn't a Lutin might calm the creature. " I don't know if you're a Keeper or not, but I'm not going to leave even an animal in the middle of this carnage." He spoke softly trying to comfort the animal as he gently opened his small pouch and set the creature inside.
Topo shook his head clearing his eyes until he could see once more. For a moment he didn't know where he was. Then he remembered the giant armored hand and the shiny black face of his rescuer. He now rested in the man's pouch, among a few small items that he evidently found useful. The walls of the pouch were soft, but enough room was kept open by the contents that Topo wasn't crushed or stifled. And the upper flap was left slightly open so he had no reason to worry about suffocating.
The man was still in the fight however and the quickly changing motions as he dodged and weaved were starting to make Topo a little seasick. To take his mind off the fact that his life was still in deadly peril he took to examining the objects inside the container with him.
A small steel ball covered in strange writing. A long round tube of unmarked silver that had a strange glimmer to one polished end as if it was shining in a shaft of sunlight. He decided to not ask for any more trouble by investigating that occurrence.
A small golden disc on a chain caught his attention and he wriggled his way over to it. The object was a thin round medallion no bigger than Topo's outstretched arms could reach. On the surface were many strange and beautiful designs, but one design in particular caught the mouse's attention, he leaned forward for a closer look. As his pointed nose touched the design engraved on the metal of the disc it glowed briefly and Topo felt a wave a warmth run through his body, dispelling the shivers he had until then forgotten.
He jerked backwards and the glow faded, as did the heat. Wishing desperately to be warm once more Topo repeated his earlier motion and the medal glowed once more. Curling up making sure to keep in contact with the object at all times he laid his head down and drifted into sleep.
So exhausted was he that not even the battle or the fact that his safety was by no means assured to be a lasting one held any sway over him. As he drifted into sleep his last thought was a hope that the rocking would quiet down soon.
Topo slept for what seemed like hours. As he reluctantly fought his way back to consciousness he realized that his wish had been granted. All was still and silent. He strained hard listening for sounds. He heard the sound of breathing and nothing else. He found that the breathing was his own as he slowly and shakily got to his feet.
Then the bag rocked slightly and was suddenly flooded with light as the flap was pulled up. He saw a black hand descending on him. A bit startled, and in any event not fully awake yet, Topo took a step backwards and stepped into the coiling loops of the chain that attached to the medallion. With a squeak he slipped and his hind legs became entangled in the thin golden chain.
The hand closed over his tiny body and he felt himself slowly lifted up into the light. Topo clenched his tiny claws ineffectually against the insect's smooth carapace. " I don't suppose you are actually a Keeper?" the ant asked. Topo was still to exhausted to react intelligently, and all he wanted to do now was sleep. " Thought not." The ant said in a bemused voice. He tiredly struggled to his feet.
The man slowly carried the small rodent over to an open door. "Well my little friend, this is the best place for any little fuzzy mammal to be right now." The insect spoke softly as he stepped into an unlit room, the bone-crushing fatigue plain in his voice. He gently untangled the snarled loops of metal from the mouse's hindquarters and dropped it back into the pouch.
He then knelt and slowly, with surprising gentleness set the rodent down on a small pad of folded cloth set in an empty corner, behind a cask of something fragrant. Blinking furiously at the sudden darkness, Topo came to realize that he was on the floor of what looked to be a storeroom of some kind. The smell of grains and other edible things caused his shrunken and long neglected stomach to growl furiously, for the moment displacing his need to sleep.
"You should be able to keep yourself entertained in here I think." The ant spoke quietly as he lightly caressed Topo's furry head with a fingertip. " Just please, don't eat it all. We may have need of these supplies for sometime." With a muffled groan the insect hauled himself back to his feet and padded out of the storeroom, softly closing the door behind him, leaving Topo in the pleasant darkness.
After slowly stretching himself and finding that besides a few bruises and a general soreness he was all right. Topo made a bee-line for the nearest open sack of grain. Climbing nimbly up it side the rodent perched on the edge and made his first meal since he couldn't remember when. Never had uncooked grain tasted so good. When he was finally sated he tiredly dropped back to the floor and scurried back to the corner and the nice comfortable bed that the insect had left him. Nosing the top fold of the cloth up he crawled in between the layers and lying down with only the very tip of his nose left outside he once more fell deeply asleep.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 2 PM
“Why is the sun in front of us?” Charles asked, trembling, and not from the chill that was blowing in with the snow.
Garigan’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide in sudden horror. He looked back down the tunnel, straight as ever, and dark after only a shot distance despite the new light piercing the veil of its blackness. He then turned back around and stared in gaping horror at the sun. “We’ve been going south!”
Jerome dumped a rock as wide as his hips onto the ground in the snow that was collecting about his feet, and rubbed his hands within the folds of his robe. “South? But weren’t we supposed to be heading Northwest?”
“Look at the sun, it is staring us right in the face! We’ve been going South!” Charles exclaimed, finding his voice much too loud for safety. Yet, the terrible fact was standing before them, they’d been headed in the opposite direction from Glen Avery! Now they were much too far to ever have any hope of assisting Garigan’s people.
“Calm yourself,” Zagrosek snapped softly, even as he stubbed his toe against the rock. Grimacing, he rubbed his shin as he peered out of the hole they’d fashioned. A thick line of trees and snow stood all about them outside the tunnel, while the bright yellow disc shone through the leafless branches. “We’re here now, whether we like it or not, so let’s do what we can.”
Garigan was next to tears, staring at the sudden open mouthed as if he could not believe that it existed at all. “Do what?” he finally asked, his rough burr a near shrill. “Do what!”
Zagrosek glowered at the ferret and raised one palm forward, but did not strike Charles’s student. Matthias was too shocked by the sun still to react at all to his friend’s action. “Be quiet. There may be Lutins in the area as it is. Charles, go out and see if you recognise where we’ve come out. I’m tired of tunnels. We can harass the Lutins from their flanks still if nothing else. And we will do something.”
Charles nodded, though he did grab the hem of Zagrosek’s robe and draw him away from his student. Garigan had taken the hint and was frantically searching for his Calm. It would not take him very long to find it, as the point had been made effectively. The taller Sondeckis looked down at Charles rather abashed, “I’m sorry I had to do it.”
Matthias nodded though, before scrambling up the rocks clogging the entrance. “I know, just let 'em do that in the future.”
The rocks were slippery from the snow, but having claws gave the rat a good grip, and soon, he was standing in vast field of undisturbed snow as high as his waist. The trees were rather tall, taller than he remembered them being South of Metamor. In fact, as he gazed about at the rough strewn hills, and disjointed assortment of the trees, he realised that he didn’t recognise the area at all.
“I have no idea where this is. It doesn’t look like any place South of the Keep to me. The trees are too tall,” Charles whispered back into the tunnel entrance. From this side, he could see that it had been set into one side of a hill that only grew larger the further back it went. In the sunlight, he could no better tell what sort of stone it was made from though.
“Tall trees?” Garigan asked, his voice strangely accented all of a sudden. “Let me see.” He climbed up onto the rocky outcropping, standing no better than Charles in the snow drift. Matthias could already feel his toes start to freeze in the thick white confines. He hoped that it was not this deep through the woods, or he’d soon freeze, no matter how much he wore!
He turned back to face the sun, hoping that some of its rays would warm him, though he found meagre comfort in its feeble light. Even though the sun was visible, most of the sky was covered in thick grey clouds, most of them to the South in a thick, roiling mass. Through the hills and the trees Charles could not tell if it was still snowing down that way. He doubted the sun would last long either before the clouds filled in the small gap they had come out under.
“I know where this is,” Garigan exclaimed suddenly, his face brimming with delight. “We’re only an hour outside of Glen Avery! I’ve travelled this way many times!”
“What?” Jerome asked, even as he scrambled up onto the rocks, slipping a bit as his human form did not possess claws that were good for gripping. “But we’ve been travelling South, you said Glen Avery was Northwest.” Zagrosek nodded, and said something similar, even as he tried to make his way from that tunnel and into the world of sunlight and breezes.
Charles laughed a bit, though he did keep his voice mostly to himself. “Well, this is Metamor. You’ve seen how the geometry of the Keep changes. Why not the direction of that tunnel? I know I never saw a turn, but if a five-sided figure can have angles like a square, why not a straight passage that curves?”
Jerome waded through the snow, though on him it only reached past his knees. “Why not indeed! And it is good to know that we are so close, but in which direction?”
Garigan pointed just West of the sun. “We’re a bit North and East of where we want to be, but it shouldn’t take too long, even in the winter. If we had snow shoes, it would be much easier.”
The rat snorted, even as he tried to lift his legs enough to move through the snow, but found he could barely do so. “Either that or you are going to have to carry me.”
Jerome jumped down the rock side, slipping and sliding down the hill a bit as he made his way towards a more level track. He waved back up to them after stomping around for a moment. He did not say anything though, having made far too much noise as it was already. Though, the snow there did not appear to reach higher than his boots. Charles breathed a sigh of relief at that. He would never make it to the Glen if he had to wade through snow up to his waist or higher.
Even so, it took him several minutes just to slide down the hillside after is fellow Sondeckis. Zagrosek helped him, but even so, Krenek was left stumbling as his feet managed to find a few errant roots beneath all the layers of snow. Of course, in the process of battling through the thick drift, his Sondeckis robes became soaked with the snow, and he could feel the chill creeping into his tunic and breeches underneath. His heart was happy that Glen Avery was so close though, for in retrospect, he’d rather be in the tunnel then fighting snow drifts nearly as high as he was!
When they had all joined Jerome down at the base of the hill, Garigan took over the lead, flowing between the trees with the ease a Glenner ought to have. Matthias would not have been surprised had his student called each tree they passed by name, and then able to tell stories of its struggles and travails in this northerly forest. The trees did get wider and taller as they moved South, keeping the sun just a bit to their lefts as they moved. Soon, they were at their colossal stature that the rat remembered from his trip here back in May.
Yet, shrouded in the blanket of snow, most of it undisturbed, he found a new and greater appreciation for this, the most isolated region of the valley. Here they were in a shrine of nature, locked and guided by its whims and vagaries, and yet they beheld a beauty that could not be found elsewhere in the world, Charles was certain. Until he’d visited here, he had never imagined trees wider than a horse. Now, seeing them crested with white plumes of snow made him feel as if they had been clothed in gowns of purest priestly white, the finest silk that had been available. They were the lofty kings of this world, towering beside the mountains themselves, giants who would long be standing even after the four of them had gone into the grave.
Even as he watched with his dark eyes, the clouds gathered far overhead, casting their world back in the pale grey that was so common in winter. Though the sun was obscured once more, Garigan still knew the way, leading them along the length of the shallow crescent between the hills, deeper into the clutch of the silent giants. Jerome and Zagrosek followed blindly, glancing this way and that, always wary of the scout that may lurk behind those massive trunks. Charles wondered if the Lutins might not stash an entire army behind them, as they were so huge at times.
Ere long, a light dusting of snow began to descend through the branches, and it gradually grew thicker as they pressed Southwards. Glancing back behind him, Charles could see that their footfalls were already filling in with the newest precipitation. Sighing, the rat drew his robe tighter about him, holding his arms as much inside the black cloth as he could. Still, the dampness clung to him, sending shivers down through his fur. Despite the layering of his garments, he still felt as if he’d been buried in ice.
Over his own physical discomfort he still felt a distant sense of unease, as if there was something wrong about all that he was seeing, as if it were an illusion of some sort. He could not identify the feeling, and so glanced from side to side at the banks of snow upon the hilltops, collecting and clustering around the trees, wondering if something might lie beneath that serene surface. So it came as little surprise to him when Garigan held up his paw, ears alert and pointing forward, his posture firm, giving the green cloak about him an almost serpentine twist.
After a moment, in which Charles felt his heart skip a few beats as he stood, his foot paws going numb, and his whiskers collected with irksome snowflakes, the ferret slowly moved to one side, putting the base of one of the trees between himself and what lay over the crest of the next rise. The three other Sondeckis did likewise, though the rat found the deeper snow much to his distaste. It was up to his chest, and had he waded in to it, he doubted he could have found his way out again!
When he was close enough though, he could see the source of his student’s alarm. Over the rise he could hear the sounds of feet crunching snow, and of wagon wheels doing the same. Peering from behind the tree trunk, he could see a small group of Lutins drawing several wagons along what must have been the old road to the North past Glen Avery. It was not a large convoy though; only a squadron of twenty Lutins at the most manned the wagons, disconsolate mules dragging them through the thickening white blanket. Coarse blankets covered the wagons, but from out of one corner the rat could see feedbags.
Slipping back around the tree, he noted that the others had seen the composition of the party as well. They needed to decide what to do about it, however, for surely the path Garigan intended to take crossed that road. Blinking a bit of snow from his eyes, he spoke softly, directly into their ears as they leaned closer. “Supply wagons. I’d wager they use this road to carry in their supplies from the Dike. Do we let this group pass?”
Zagrosek shrugged softly, nestling into the cold confines of the winter frost. He was sitting in it, which amazed the rat, who could barely stand and still see overtop of it. “If we attack them on the road, any other Lutins that come this way will see evidence of it.”
“Perhaps not,” Jerome mused rubbing his chin with one finger. “The blizzard hid their coming to Metamor. It might cover our tracks by the time the next wagon passes by.”
“And the bodies?” Charles pointed out.
“We can drag them over the next hill. They’ll probably never even look for them.”
“And we could certainly take some of the supplies to Glen Avery with us,” Garigan pointed out, jerking his paw over his shoulder. “But if we do take them, we ought to move fast, they’ll be past us shortly.”
Matthias nodded slowly, frowning as something caused him to turn his head slightly; a touch of unease that seemed to focus off to his right, insistently pulling his attention in that direction. He found his gaze locking with the livid brown glare of a Lutin ten paces away as it stepped out from behind a tree. The creature’s green face contorted as it raised a short arm swathed in fur and pointed toward them as it yelled something. Before Charles could grab for his weapons or even warn the others the forest around them seemed to come alive with Lutins. The foul green skinned humanoids leapt up from behind rocks and trees close about them, spears and swords coming to bear. Jerome and Zagrosek turned their heads in disbelief, while the ferret reached for his knives.
Charles felt a spear point touch his neck, and he held still for a moment, though his paw curled over the Sondeshike inside his robes. “You come with us now, sneaky Keepers!” the Lutin who held the spear said, spitting on the snow at their feet.
That omen of the coming storm was felt yesterday... However, now it seems much longer than that ago; as Colin is standing in one of the keep's many grand hallways, watching as his brother Drake finishes roasting the last lutin in this group they happened upon, the stench of charred flesh has brought him close to retching several times. He's managed to hold down what breakfast he had so far, though. The youth turns to Drake, "You done now?"
The dragon morph grinned back at his brother, "I don't know about me, but I think that Lutin is done now... well done."
Colin just groans at the obvious pun, and sets about putting out the burning corpses, making sure each lutin was really dead, and the other fires that were burning in the hall. Meanwhile, his once-brother-now-sister Aisha is checking to make sure the folks they fought off these lutins to rescue are okay. Looking over this scene, he realized just how much of an understatement 'something' was when Rois-sensei said it. ~This is horrendous!~ the age regressed youth thought to himself.
A tap on the boy's shoulder snaps him out of his reverie, and he turns his
head to see who it is that was tapping him. It's Drake, "Snap out of it
Colin, we're ready to go. We need to get these people to the Follower chapel."
Colin nods, "Sorry, Drake," and walks with him over to Aisha and the
Keepers they had just rescued.
She's explaining the situation to the adults in the group, and then motions to her brothers as they're walking up. "These are my brothers, Drake and Colin," she says, introducing them and pointing to each of the two in turn.
Colin nods, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I wish it was under more pleasant circumstances." Drake echoes sentiments similar to his brother's. "Now," Colin continued, "I believe Aisha has explained to you the situation," A show of nods from the group. "Good, then lets get going before another group of lutins shows up."
They head off, with Aisha taking point, Colin walking next to the group, and Drake watching their backs.
Rois-sensei has been helping the budding telepath with controlling his mental powers, and he's able to broadcast just to the people around him now, instead of deafening the mental ears of the whole keep. So Colin broadcast a message directed at the wall next to him, hoping that it will reach Kyia. ::Kyia, please see us safely to our destination, the follower chapel, as fast as possible.::
It seems she heard him, though, for they reach the follower chapel after walking for what seems to be only about five minutes or so. Aisha knocks on the door, while Drake and Colin are keeping a watchful eye on the corridor around them. They hear a slightly muffled voice from the other side of the door, "Who goes there?"
"Aisha, Colin, and Drake," The girl replies, "with a party of refugees."
It was Graed's turn for sentry duty, and so he's standing at the door when someone knocks on it, "Who goes there?" he queries, wondering if it's those kids.
The girl's voice comes from the other side, "Aisha, Colin and Drake, with a party of refugees." It's them all right.
"Is the hallway clear?" He asks, just to make sure, though they have probably already checked that.
"Yes it is," comes the reply.
~Like I thought, these three are sharp. And damn brave to take on the mission they have.~
Graed turns to the others, "Let's get these doors open, but be ready, just in case." A couple of the men get ready to open the door, while the others stand ready to attack whatever's on the other side, should it prove to be foe and not friend. When all are at the ready, the two men open the doors and peer out, then open them enough to let the people pass through single-file.
First through the door is the girl, Aisha. Following her is a group of very relieved-looking Keepers. Last come the other two of those kids, Colin and Drake. As soon as Drake's through the door, it's closed and barred shut again. The refugees are ushered over to where they can rest, those three kids walk over to the commander to report, and Graed resumes watching and waiting at the door.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 3 PM
Charles raised his chin slightly at the prick of cold, poorly forged steel against his throat, his dark eyes glancing at the cluster of Lutins surrounding them. His glance finally settled on Zagrosek as he quickly spoke in the Southern tongue, “Tanze wei Zherd?”
Zagrosek nodded, fingering his own Sondeshike within his robes, a smirk creasing his face. Jerome’s eyes went wide as he heard that, jaw falling slightly. With sudden, unexpected swiftness he reached out and grabbed Garigan’s neck with one strong hand, dragging him to the ground while the ferret let out a sudden cry of protest. The Lutins surrounding them moved forward a pace as a single mob, knowing that the Keepers were about to do something, but not understanding just what. They learned quickly enough a moment later when two of the approaching mob found the ferrules of Sondeshikes crushing their chests.
Charles spun the Sondeshike from beneath his robes, moving paw over paw along its length, until the silver shaft became no more than a spinning blur that he wove both around his body as well as around Zagrosek and his Sondeshike as well. The Lutin warriors tried to jab at the pair with their spears, but found them broken in half when they met those radiant discs that the rat and man kept before them.
It had been seven years since he’d ever enacted the Dance of the Staff, and never before with a Sondeshike of his own, and certainly not while he was a rat! Zagrosek had always been his partner, for the Dance required two to be done properly. He had to continuously remind himself of their size difference as he tucked and spun about his friend, their bodies always close together, yet neither they nor their staves ever touched, even when the brilliant discs they made in the air appeared to intersect.
Zagrosek also appeared to be having some difficulty adapting, but as Charles had never been struck by the swinging ferrules, he was managing well enough. The Lutin party about them found themselves facing a foe that they did not know how to kill. A few backed up and reached for short bows slung across their backs, and the rat gave them credit, for it was certainly a safer pursuit than trying to get close to those whirling discs. Yet, as Charles and Zagrosek turned in circles, even the arrows were shattered when they struck those impenetrable circles.
Of course, as they waded through the snow, closer and closer to the Lutins who were now shouting for the others to come help, Garigan and Jerome were once more safe to stand. The other two Sondeckis did so, and leapt at the nearest of the Lutins. Garigan plunged both of his knives into one of the green-skinned savage’s head before jumping off of him to another and Jerome deftly avoided stabbing spears, his open handed strikes reaching beyond them to crack bones and crush faces. Though he had many opportunities to take one of their weapons, he did never bothered.
As he turned about, the world a constant swirl about him, Charles saw that the Lutins from the supply wagons had raced up the ridge to join in combat beside their brethren. As if on unspoken agreement, on his next twirl, he came down a step closer to them, and Zagrosek followed suit, swinging his shaft out a bit far, smacking one Lutin in the head, knocking it almost completely off as he did so. The party of Lutins from the supply wagon took one look at the dancing Keepers spinning towards them, those discs slicing anything they touched in half, and then bolted back down towards the road.
They did not take up chase, the Dance was not quick enough for that, but instead they went back once more for the Lutins who had snuck up upon them, and were still struggling to hold their ground against Jerome and Garigan. One of them had managed to slice the ferret’s arm, a bit of blood dampening the torn green cloth, but aside from that the Sondeckis were easily corralling them against a stand of trees.
Into that stand Charles and Zagrosek wove, as if they were one being instead of two, a blurry image, one unable to be viewed with any precision by normal eyes, consisting of two twirling discs that rotated about them at all times, and two very different halves that spun with those discs. Snow spiralled up around them, as if it were incapable of existing in the same place with them. The snow that fell upon them was whisked aside by the wind raised with force of their spinning, leaving the pair in a sphere of open air. Charles felt his arms almost speed up as he neared the last group, draped so liberally in his own Sondeck that he was certain he could have continued should both his arms break!
With Jerome and Garigan before them, and the spinning menace behind them, the last six Lutins realized that they were trapped. They let out a bloodthirsty cry, one that might be heard elsewhere in these woods, though with the snow and wind falling as heavily as they were, that was suspect. Charging at the ferret and the man, they brandished bent swords, broken spears, as well as their teeth, attempting to do whatever they could before they were cut down.
Jerome, however, calmly put his front hands together, and pushed outwards with a sudden exhalation of force. The Lutins were sprawled backwards onto the thick snow, and then, as they struggled to return to their feet, their voices gave lent to horrible screams as Zagrosek and Charles whirled upon them, their Sondeshike slashing and crushing their bones, splattering blood all about them, until the once pristine snow was glazed scarlet.
With the Lutins dead and routed, the Dance was ended. Charles and Zagrosek spun away from each other, their hands still moving over each other across the Sondeshikes, until, a few seconds later, they were shaking their heads clear of the power that had flowed through them. Garigan looked at them, his eyes going from one to the other in amazement. “How did you do that?”
While the world continued to spin about him, Charles heard Jerome answer, “That was the Tanze wei Zherd. It means Dance of the Staff. It is one of the Sondeckis techniques that blacks who chose to practice the art of the Sondeshike are required to master. They’re just novices with the technique, so it will take them a moment or two to stop walking about in circles and falling over.”
“I’m still standing,” Zagrosek said, before his foot managed to catch at something beneath the snow, causing him to fall on his face into the stained powder. He lifted himself back up, shaking his head clear once again.
Charles managed to collapse against a tree trunk, so had a much easier time regaining his bearings than his friend. Peering down at the road, he could see that the Lutins had completely scattered, leaving the mules plodding along, dragging the wagons behind them, as if they had no other purpose in life. “Could we take one of them?”
Garigan stabbed one of the Lutins who was not as beat up as the rest, and then walked over to the rat, and shrugged. “Certainly, this road forks just up ahead. The right fork will take us to Glen Avery, while the left goes to Metamor. The Lutins were probably going to Metamor, so we shouldn’t encounter any problems on the right fork.”
They were soon joined by Jerome, who shook his head. “We ought to only take one, if any. We’ll be more visible targets if we choose to ride in one of those.”
“Well, it will make the trip go smoother, and we’ll have more supplies for the Glenners. Taken right from Nasoj’s own stock no less!”
“We should at least see what is in those wagons,” Charles pointed out as Zagrosek finally managed to find his legs beneath him again. The fight had left him drained and unsteady, even lifting his arms made him cringe, the rat realized. It had been too many years since he’d practiced the Dance, and it had left him almost completely sore. “And I think Krenek and I need to get to shelter soon; that was more taxing than I thought it would be.”
Jerome grimaced once, but then finally nodded, starting down the hillside. The road was clear of Lutins by now, and the mules did not object in the least to the presence of somebody smelling a good deal better than their previous owners. Matthias scrambled after him, while Garigan helped Zagrosek remain steady as they came down the hill. The rat privately hoped that they’d stopped an important caravan, but given the lack of serious protection, doubted it would be anything more significant than food.
And, it turned out that he was right. All three wagons were crammed with foodstuffs of one sort or another. It was mostly just grain that could be boiled in some water to make a soupy meal, but a meal at nonetheless. There were a few bags with carrots and potatoes, but only two at most per wagon. As quickly as they could, they redistributed all the vegetables to one wagon, and filled the rest of it with the grain. Zagrosek and Charles then climbed onto the inside the bed of the wagon, resting their arms and legs for a moment beneath the thick, coarse blanket. It was one of the first times that Charles had felt even remotely warm on this whole journey, and even then, it was only in comparison with burying himself in those snow drifts.
Jerome took one last look up the ridge, and then came back down, sitting at the front of the wagon behind the mules, the whip in one thick hand. “The snow’s already covering the bodies. With luck, the Lutins won’t find their comrades for days. If at all.” He glanced back at Garigan, who was walking over the cargo in the other two wagons, cutting open the sacks of grain and spilling them across the snow. “Unhitch the mules while you’re at it, would you?”
The ferret nodded, and did as instructed. With a sharp smack of his paw, he sent both mules charging down the road. Satisfied, he climbed down from the wagons, and peered underneath. Looking around, he saw an axe that one of the Lutins had dropped in their haste to flee. Grabbing it firmly in both hands, he swung down underneath the cart, and smashed the axle in two.
He did the same for the other wagon, before depositing the axe in a nearby snow bank where it promptly sank out of sight leaving only an axe-shaped crater. Charles nodded his approval at his student, even while he shivered beneath the thick blanket on the other wagon. Jerome helped Garigan climb up to join them, and then he whipped the remaining mules into action. Soon, he’d coaxed them into a decent trot, and they were moving at a respectable pace down the old road.
The road was not very wide, enough for a single cart to make its way down without trouble. The centre of the track was upraised slightly, but given the amount of troops that had moved down this way, the snow was rather thin on top, and packed hard beneath. Above them the branches clustered, casting them in deep shadow at times; the dismal grey light that fell from the sky just as much as the thick snow did, gave them the impression that colours did not exist in this part of the wood.
Yet they reached the fork in the road only minutes after they started, as Garigan had promised. The right fork was even more clustered then the old North road had been, and soon, they found themselves swatting at low-lying branches that clogged the pathway. Garigan ducked under one ponderous limb and then shrugged to the others. “We don’t use this road anymore, so we’ve let the woods grow back. I’d forgotten about that.”
“How much further until we reach Glen Avery?” Charles asked as he picked a bit of bramble from the cloth. It was not the most comfortable way to ride, he reasoned, as there was a carrot poking him in the back.
“Not far, perhaps a few minutes, unless we run into trouble.” Garigan then furrowed his brow thoughtfully, glancing at the thick woods on either side. “How had those Lutins snuck upon us as they did?”
“They had scouts following them on either side of the road,” Zagrosek murmured, even as he shifted about beneath the blanket, scanning backwards warily. “We were so focussed on the wagons, we didn’t pay attention to our flanks.”
“Well, it doesn’t appear that there are any Lutins harassing these woods,” Jerome muttered, as he gave the mules a little more incentive with a flick of his wrist. “Strange creatures, I’ve never seen their like before.”
“They live in the Giantdowns,” Garigan explained. “They’ve always been tribal savages, and until Nasoj organised them, they were rarely a threat to the humans living in this region, and to the North.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can keep the cold places,” Zagrosek muttered. “It was never this cold at night in Sondeshara!”
Charles had to chuckle lightly, even though he himself was shivering beneath the blanket. “You’ll get used to it, if you stay here long enough.” Neither of the humans had any response for that, simply huddling tighter in their cloaks, and staring at the world of white frost about them with a mix of wonder and of uncertainty.
True to Garigan’s word, Charles began to see the familiar shapes high in the trees only a few minutes later. The road led out into the relatively open space that was Glen Avery. Only this time, where the few open hills that the rat had remembered were lay undisturbed blankets of fresh snow. The ferret jumped from the wagon, and looked about, scanning sights that were familiar to his eyes, and grimacing as he did so.
“So where is everybody?” Jerome asked as he brought the mules to a stop and climbed from the wagon.
Zagrosek never had a chance to do so, before he found himself surrounded on all sides by fur and claws, the sharp point of a sword pressed firmly against his neck. A thick black paw with thick and unfriendly claws held that blade. Charles turned his head in shock, seeing the familiar badger, nearly drag his friend, a Sondeckis of the black, from the wagon’s back.
“Angus!” Garigan cried suddenly, spinning on his feet through the relatively deep snow! “Stop, these are friends!”
The badger looked over at the ferret, blinking several times, before a broad smile lit up his face. “Garigan! Why it is good to see your wretched face here. But what are you doing here? And who are these two humans?”
“They are friends of mine,” Charles said, as he glanced over the haggard and snow-bitten faces of the eight scouts that had descended on them so suddenly. He wondered idly where they had been hiding, for not even Garigan had seen them, and he was a native! “Trust me, they’re here to help.”
Angus nodded, and then sheathed his sword, giving Zagrosek a pat on the shoulder as he did so. “Any friend of Matthias’s is a friend of mine. But what are you doing here?”
Garigan glanced over at the rat, who had already begun to speak. “Metamor has come under attack...”
“We know that. Nasoj’s forces came through here first and snuffed out our defences before we could even raise an alarm. They killed a good number of our scouts too.”
Garigan’s face blanched, and his whiskers grew straight. “How many?”
“Five, including Shelley,” Angus admitted, gripping the pommel of his blade tightly in one paw. The leather of his pommel appeared freshly tanned, without the characteristic stains of well-worn weapons. As the rat scanned about the party, he noticed that all their equipment was that way, as if freshly made. Turning back to Angus, the rat noticed that the white diamond on his forehead appeared oddly distorted for a moment, but Charles soon realized that was just the snow collecting on his broad head.
Garigan sighed, his whiskers drooping, “I wish I could have been here sooner. Shelley was a good friend.”
“The rest of us are holed up in the caves underneath Lars’s tavern. We eight have been making sure that the Lutins don’t come back here for the moment. We were hoping to strike back at the Lutins once we were sure where they were, but we’ve not been able to find their base of operations yet.”
Charles grimaced sourly. “Unfortunately, the majority of them are in Metamor already. From all accounts I’ve heard, and from what I’ve seen, not only have they overrun the town, but they’re in the castle as well.”
Angus’s face fell, as did that of the rest of the Glenners. “Then all hope is lost. If Metamor does not stand, how can we?”
“Metamor is not lost!” Charles declared, shivering despite the passion that he could feel filling him. “They may have troops inside the castle, but they do not hold it yet. We’re here because we wanted to make sure that the Glen still stood, and, because together we might be able to take back Metamor, and stop Nasoj again.”
Angus appeared sceptical. “Just the four of you?”
Jerome gave the badger an odd smile, and Zagrosek, though still rubbing his neck, joined in. “We’re a bit more formidable when we don’t have a sword at our throats. And even then, as Garigan can attest, we are not without a few surprises.”
Charles pulled his cloak tighter, and shifted about on his foot paws. His toes were so cold, he cold almost feel ice forming on his claws! “Do you think we could go to Lars’s? It’s rather cold out here.”
Angus laughed slightly then and nodded. “Of course, we’ll go right away. But first, what’s in the wagon?”
“Grain, carrots, potatoes. We thought you might find them useful, so we stole them from the Lutins,” Charles added, shaking a bit of snow out from between his toes; a useless gesture of course, because once he put his paw back down again, more of the white powder settled between them.
Angus nodded and then turned to an ermine who was just at his back, “Fellen, would you make sure this gets into the storage?”
The ermine nodded, sheathing a long slender blade in his buckler. “Yes, sir.” He and two of the other scouts deftly moved to the front of the wagon, and led the complacent mules down into the open field towards the rocky base at the far end, near the frozen river. Charles watched them go, noting that Fellen’s pelt was far thicker than the rat’s own, which explained why he was dressed so comparatively lightly. His fur was also white, and if it were not for the leather, and the dark orbs of his eyes, would have been invisible only a few feet away against the snow.
A few of the scouts snickered, as Angus grumbled beneath his breath while watching the ermine lead the others off. Garigan looked at him curiously. “Fellen? Where is he from? I don’t ever remember seeing him before.”
Angus nodded, silencing his mutterings. “He’s from Lorland, just arrived this last Summer. He has become a decent fighter, at least once he got the courage to tell me he needed to use a smaller blade. No matter what I do though, he won’t stop calling me ‘sir’!”
Garigan had to stifle a chuckle of his own, while the other three Sondeckis simply smiled. Charles’s smile did not last long though, as soon, the chill in his feet began to creep up into his legs and tail. Angus though, did not give any the time to laugh, as he turned to the other four scouts and flashed them a quick hand signal. They disappeared into the trees within moments. Charles tried to watch them as they climbed up into the lofts, but lost them only after another few seconds. How he wished that he could spend a few months just learning from them, for he had never been so good at hiding as were the Glenners.
Angus gestured towards the same rock outcropping that the wagon was being led to. “Shall we go then? I assure you, we do have fires. But tell me, how in the world did you travel all the way from Metamor to the Glen? It is not a short journey, even by carriage.”
“Once we’re by that fire, I’ll let you know,” Charles said, eagerly scampering through the knee high snow. Angus didn’t say anymore as they quickly crossed the field, staying close to the trees the entire time. The copious snowfall began obliterating their tracks even before they had reached the entrance to the establishment. There would be no sign that they had ever been outside in a few more minutes. And certainly no trace of the supply wagon they’d taken from the Lutin army.
Lars Hasgkenn’s brewery was just as Charles remembered it, except that the front entrance was flanked by two Glenners bearing spears, and another two with bows standing behind them. Inside, it still had that pleasant atmosphere that reminded him vaguely of the Deaf Mule, but in a way, even friendlier than Donny’s well-run establishment. Many familiar faces looked up as they entered, from Lord Avery, to a few of the soldiers he’d fought alongside in the Battle of Nuln. Off in one corner had been the skunk whose tail he’d had been forced to keep his nose in while they rode the Lutin wagon up the back of the mountain all those months ago. Lars himself was tending the fire, his great ursine frame lowered over the sluice as he stirred the coals. Through the back door, he could hear the pleasant humming of Mrs Levins as she prepared the meals – somehow, anything that her paws touched ended up smelling delicious!
Each of those faces lit up in unexpected surprise as they came in, with Lord Avery bounding from his seat, and running to embrace the returning ferret. “Garigan! What a pleasant surprise! I never thought to see you here, not now! How’d you get here?” Even before the musteline had a chance to answer, the excitable grey squirrel had spotted a familiar rat. “Charles!” He embraced the honorary Glenner so suddenly, Charles barely had time to reciprocate. “What are you doing here? And who are your friends?”
“We’ve come to help,” Garigan replied, while Charles caught his breath. The rest of the bar had lit up, with old friends clustering about the entrance, greeting Garigan and Charles, giving him grins and hugs as if he were just as much one of them as the ferret was. Jerome and Zagrosek stood by, watching, secret smiles upon their faces.
“What happened to your arm?” Brian Avery said, as he saw the bloodstain on the ferret’s shoulder.
“I got cut a bit, but I’ll be fine. We’ve been travelling for a while, and were hoping to share your fire.”
“By all means, come in, do come in. You must tell me all that you’ve seen and heard.” Charles had to laugh as they were brought into the centre of the room, near the small blaze set in one wall. It was good to feel the heat again, soaking into his cloak and filling his bones. He stretched his foot paws as he was led to a chair, and a flagon of mead found its way into his hand.
However, before anybody could say anything, and before Matthias even got to sip the delicious mead, another voice broke into the crowd. “Oh, no they will not!” It was Lady Angela Avery, pushing her way through the Glenners that had clustered about their table to hear what they knew. “You will wait until we’ve seen to their wounds. Burris!”
The woodpecker appeared to have been sleeping against one wall, for his long narrow beak opened in some surprise, and his wings extended, nearly tumbling himself over in the process. “Yes, my Lady?”
“We need your art, poor Garigan has been hurt,” Lady Avery insisted, pushing her husband out of the way, while another one of the Glen’s females, a vole of some kind, snatched that flagon of mead from the rat’s paws. Her critical eyes examined Charles’s tail and she snorted. “The rat too.”
“I’m fine,” Charles began to say, but her sharp voice cut him off.
“Not until I say you are. You boys all say the same thing, be you three or thirty. Now you will sit there while we fix that tail up. Then you can have a drink, but only one mind you.” Her voice was so stern, that any further objections died in the rat’s throat. Instead, he glumly sat there as she cradled his tail in her paws, while the vole forced Garigan to remove his cloak, and shirt. Burris stood behind the two women, waiting, blinking sleep from his beady eyes.
Lord Avery gave Charles an understanding smile, and then a glance at the mazer of mead that the vole had put aside. The way his long tail darted behind him, said volumes – she’d kept him from having anything to drink recently too. Angus just chuckled, and focussed the Lord of the Glen’s attention on the other two men who were with their friends. “And just who are you two?” Brian asked, crossing his arms, glad to have something his wife would not interfere with while still excited.
“I’m Jerome Krebe, and this is Krenek Zagrosek,” the broader of the two men said. “We haven’t been touched by the curse yet, but are willing to take that chance to defend this place. It is not our home, not yet, but it is the home of our life-long friend Charles. We are at your service, my Lord.”
The squirrel nodded then, looking from one to the other. “Just call me Brian Avery, most everyone does. When was the last time you had something to eat? And just how did you get here all the way from Metamor with Nasoj’s army out there as it is?”
“Not since yesterday,” Zagrosek said, slumping down in a chair.
Angus patted him on the shoulder and looked over at the bruin standing by the fire pit. “Lars, we need two meals for our guests here. Fellen is bringing some more food around the back, so be a little generous this time.”
The bear snorted, and laughed. “Don’t you go prejudicing them already, you crazy badger. Not generous, hah!” The ursine disappeared in the back behind the counter top, grumbling something unintelligible.
Charles looked over at them both, and then across the smiling faces of the Glenners all about him, even to the critical expression that was on Lady Avery’s face. She continued to lecture him about being careful and not getting hurt like this, though she did treat him a bit lighter than Garigan, who was red from ear to ear; as if he could have made the wound heal by mere will alone!
Settling back with a sigh as he could feel Burris’ magic work through him, he had to allow himself a bit of joy. He was warm, there were good friends all about him, and the Glen was safe for now. Perhaps things were going to turn out all right in the end after all, and Nasoj would be kicked right back out of Metamor again, and maybe this time for good. And maybe Lady Avery would give him that flagon of mead back too. With a silent laugh, he decided to just enjoy the warmth filling him.
"Nervous, Greck?"
Kessig leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the small wooden table, watching with amusement as his Lutin companion paced back and forth outside the cramped storeroom they had converted into a guard station. The little green wretch held a crude dagger in one hand, quietly turning it end over end as he scanned the hallway for trouble.
" 'Course not," Greck said, scowling. "Jus' ready, that's all. I ain't lettin' no demons sneak up on me."
"Demons?" Kessig grinned.
"Keeper demons. You seen 'em. They hearts 'r' evil, so they turned in t'beasts and women. Punishmented."
Kessig laughed heartily. "If their evil hearts turned them into wenches, the world needs more wicked men!" he declared. "I'd like to see a few of those 'evil women' come our way tonight. We could show 'em a good time, you and me, eh Greck?"
Greck stared at the human soldier, aghast. "Oh, no. No no no," he said, waving his hands in fear. "You gonna summon bad magic on us. Don' touch the evil, Kessig, 'cept to destroy it!"
The mercenary snorted. "You're an odd one, Greck," he said, taking a swig of wine from a bottle he'd found in the storeroom. "I've seen others of your kind have their way with Keeper womenfolk."
"Yeah, an' they paid bad for it, too!" Greck shot back. "Remember that outpost that caught the otter woman a few months ago? The whole place was destroyed, all of 'em killed. They paid bad for touching the evil."
"Yeah, whatever, Greck." Kessig said, waving a hand dismissively as he took another drink. "You just send any pretty wenches you see my way. I'll take care of those wicked women for ya."
Greck turned away from his partner, grumbling irritably. He didn't see the four black, spindly arms reach out of the shadows and seize Kessig from behind, clamping his mouth shut as a long dagger sliced across his throat.
He did hear the clatter, though, when the chair Kessig had been sitting in fell over backwards. He turned and stuck his head in the doorway--
Just in time to see Bradfox's arrow speeding towards him.
The arrow struck the Lutin straight between the eyes, and the little beast fell backwards into the hall, slain instantly.
"Nice shot," Daria murmured.
"Thanks," said Brad, wandering over to the crates that lined one wall of the room. That soldier had been holding a bottle of wine...
David wiped his daggers off on the body of the human guard, examining them carefully before placing them back in his bandoleer. "This one must have been drinking for a while before we arrived," he said, stooping to check the body for weapons. "He didn't hear a thing."
"I don't know that anyone would have," Daria mused. "I know I wouldn't want to face you in a dark room."
The ant spread his mandibles in the equivalent of a grin. "Thanks, Squire."
"Credit where credit is due," the redhead replied, going over to the fallen Lutin and searching it for anything of value. There wasn't much.
"Come on," she said. "Let's drag these two into the passage. I don't want any evidence of their fate left behind."
They did as instructed, carrying the two bodies back into the narrow corridor that the Key had opened for them in the back of the room. The others were waiting for them inside.
"Success?" Morel asked with a grin.
"Success," Daria agreed.
Garulf took both of the bodies, one under each arm, and went off in search of a place to dispose of them. Starling went back with Daria and, with a careful application of her fiery breath, managed to erase the bloodstains that covered the floor. Then the whole group disappeared back into the passage, the wall closing behind them without a trace.
The wall silently opened, and Daria's strike team entered the first floor of the Lightbringer Archives. Merai rose to greet her friend, grinning at the look of satisfaction on the redhead's face.
"Good news, I take it?" the feline priestess asked.
"Victory, Merai!" Daria said, embracing her friend. "We found and eliminated three enemy guard stations in two hours' time."
"Was anyone hurt?" someone asked, as a small crowd formed around the returning warriors.
"Only our enemies!" Garulf declared, raising his blood-stained axe high for everyone to see.
A cheer rose up in the crowded hall, and Merai felt a brightening in the auras of those around her. For the first time since the temple had been sealed, there was a real feeling of hope. They could make a difference in the battle to protect their home. They could fight.
And they could win.
“What the heck is that sound?” Jacob asked, his voice echoing off the walls of the tunnel. They had been progressing through the sewers and catacombs of Metamor Keep for an unknown number of hours now. As they had moved up and down through the myriad tunnels, the architecture had varied widely. At first it was circular brick, defiantly laid by the hand of man; yet that design had rapidly degenerated into roughly hewn passages carved right into the bedrock. The sight of the first body, a skull on a wooden ledge cut into the rock face, gleaming hideously in Rickkter’s witch light, had forced a yelp from Jacob’s throat and caused him to drop his sword. The sudden noise in the desolate crypt had startled Rickkter so badly that he had whipped around, knife drawn. He gave the startled fox a dirty look before recommencing their trek through the catacombs. From there they had moved into some kind of sub-sewer system. At first Jacob had been glad to leave the tight passageways and innumerable nearly decomposed bodies behind him, at least until he began examining his new surroundings more.
Before they had been in actual passageways, square on all sides and with level flooring. But now... not they were in a literal tunnels, round corridors lined with support ribs that they had to walk over to get by them. The air in the tunnels was dry, yet when Jacob looked at the walls, they seemed to shine with a wet gleam. And while the tunnels themselves were made of cut stone, various support ribs had what at first seemed like the stone columns formed when stalagmites and stalactites join. Yet those columns didn’t look like they were formed by the usual mineral deposits; they had a decidedly organic appearance.
“What sound?” replied Rickkter. He was more intent on forward progress than in making conversation or studying the tunnel. The fact that this was their longest discussion outside of asking where Rick was going or which way Jacob thought they should head showed that quite clearly.
“That rumbling. It’s been getting louder for the last several minutes.”
Now Rickkter paused and cocked his head to the side, listening to the noise. Lifting his nose, he sniffed at the air of the passage, his long whiskers twitching in the faint illumination of the witch light. “Jacob, you’ve been living in town for far too long,” Rickkter finally pronounced.
Jacob pricked his ears up and looked at the raccoon.
“The sound is water. You can smell it from here. Sounds like a hell of a waterfall up ahead to boot.”
Sure enough, just up ahead and around a double bend in the tunnel, the curved walls vanishing into pitch-blackness. Upon their rounding that corner, Rickkter’s witch light, a bobbing source of constant, illumination that Jacob had grown so used to, surged upwards from its previous domain of the tunnel ceiling and plunged the two morphs into near darkness. Jacob could only see a dim outline of the mage as Rickkter craned his check upwards, following the path of the light.
“Damn, how big is this place?” the raccoon muttered as he stepped down from the tunnel onto some sort of ledge beyond the tunnel. From the echo of the roaring water in his ears, Jacob guessed the cavern beyond was indeed pretty big. Rickkter was on the other side of what the fox now saw was an actual platform, peering into the gloom where the river emerged from the darkness. His witch light rose about thirty feet in the air, swelling to almost ten times its previous size, throwing the dank cavern with its running water into harsh illumination.
The walls were of an expected wet and slimy appearance, all holding that curved and worn look of untold generations of exposure to running water. Jacob spared the platform they were on a quick examination and was rather amazed at what he saw. What he had first assumed to be a natural crag on the face of the cavern wall that the tunnels simply spilled out of, was in fact a man made, stone bridge. He was standing on one side of the stone frame that joined the narrow stone bridge to their wall. The bridge itself was suspended over the gorge of the underground river, running not more than five metres from the roaring oblivion of the falls. In that direction, all beyond was darkness. Rickkter now came over to the side where the fox gawked about himself to take a view from the side of the bridge where the falls were.
“Did you know this was here?” asked Rickkter.
“No, no I never even dreamed,” Jacob stammered. “I don’t think anyone has any idea that such a thing runs below Metamor. How large do you suppose it is?”
“From what I feel of the cavern with my probes...” Rickkter cocked his head and murmured. “Say about fifty-five, sixty feet across. The falls are close to one hundred straight down. Now hurry up. This is the first sign that we’re actually near the Keep.”
The sides of their platform were designed the same as the outer walls of Metamor with a simple facade of low battlements -- ascetic only, as here there was nothing to defend against – the tops of which Rickkter lightly dragged his claws over as he made to cross the bridge. Jacob allowed the mage to go first, as he always did, despite the fact that the stone span was wide enough to permit the two to walk side by side. The fox believed that if anything untoward were to happen on the way over, Rickkter would know it first, thereby giving himself extra time to react. Instead, he chose to examine his surrounding closer. Something about the way the witch light glinted off the wet stone caught his eye in a most captivating manner. As he looked briefly at the pair of massive support chains, where they vanished into darkness to connect at the unseen centre of the bridge, he couldn’t help but marvel at the rust hanging from their iron rings. The rust looked like the leaves of Trees by the river with the red leaves, hanging from its chains in elegant strands. Jacob almost wanted to reach out and touch them but feared they would crumble to reddish-brown dust, taking the rest of the length with them. His admiration was short-lived, however, as Rickkter’s exclamation of surprise caused him to start and look forward once more.
The warrior mage had his sword out and in a defensive posture was circling a figure who stood in the middle of the bridge. Jacob fumbled to withdraw his own blade, the large weapon feeling foreign in his paws, and snarled, “Where the hell did he come from?”
“No idea,” Rickkter replied, never taking his eyes off the human form on the bridge. Jacob finally worked his blade free and joined the raccoon’s offensive posture. “He just seemed to come out of the shadows.”
The human, whoever he was, didn’t seem to be taking too much of an interest in the two morphs that stood so close by him, nor did he seem to make much of the witch light that blazed threateningly between him and that other party. The man was a little taller than Rickkter, clean-shaven and with a head of closely cropped, dark blonde hair. He had on high riding boots, well-worn leather armour, and a scarlet cloak. From the expression on his face, he didn’t even see the two animal morphs with their drawn steel. Instead, he seemed to be looking at something above the heads of the two, something that caused him a deal of panic.
“What is he doing?!” Jacob hissed.
Rickkter only grimaced and adjusted the grip on his blade.
Jacob was just about to ask what they were going to do, when suddenly the man panicked and took flight...
... right though the wall of the bridge.
“A shade! A shade!” Jacob yelped, back-pedalling as fast as he could, trying not to step on his tail which had wormed its way between his legs.
“It’s not a shade!” Rickkter yelled after him. Though he was still facing where the shade had appeared, the mage was retreating as well. “Damn it get back here! I tell you that was not a shade!”
“Then what in all the hells was it?!” Jacob yelled back from the end of the bridge.
“I don’t know what it was. I do know that wasn’t a shade, that much I can tell you.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’ve dealt with them before!” Rickkter screamed back at the cowering fox. “So just trust me on this! Whatever that was, it’s gone now. So let’s get across this bridge before it really does come back!”
Jacob wined in hesitation, his tail still firmly between his legs. “I really don’t think we should cross, Rick.”
Arching his brow, the raccoon asked, “Pray tell, did you happen to see another way around this river?” Jacob could only shake his head. “Right, then let’s go.”
This time their crossing of the bridge was no leisurely affair. They jogged across the slick stones with steal drawn, and eyes and ears alert for any movement within the witchlight’s field of radiance. No shades or other apparitions appeared to hinder their flight, and they reached the other side without incident.
Rickkter ran a paw over one of the large, rough-hewn blocks that made up the entrance to the new tunnel. “Well, it seems we’ve finally reached our destination.”
Jacob’s opinion echoed that of the mage, as he too recognized the manner of stonework that made up Metamor Keep.
Rickkter’s witchlight swiftly descended from its previous lofty height, losing its current bulk and resuming its previous size as it swirled about the two morphs. “Now we just have to find a staircase leading up,” Rickkter said as he cast the light in front of them and prepared to enter the tunnel.
“Hold on a minute.”
Rickkter turned to see Jacob peering into the blackness in the direction where the river originated.
“Could you please cast that over there again? I think I saw something.”
Frowning, none the less Rickkter obliged. Joining the blue fox, he cast his witchlight upon the water and gazed upon what it revealed.
“Hah, I knew it!” Jacob yipped and jumped over the retaining wall to the small, rocky shoreline below. It was a drop of a little over seven feet, something the fox could handle with ease. Rickkter chose to stay behind, observing his companion’s strange actions.
Jacob scampered several yards along the shore, almost to the edge of illumination of Rick’s witchlight, where he began pawing at the ground. Yipping happily, he straightened up, holding a large, amber colour gem between his fingers. “I knew I saw something glinting out here! There’s a while bunch of these gems just lying here. Sure you don’t want any of them, Rickkter?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen gems that colour,” the mage hollered back, his arms spread as he leaned on the retaining wall. “Mind if I have a look.”
Jacob turned around, and taking careful aim, managed to make a prefect overhand toss to the mage, arcing the stone just over the raccoon’s head so that Rick has to back up a pace to catch it. It seemed that those countless hours playing in the street as a child had finally paid off.
Yet upon catching the stone, the raccoon gave a yelp as if he had caught a burning ember, immediately throwing the stone to the ground. Rickkter’s shriek still ringing in his now flattened ears, Jacob saw the mage stalk back and forth across the platform, growling and clutching his paw as through it really were scalded. The fur around Rickkter’s neck bristled out as he clamped his eyes shut and continued his little dance of agony.
“What’s wrong?” Jacob called back when he had found his voice again.
“Those aren’t real gems,” Rickkter said, Jacob barely hearing him as Rick spoke through clenched teeth. “Those are soul gems, you moron!”
The eyes of the blue fox widened as he looked down at the sapphire like jewel in his paw before he let it drop to the ground. “Where could such things have come from?”
“Oh, they probably belonged to the person you’re standing on,” remarked Rickkter from the bridge where he was examining and flexing his paw.
Looking down towards his feet, Jacob saw just what Rick meant. Buried in the mud and muck from the river were hand bones and part of an arm. Decomposing remains of a leather bag poked up from the mud near the hand, and his own foot, showing that it must have fallen and spilled open. A whine escaped Jacob’s throat as he began to back away, towards the bridge. Today just seemed to hold far too many dead people for his taste.
“What are we going to do with them?” he asked after Rickkter finally hoisted him back onto the platform.
“Leave them for now. We’ll tell the Lightbringer about them when we get topside. I’m sure she’ll be anxious to dispose of such evil clerical artifacts.” The witch light, which had been hovering over their heads, darted off into the tunnel ahead. “And right now, she’s some what in that direction. Come on.”
Jacob shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself before plunging in after Rickkter. He just hoped that these tunnels would be of more mundane construction, unlike the previous outlying ones.
Lutins scattered across the white crystal covered landscape, gathered round large bon fires and glowing hot fire stones orbs while their comrades’ fought in battle.
Donned in expensive armor and fine weaponry they sat eating assortments of dried and preserved foods prepared for this campaign. They had become accustomed to the luxury working underneath the Four Winds brings, The luxury of heat and comfort even during the most furious of blizzards to name but one. Even in the dead of night they could see the dark silhouette of the Keep looming in the distance.
Four human figures stood solitary around the largest of the bonfires pressed against the warmth.
A bold large bald man covered in leather and full bodied runic tattoos sat there his immense frame in the snow stroking his beard seemingly deep in thought.
The thin gnarled hand came down resting upon the large mans shoulder in an almost parental fashion.
“What bothers you Phearsome?” said a thin cloaked man in a wispy voice.
The large man Mc Phearsome looked up as the thin masked man hold onto his shoulder and smiled while holding back a deep guttural chuckle.
“Bakuda my friend,” came the large man, “You’re the first person I’ve ever met that wouldn’t be worried about being seen this close to the enemy.”
This time the masked man was the one restraining laughter.
“My large friend this storm alone would keep us hidden, trust in my illusions a little. I doubt if even the Keep’s spirit is aware of this army’s presence.”
“Then why not attack,” chimed in the soft venomous voice of the Moranasi, Lady Eule.
Both Phearsome and Bakuda turned their stares towards the impatient pale women who sold her soul to the devil, donned in a black gown across the other end of the fire.
“Patience,” was Phearsomes only reply.
Eules face grew red and livid her eyes darting back and forth angrily as she got up onto her feet.
“How can I be patient!?” she screamed. “How can any of you?”
She began pacing along back and forth along the edge of the fire.
“You, Phearsome,” exclaimed Eule, "if Metamor falls you’re a free man, you can go home to your family.”
The bearded man turned his gaze toward the ground, a distant look on his face.
“And You, Bakuda,” she said pointing towards the masked man, “If Metamor falls Nasoj will cure you, you’ll be normal again.”
“And I’ll finally have vengeance….” As she said this she was bowled over onto the snowy ground Lutins struggled not to stare, at Eule, or the man in red who just committed the act.
“Stop it,” came a deceivingly smooth voice.
Eule looked up at the imposing figure of Kagnio, the Mercenary. A young pale man donned in red cloak with white hair, He didn’t look like a mercenary at all. But as Eule looked up into the strange mans glare, she couldn’t help but to recollect the images of devastation he would rain down upon his victims.
Eule shuddered.
“You’ll be rich you know.”
Before she could finish Kagnio kicked a fist full of snow into the black haired witches face.
“Who cares?”
At that he turned around and left heading towards his tent. Kagnio was strange indeed, especially for a mercenary.
“How, how could the Four Winds hide like this,” asked Eule as she got back onto her feet, “are you all such cowards?”
“Lady Eule,” said Bakuda looking down at Shadow Bringer, “We’d love to march on and finish this thing, but we’re here as backup,” he paused looking into the looming figurine of the Keep towers in the distance. “We’re not to take part in battle until signaled otherwise by Selig wherever he is.”
Without saying a word Eule stormed off silently.
“Please Lady Eule,” Called out Mc Phearsome with concern.
She paid no attention to the berserkers’ plea.
“Mother,” she said quietly aloud to herself.
“Mother it won’t be long now,” she looked up into the night sky.
“Raven, Raven we’ll meet again soon,” she smiled a cruel and cunning grin.
The wind roared through the skies, covering everything in a white death. The wind shrieked with pain and sorrow, as if announcing oblivion.
It's a conspiracy, all right.
So of course they're not going to tell any of the grownups. Not that it'd really matter -- they're all pretty sure that the grownups at least know about what Derek managed to find, seeing as though they were kind of there at the time when Derek and Sammy were joining the fighting -- but they're keeping it a secret anyways, because that's the Thing To Do. And anyways, the other kids might find out, and They'd insist on doing it too, and all the little kids just can't be trusted with this kind of responsibility, they all tell themselves.
Derek's the one apparently in charge here; nobody objects to this. All the kids involved in this were hand-picked by Derek. All of them know All about Derek's mighty heroism in the face of all those Bad Guys (Derek insists that they be called Lutins; that's what the grownups call them, after all), mostly from Derek's own lips, confirmed by stuff others had overheard from the grownups. In the eyes of the children, this places Derek on a platform of popularity and reverence normally reserved for gods. He has fought bad guys. TWICE. And beaten or at least survived against them both times. He is well and truly the warrior that he's always claimed to be, and so they're all willing to follow the wisdom of the King of the Snowfields.
It started when Josh overheard Uncle Jono talking to that weird-looking black winged guy about where all they were going. They'd been walking for hours and hours and hours, or so it seemed, with absolutely nothing to relieve the monotony. The Deal was still on, and so they couldn't really play all that many games together, and these tunnels were still are incredibly BORING. They just went on and on, the same old boring smooth black. Nothing to look at, no places to explore just boring old walking, like so many of their parents forced them to do every once in a while and which all of them dreaded almost as much as they dreaded the Bad Guys. So Josh had headed up towards the grownups, who'd been whispering back and forth about the trip they didn't look like they were having too much fun themselves and started to listen in. And while he hadn't caught most of what was said, he did get the basic idea. They'd be going outside again. Josh had been frightened every time they'd gone outside so far they'd been nearly hurt by bad guys, so he'd gone to talk to the hero Derek.
Thus the conspiracy. Derek had gone immediately to a few of his friends -- they know at least Sammy and Jeremy were there, which makes sense; the three of them make the Invincible Trio Of The Snowfields; several think Daemion was there as well -- and then Derek had gone out and picked several of the oldest kids who'd always been champs on the snowfields until he showed up, and started to fill them in on the plan.
"Now, when we get outside, there's going to be plenty of snow to work with. Right, Sammy?" Derek is whispering. Sammy nods solemnly. If he's still shaken from whatever-the-heck-it-was earlier, it's not really showing. All the kids have heard of Sammy's strength and speed in assisting Derek in the battle again told through Derek's lips. Sammy had been very badly hurt by the bad guys before Daemion did whatever he did, apparently -- that's what Jono's friend Jo had told Daemion's dad -- so obviously he'd been very much hated by the bad guys for the role he'd played in the heroic adventure several hours previously. This only elevates him in the eyes of the others -- he assisted the great warrior Derek, and was wounded in battle for it, and ultimately came out unhurt. Never mind what Daemion did. Sammy is a helper and a survivor. Obviously he is someone to be respected.
The kids are in awe of this whole scenario, of course -- the older kids are getting to be just as tough as grownups. They might even BE grownups someday... imagine that!
Derek keeps going. "All right. When we're outside, Sammy and I are going to set up near where everyone's getting out, and we're going to start making snowballs. Each kid gets two snowballs apiece, one in each hand. If you see any bad guys, and the grownups can't get to them, throw the snowballs at them. Don't everyone throw all snowballs at once you'll need them if more bad guys show up. And don't let the little kids get near them; they can't throw too well, and they might accidentally hit someone else, and these snowballs can't be brushed off." He nods a bit at Daemion as he says the latter, who nods back.
Every single last one of the kids knows all about how some really weird stuff that freaked out even the grownups happened around Daemion. It's just that nobody really knows for sure exactly what happened. The grownups didn't tell them a thing, Sammy was too shaken to talk about it, Daemion refused to talk about it beyond saying "yeah" to some bits of what Derek kept saying... and Derek kept making up these absurd stories of fighting some kind of daedra (of course provoking snorts from the Follower kids -- daedra are just some myth told to insolent Lightbringer kids, right?) to save Sammy and Daemion being this big hero and all that. None of them really believe THAT, 'cause, well, come on, it's Daemion who's supposed to be this big hero. Daemion! The weirdo kid who never actually gets into the snowball fights but gets other kids to throw for him. Still, Derek would Never admit that it was Daemion who was the hero and not him, so you'd think that maybe he was telling the truth, and everyone Did see or hear about the weirdo stuff around Dae, so obviously he did something big but this is Daemion, here! It's just way too confused, and there's no way any of it can add up, so all they're willing to say for sure is that something really big and weird happened, and that after it Sammy and Derek weren't hurt anymore.
So they're in awe of Daemion too. And he doesn't seem to have anything wrong with this plan (or at least he hasn't voiced objection), so that's even more support for the conspiracy.
"Jeremy will be in charge of watching our backs when we're making snowballs," Derek announces next. Jeremy nods, thinking that finally he gets a chance to show what he's made of again. Sure, Jeremy got more than a little famous when he was wounded and saved, but that was back then before a lot of kids knew what was happening. Now, Derek's the real warrior here - he actually hurt the bad guys, while all Jeremy did was fail to get out of the way. He's definitely more than a little eager to show that he's still part of the Invincible Trio - himself, Derek, and Sammy - and he wants people to know his contribution. Fortunately, Derek still understands that all his friends can contribute - Jeremy was the first person he talked to about what Josh had heard, and the plan was mostly Jeremy's idea, and Derek had pointed that out at the beginning. He's always been the clever one of the trio; that's why they always kept him around even though he kept getting hit by snowballs so frequently. Jeremy's dad (despite being a weirdo who obviously wants to become some kind of old fogey guy) obviously knows what he's doing when he keeps telling Jeremy about brave warriors from battles past. It only makes Jeremy that much better of a tactician; quite an ability considering he hasn't hit his teenage years yet (One more month, he keeps reminding them all).
"Okay, everyone understand?" Everyone nods at Derek's question. "Right. When we go outside, be ready, and be quiet until then. Swear by the snowball bag." He holds up the bag he got from Kyia.
There's a chorus of whispered "I swear"s as all the kids give their oath. None of them will break it deliberately or even accidentally; the oath of an adventurous child is an unshakable bond. Derek has no worries about them at all. He doesn't have any worries about his sudden new position as commander, either; this is what he's been waiting for his whole life. He's getting to command people! Decide on troops, issue weapons, and be prepared to stop the bad guys if they get past the grownups. So what if nobody believes his fight against the daedra? This is way better. He's come into his own as a warrior for Metamor with his two clashes with the Bad Gu--er, Lutins (he's not going to call them Bad Guys anymore; that's what little kids do), and he's going to do as much as he can in this capacity.
His troops all disperse back into the ranks of the civilian children, and then Daemion and the Invincible Trio sit back down next to each other to further discuss their own plans for the time outside that they know is coming.
The Plan has been set in motion.
Clack.
Jono instantly freezes upon hearing the sound, as does everyone else behind him. As a result, the following CLICK and slight rattling from what sounds like a kicked pebble comes that much more clearly.
He starts to turn his head, meaning to ask if anyone else behind him was possibly responsible for it, but that becomes unnecessarily when the low grumbling is heard. They're in the tunnels! How did they get in the tunnels?
Slowly, carefully, Jono steps back, motioning for the other grownups to move up to him. Then he turns to the kids, gives them what he hopes looks like a reassuring smile, and puts his finger to his lips while Dana and Jo and Kevin move forward as slowly and quietly as they can.
Another bit of low grumbling is heard then, and everyone freezes once more. Jo nervously fingers one of the daggers, straining to see forward into the darkness, but nothing comes after them as the rest of the adults make it up to where Jono and Kirk are standing.
Jono breathes in deeply, then whispers, "Okay... ideas, anyone? Jahnsen, can you 'see' them?" His voice is shaking; it's clear that he never expected for this to happen, and really isn't sure what to do. This doesn't help the moods of the others in the least; so far Jono's always been the clever, prepared one, and now he's uncertain what to do.
Jahnsen turns in the direction of the sound, taking a 'look'. None of the other adults can hear the supposed sound Jahnsen says is part of his ability to see in the dark, and they're hoping that the Lutins can't as well. "Probably twenty or so, about forty yards down."
"Can't charge through them; too many kids will be hurt, and we need to be able to get them out of this tunnel," Perry offers, his voice barely audible. This clearly isn't something he wanted either. If the tunnels are breached, they could get directly into the Keep... maybe even catching their group from behind. "Just this one, or have they found others? How far can they get in?"
"Kyia can handle them if they start getting too close," Kevin says in as authoritative a voice as he can manage. "Need to handle these, though. Fireball would make quite a bit of noise and possibly bring more down on our heads, and it almost certainly wouldn't get them all, or finish off most of them."
Kirk nods quietly, looking rather dismayed by Kevin's pronouncement. "Right, we need something that can keep the Lutins at bay long enough to get the kids past."
Jo looks up at that remark suddenly, a curious looking smile on her face. "Jono."
Jono blinks, looking over at his compatriot. "Yes?"
"You wouldn't happen to remember that moment when we were trying to sneak that Lightbringer relic out of Ederan, would you?" She's grinning almost impishly now, as if sharing a private joke.
Jono seems to get said joke, because his face lights up immediately in a bright grin. "That I do," he says slowly, turning to look over at Kevin.
Tharag Blackhand isn't feeling all that great anymore.
A half-hour previously, he'd managed a truly glorious feat -- finding what looked like a hidden tunnel! Of course it had to lead to the Keep, he'd reasoned -- all big castles have secret passages; Nasoj's Citadel certainly had them, and so obviously this must be some kind of escape tunnel. The potential glory of it was obvious; cut off escaping Keepers where they thought themselves relatively safe. He had dreams of coming down here and intercepting some nobleman, perhaps a few Keepers to be used as hostages, maybe even -- dared he think it -- the Duke himself!
But that was half an hour ago. Now Tharag is bored and irritated, along with the rest of the Lutins he brought down with him. On reflection, he realized that leading some two dozen Lutins into these tunnels was a bit much, given that they didn't have all that much space to fight, and the more there were the more noise could be made. Many were grumbling loudly, despite strict orders to be silent, and one of the fools had even kicked a rock. If there were any Keepers down here Tharag just knew that the element of surprise would be completely los-
Tharag does not complete the thought as he sees a light in the distance suddenly... rushing straight towards them.
"Get down!" he calls down the line of Lutins, and drops flat just as the massive jet of flame thunders straight down the tunnel, singing his hair as it rockets over him. Then it's gone, and the air starts to rush in after the jet.
Jono and Joanne have been on the road together for nearly two decades. They've been all over the explored world in that time, and in a few unexplored parts as well. In the course of these travels they've ended up in quite a few notably troublesome situations. As a result of this, they tend to be prepared for lots of possible contingencies, and it's rather hard to catch them in a situation where neither of them know what to do.
A prime example would be the current event. Near to a decade previously, after the death of Jono's parents, the two of them had been asked on behalf of a local Lothanasi chapter to recover a holy relic of theirs from a ruined citadel. It had turned out that several daedra worshippers had set up housekeeping in same, and so they had to sneak their way in. They'd almost gotten out through a long hallway when suddenly several dark priests had emerged from the shadows in front of them. The solution they'd applied then was unplanned and rather hastily done, but ultimately it had worked, and so they'd set the idea aside, just in case they'd have to apply it again, say in a situation much like this.
Joanne is sort of an alchemist, but she usually practices it for purposes of healing rather than defeating enemies - she has other effective means for handling that. Despite that, there are a few agents used for healing that can also be quite effective when employed against foes.
Like sleeping agents.
In this particular case the agent is a billowing cloud of what seems to be light lavender dust, almost invisible in the tunnel's darkness, rushing in along with the rest of the air moving to replace the oxygen consumed by Kevin's flame jet.
Tharag does not know anything about Jono and Joanne's past adventures, and he can't see the light lavender tint to the air in the darkness. What he does manage to notice is that as soon as the air starts rushing in, he starts to feel very sleepy. “Magic wind!” He instantly covers his nose and mouth, trying to filter what he's breathing, listening as the rest of the Lutins behind him slump over and start snoring. “Brainless worms!” he thinks to himself. Now there's no way he can keep the Keepers from moving forward.
Then an idea occurs to him, and he slumps over himself, face down, keeping his hand concealed while it stays over his nose and mouth, closing his eyes to try to look asleep, listening carefully for any approaching Keepers.
Jahnsen makes another quick check. "They're all down. We can move."
Jono nods, then turns to the kids. "Everyone got their covers on?" He gets a series of nods; all of the children have extra shirts tied over their noses and mouths to keep from breathing in the gas. The adults have already ingested the counteragent Jo has (or rather, had). "Okay, let's go!"
And with that all the children start trotting quickly on tiptoe after Jono and the others as they head towards the fallen Lutins, with Jo and Dana in the middle to keep watch and Kevin and Perry holding up the rear...
It takes another few minutes and hearing lots of small forms passing by before Tharag is willing to risk opening his eyes again. He smiles inwardly. “Children. Perfect.”
Jo and Dana have both moved past Tharag when he jumps up Very suddenly, prompting several muffled yelps from the children behind them as he grabs for one of them. It's at this point that Tharag makes a critical error. He grabs the child in front of him by the left arm, leaving said child's throwing arm free.
Tharag's first words, muffled though they are through his hand, are intended to be "I have a hostage!" But he doesn't get beyond the "have" before Derek has hurled the spikeball he'd been carrying right into the hand and mouth, pinning the two together and prompting a loud howl of pain from the Lutin. None of the other Lutins are awakened by his cry, though, so Tharag only has a brief moment before the flash of light from Jo's dagger causes everything to go permanently black.
Their first three warnings come almost right on top of each other. The first of these is a cold breeze, catching them all unawares and starting a few of them who'd taken off their coats shivering a little. The second warning comes as a bit of light from right in front of them, revealing a small heap of snow just below the open trapdoor.
The third is a snort and grumble from the direction of the trapdoor that could only be a Lutin.
Of course they would have posted guards at the entrance.
Jono nods quietly to the others, then starts forward while Jo gets out a dagger and moves just far enough forward to get a good shot in if necessary. While he moves Jono keeps his ears perked and eyes focused around him; he can't see any shadows over the trapdoor to indicate any guards right there, but that doesn't mean they aren't present. He's moving unusually quickly despite his trying to stay stealthy; it's a risk he figures he can take since the wind is so loud above that he can barely hear his own breathing, low and quiet as it is.
His hand is moving far more slowly than his feet as it reaches for his whip; the metal bearings could smack against each other if he jars it too quickly, and that could very easily give him away. So he closes his hand over the bearings first before unhooking the whip from his belt, ready to swing with it handle first. It would seem a rather foolhardy gesture, except that Jono's practiced looping the whip around something when attacking handle-first.
Like, say, around a foe's neck.
Jono gets up very close to the trapdoor only about a yard away. He peeks upward torwards it, looking for any guards but the only things visible to him outside are the billowing snows.
Okay. No guards on that end, now comes the tricky part.
He takes a deep breath (the sound of which is hopefully obscured by the wind), then leaps forward to the other end of the trapdoor, landing and turning to look out the other side -- and there's a Lutin there, sure enough, looking very shocked by his sudden appearance for just a half moment.
That half moment is all that Jono needs to lash the whip up and around the Lutin's neck, yanking him down with one quick motion back down into the tunnel, whereupon he quickly pulls a knife with his free hand and stabs the Lutin through the eye. He quickly looks up, hoping there weren't any other guards in the immediate area...
...but there aren't. If there are any other Lutins they're further away from the trapdoor.
He nods to Jo and Perry, both of whom are still towards the front of the group, and both of whom start moving up quickly, both trying their best to remain silent but knowing that speed is far more critical at this phase. Jono keeps his eyes open towards the trapdoor, both of his ears perked and listening for any surprised yells from outside that would tell him that other Lutins discovered that their comrade is missing, but no such yells are heard as Jo and Perry make it to the end. Jono gets down on one knee and knits his fingers together to create a foothold, Perry steps there, grabs the edge of the trapdoor opening, and then Jono shoves upwards while Perry yanks upwards, speeding him quickly over the top and out of the trapdoor.
There are no Lutins immediately menacing Perry. But there's a small squad not three yards away, near two tents they obviously pitched. Most of them are looking towards the small fire they somehow got going. He manages to take this all in the half-second it takes for Jo to join him.
It's at this point that one of the Lutins turns and rather suddenly notices that the trapdoor is no longer in their hands. Jo's dagger is already flying before he can even get a look of surprise on his face, though, and he falls over flat without getting the chance to give the alarm. The attention of the Lutins immediately goes towards their fallen comrade, buying enough time for Jo to toss both daggers, dropping two more while Jono leaps upwards and catches the trapdoor edge, hauling himself upward.
There are now four Lutins left in plain sight. They all turn towards the trapdoor to see Jono and Perry with swords drawn, charging towards them. Only one of them manages to get a weapon out before the two Keepers are upon them, but it's far too late to employ it. The remaining two go down just as swiftly under Jo's last two throws.
And that's when the apparently human mage steps out of the tent, cackling, holding two giant fireballs, which he flings in their direction.
Orrusk Blackhand has not been having a good day.
To start the day off, he'd been sent along with his brother and a few squads to head South to cut off potentially escaping Keepers that might retaliate. South! AWAY from all the glory and plunder at the Keep! That alone would be enough to completely ruin his mood.
But that wasn't all. While marching along next to his brother Tharag he's shoved in the back and falls like some kind of weakling, banging his head on something flat and stone; when Tharag had thrown him back to his feet, his damn brother had discovered it was a trapdoor, and took credit for discovery. An obvious attempt to discredit him in front of the tribe; it probably worked, too, which is all the more frustrating.
And then, to top it off, after a half hour of mind-numbing boredom with no chances for glory in these hellish tunnels, they'd all been magicked by the Keepers and sent to sleep. And he's only now waking up after the gods know how long...
He blinks once in brief shock as he starts to stand up. Right in front of him is his Wizard boots licking brother, clearly brutally slain from the way his hand has been pinned to his face. But none of the other Lutins are harmed... they must have known somehow that he was leading! And so they thought that leaderless he and his fellows would be weak... another insult to add to the day.
Then that thought drops.
Orrusk Blackhand, second and last son of Markesh Blackhand, has always been the more ambitious and clever of Markesh's two sons. It had been Markesh's desire that Orrusk take over rulership of the then-independent Blackhand tribe after his death, but Tharag had jumped in and quickly made arrangements with the damn wizards that had barged into the Giantdowns, and thus secured the leadership of the tribe with the backing of the most powerful army in the North. He knew he'd had no hope to challenge that, so he'd played dumb so as to avoid being destroyed himself by the Wizard's forces.
But now Tharag is dead. There are no other challengers to the post of chieftain.
His first act is to go to his brother's body and remove the ill-gotten family scimitar from same, slinging the scabbard over his back. His second is to start rousing the Lutins about him, getting ready to rally them for a rush down the tunnel. He's sure that they'll be glad to fight under a real Blackhand again.
Jahnsen's eyes go a little wide when he catches the echo from his last check. He turns to Dana. "The Lutins behind us are getting up. It wore off."
"Ohhh, that's just great," the swordswoman mutters before turning to the kids. "Okay, everyone quickly get bundled up again! We're going to have to leave real soon now!"
They each pick a direction to dodge the explosions. Jono leaps right, Perry left, and Jo somersaults back, tossing one of her daggers as she touches down. The mage doesn't get off any more shots before he falls; in the meantime Jono and Perry are both each charging a tent.
Jono slashes through the side of his tent with his sword, leaping through the cut fabric, and nearly runs right into a mage with a fireball ready. He instantly drops to the floor as the mage hurls it, managing to hold onto his sword but losing a few seconds to start to get up. The mage takes advantage and pulls out a small dagger, stabbing downward towards the cat. So he drops the sword and catches the mage's wrist with one paw -- and gets blown back nearly a meter from the force of the magical blow that somehow lands on him, nearly flying out through the cut fabric of the tent, leaving him twitching, eyes closed in agony while the mage cackles over him. "Foolish little fighters. Think that force can solve ev-"
His last word catches in his throat as Jono flips forward very suddenly, a knife seemingly appearing out of nowhere in his hand which he flings right into the human's chest. The mage blinks once, peering at Jono in puzzlement. "Bu..."
He knows that it's rather cliché to comment, but he really can't resist, especially after putting on a show. "Acting," Jono comments as the mage crumbles. "Had lots of practice," he says, grinning a bit at the corpse.
"Jono!?" The call is from Perry, apparently from outside. Jono retrieves his knife, then walks out through the proper exit for the tent. Perry is standing in front of the other, presumably also successful. The expression on his face isn't one of triumph, however...
"Tent's clear here! What about yours?"
"There were two! One of them got off a distress call, I think!"
“Marvelous. Get started on the tents! I'm going to help get the kids out from the tunnel!" He catches sight of the nod before jogging back towards the trapdoor. Kirk is already at the trapdoor's entrance, thankfully. "Kirk! We've got to get the kids going!"
"I know! Kevin's casting the warming spell right now!"
Jono gets puzzled. "You heard the distress call somehow?"
Kirk shakes his head. "The Lutins behind us are getting up! Your friend's sleeping stuff is wearing off!"
"Dammit!" is all that Jono manages to say. Kirk nods in wholehearted agreement. "Okay, get Jahnsen up here! I need him to try to spot someplace nearby and defensible!"
"Right!" Then Kirk is away from the trapdoor for a few moments while Jono yells out to the others aboveground. "Jo! Perry! Our friends from the tunnels are coming back! Speed is of the essence!"
"Can't be!" Jo yells back, even as she keeps working to take her tent down. "That agent lasted twice this long back in Ederan!"
Jono doesn't shout back a reply as Kirk comes back, hoisting up the batmorph. "Sir! What're we looking for?"
"Tower! Stone house! Anyplace we can hide the kids!"
Jahnsen nods, then starts turning about, scanning around for anything nearby as Jono kneels down, reaching down to pull up the first child Kirk hoists upwards -- a little girl whom he can't quite remember through the stress. "Go over to where Jo is and stay right there!" he says, setting her down. He gets a nod before the little girl runs over towards the vixen. Then, "Kirk! Tell the kids to head over to Jo when they get up here!"
"Got it!" Kirk turns to the kids and starts to talk to them while Jono turns to Jahnsen. "Got anything?"
"Sir! Good news and bad news!" the bat reports. "Good news is, we're close to the goal! 'Bout three hundred fifty, maybe four hundred yards down that away" -- he points -- "I think I'm seeing the fortress outpost between the Keep and Lorland!"
"You think you're seeing?" Jono asks incredulously, looking in that direction. If he uses his imagination he thinks he can pick out maybe a slight shadow through the flurrying snow...
"Sir, noise from the wind is playing hell with echo locating damn near as much as the snow's screwing up regular vision!"
“Figures. Bad news?"
"Bad news, sir, is that about a quarter of that distance that away" - he points in the other direction - "is a whole shit load of Lutins, headed right this way!"
Once again there's only one thing Jono can think to say in response. "Damnit!" He turns back to Kirk. "We need Kevin up here, soon as you can!"
Kevin knows he's supposed to be looking for something. He's just not entirely sure precisely what.
Just a few minutes ago Jono said that they'd need him up here to potentially help out with an incoming marauding Lutin band; they wouldn't be prepared to handle same while dealing with getting the kids out of the tunnels, and so he was asked to prepare some means of defending them magically.
This poses a serious problem for Kevin. For one, while he can perceive and understand all magic’s like any mage and can perform a few basics from most any magical branch like most of the mages at the Keep, the vast bulk of his talent is with his historical divinatory magic, and the fire and heating magic’s for when he has to go into combat; as a result, the only thing he can do to keep that many Lutins away would be to either defeat them all at once (which is unlikely) or find some way of intimidating them (a little more likely, but not much). For another, the storm seems to be deliberately blocking any attempts at spell casting.
Or at least it was previously. Jono had mentioned that the mages that had been at the camp had all managed to toss spells of one kind or another, and if the storm was deliberately blocking Everything then obviously that wouldn't be possible. Even basic spell casting items like wands (which neither Jono nor Perry saw the mages using) have to draw on the surrounding mana, he knows that for a fact. So somehow they had some kind of mechanism for keeping the storm from impeding their spell casting. Jono wouldn't have called him up if he believed he could fend off the Lutins himself, so Kevin knows that he's got to find whatever it was that was allowing the mages to cast spells.
So Kevin reasons this out. There are probably hundreds, if not thousands of individual small-time mages in Nasoj's invading army; none of the really impressive types who can pose real threats to seriously trained personnel, but still having enough magic to help confound ordinary soldiers. He wouldn't want to get rid of that capability; he's been up against the Keepers before and knows quite a bit of what they're capable of; besides, his own common soldiers are going to obviously be seriously suffering from the storm, and the Lutins can't be as reliable as the average Keep footman, as they're in it primarily due to force. So he would have had to figure out a way to allow them to cast spells in this kind of environment. Casting a marking spell on every mage would be impractical given the difficulty of enchantments on living beings (they have to be willing, he knows, and he doesn't think Nasoj's empire to be a likely environment of absolute trust in one's magocratic superiors), and he couldn't easily do it en masse with everyone; even the Curse took the assistance of several other mages, and he'd had some kind of major power assisting him which would have its hands full with the storm, most likely. Now, there are types of items that can be enchanted en masse; he'd probably know that. And such talismans could easily be distributed to his forces. Amulets, or perhaps some kind of ring, or bracelet, or maybe even robes or something similar. The only difficulty with this theory is that Nasoj would obviously want to keep such away from the Keepers themselves, otherwise he'd be too easily routed - a single basic mage falling would be enough to possibly destroy either his storm or his army if found by the right Keeper. So he'd want to make them difficult to Keeper access; this implies something that would be set up at a camp. But that would slow down his forces' ability to use the spells in the First place... damn.
Reasoning is not allowing Kevin to follow the easy chain of thought he's used to. This is more than a little intimidating to him; he's grown accustomed to figuring out what someone or something might have done, following the line of reasoning, and come up with an appropriate end result. This is not occurring. For all his training with the Keep's tactical magery group and his studies of people's actions of the past, he still can't always fathom exactly what someone will do right now.
It's difficult to see it through the lines of magic, too; the storm is literally blindingly bright overhead if looked at with magesight. There's two things that could be a result of; one is that the storm could be a magical creation of wild mana in an intensity rivaling the Keep itself; the other is that it's a circumvention device to keep people like him from disassembling the enchantment. Given the Keep's history, he thinks it's likely to be the latter, though it's not impossible to assume the amount of mana involved is great; he'd be surprised if it wasn't so much as to slow down the progress of the Curse if any poor souls happened to be trapped in th-
"KEVIN! Have you got anything yet?" Voice is quickly identifiable as that bard. Jono.
"I'm trying to figure this out! Have patience!" Kevin does not like it when people disrupt a running line of thinking for any reason.
The bard appears to curse under his breath or something and then go on with what he's doing. Kevin's able to note the others in his party in the meantime; they're all rushing, trying to get all the kids out of the tunnels before the Lutins arrive. If he looks a little more closely he can see his boy Jeremy and Jeremy's two friends making up snowballs or something; his attention doesn't focus that way long enough to determine that much though. Better back to figuring.
Three main lines, it looks like to him. Three major areas of magic lines repeated over and over from the storm. One seems to be dedicated to perpetuating the weather's abominable state, one is incredibly dedicated to mana absorption alone, and the last is very pervasive, obviously intended to prevent others from collecting any of the other natural lines of magic in the area. This latter is the one that has his attention; the areas it doesn't cover are obviously going to be his indicators of how to get his spells back. He made the mistake of succumbing to emotional strain the last time he was out here; he's not going to do that again.
Following that third major line, predictably enough, is unfortunately proving damnably hard.
So he moves over towards the tents. They're still flapping in the wind, from both the entrances designed in them and the entrances crafted by Jono's and Perry's swords. This tells him right off that the tents were not the focus around which spells might be cast unfettered; if they truly were, then the swordsmanship inflicted on them would have seriously disrupted or even destroyed the enchantment, and the two mages had resisted with spells, so clearly the tents are not the answer. And looking around the tent's interior (noting the body within, though not focusing on it too much; Kevin still isn't all that happy with being in combat, and death doesn't help his feelings about same much) clearly reveals that the lines of magic making up the third major line are not only still in the area, they're... even more focused?
He's moving his forces, such as they are, as fast as he can down the tunnels, and he knows that's going to make a lot of noise that's sure to make the Keepers be aware of his presence long before he gets to them, and that bothers him a bit, but there's not much for him to do about it. They probably know already, Orrusk thinks to himself. If the Keepers could see them coming for their first encounter, they'll surely be able to see them coming for a second. And they also have a head start, which means that any attempts at stealth would cause him to lose his quarry.
It's plainly obvious to Orrusk that if the Keepers had the capability to slaughter him and his forces that they would have done so. The fact that they didn't kill All his Lutins even after the sleeping air attack, while definitely insulting, shows that most of these particular Keepers are likely weak and have no taste for killing, and that the few strong ones among them are listening to what the weak say. That makes it all the easier for him to intimidate, charge in and destroy, doesn't it? Which he'll certainly have to do; the morons left behind by Tharag will probably be more easily beaten by the stronger Keepers with them. There's at least two strong ones; the powerful mage and the fierce warrior that killed that bootlicking disgrace of a brother. Get through them and at worst he gets plenty of prisoners with which to appease Nasoj. At best, he gets his tribe back.
It's been long enough that the Keepers are probably going to make it to the end of the tunnels before he does. In that case, it's likely that they'll have run into the small force Tharag left behind to guard the entrance along with the mages that were working on that spell they were going to cast to let the Great One know. One warrior and one mage could probably fend a group like that off, if the mage is sufficiently clever -- and he has to admit, this one probably is. They must know, though, that he's behind them, and so they'd do probably what he would do -- attempt to rally the weak ones to fight with them, to go down fighting gloriously one last time. So he's having his group make noise as they move along, making it absolutely certain that he is coming to destroy them. That ought to keep the number of difficult opponents down to the two strong ones and that's all. Perhaps even less than that if he can intimidate them enough to get them to panic and run; strong ones courting weak ones like this obviously are those strange type of strong ones that try to defend the weak; they'd be swept up into the panic attempting to defend their precious weaklings and in the process become a non-problem. Which makes it all the easier for him to take advantage of their grave mistake in leaving him alive.
Finally, something is going right after all the insults of the day.
Kevin blinks, then glances back, looking towards the dead mage but not at the body itself.
The lines are going... to the body? A point on the body?
He almost lunges forward in his excitement, quickly trying to get the mage's clothes open, his eyes always on the lines of magic... then as he pulls the mage's blood-soaked (ugh! a voice in the back of his head comments) shirt open, he finds the lines come to an amulet around the mage's neck, the back of it contacting the skin. There's got to be at least ten or twenty lines rushing to it, though a few of them are starting to disconnect and become free floating again. His mind is racing now... “The lines are going to that amulet... what could that mean? Some sort of gathering device? Or is the mage attracted to the dampening...”
“Wait a minute... it's a KEY!"
He dimly hears his name called from outside the tent; must have said that last part out loud. But that's not what his mind is focused on. Okay. The amulet is a key, a key for something allowing the mages to cast spells. But that would mean that what he'd assumed to be a simple dampening spell also has an access mechanism built into it. Why? Storm is sucking up all the mana of the area to allow itself to perpetuate, so a mage can't cast any spells, thus keeping them from 'picking the lock' all that easily since you'd need to gather the lines before you could try to arrange them, and they avoid gathering, so whatever those lines are doing should remain secure, it's got to be feeding mana! Or something to that effect. Allowing the caster to. . .
He blinks. “To usurp mana from the storm? No, no, has to be redirection. The storm's already DONE all the gathering; casting spells through the amulet would allow you to divert some of that which is going to the storm to your own spell, long enough so that you can work it, and only enough for your spell being diverted so another mage can't take advantage of it. 'Key' amulets could be fairly quickly enchanted, just do a few properly arranged gathering or focusing spells on various points on the amulet for the lines to go to, plus prob'ly a means of interfacing with the wearer or at least the wearer's spells so that it can actually be put to use.”
He reaches out, picks up the amulet off the mage's chest. As soon as he lifts it several of the lines that were starting to disconnect do so, going free much more quickly. That has to be as a result of the interface. It was already coming apart because he's dead, will probably lose all the lines if I take it all the way off. He reaches down, taking the chain and pulling the amulet up and off of the mage; a triumphant grin comes to his face as all the lines dissipate and lose contact with the amulet.
Then a thought occurs. That'd be sending feedback, wouldn't it? The decay of the connection of the lines of magic could be noticed by Eli! No, probably not by Eli... but still, brilliant! It serves as a tracking system! That way he can tell if an amulet is stolen or if the wearer is lost! By checking to see if that decay occurs... and if it's reestablished, then he can track down whoever stole the amulet easily enough; just follow the newly reestablished lines! Would have a few communications problems if some mage loses theirs and then gets it back, but such things ALWAYS happen in invading armies.
Kevin's mind is a blur at this point. This is hardly a new experience for him. He became a historian for really no other reason than to experience this sort of rush; when you're in the library in the early mornings with dozens of books scattered around your workspace, poring over passages, parts of a riddle running through your mind, little bits and pieces of the puzzle coalescing, rushing together like clockwork, it's one of the most enjoyable things in his life. The current situation -- being in an actual battle that will surely be remembered in all the histories of this valley for the Northlanders' daring (if rather suicidal) gambit alone, and having to use this talent of his to help protect his child whom he loves more than his pursuits and his life itself as well as so many other children -- only adds to the incredible feeling he's experiencing. Application of talent to not just understand the actions of the past, but to defend the historical figures of the present and future.
This is what he would love to live for; all that prevents him from doing so is that massive invasions from the North are thankfully infrequent.
“So,” he thinks to himself. “Is it safe to keep this with me? Possibly. Can't keep it on, for sure, assuming it works if I do put it on.” He stops for a moment, looks down at the amulet, shrugs, and puts it on, then waits, looking around for the lines.
“Nothing,” A few seconds of depression, and then he slaps himself upon the forehead. "Skin contact!" He quickly starts to open his robes and shirts, the cold around him briefly forgotten, then lifts the amulet and drops it on his chest, fidgeting. “Will the fur interfere?”
After a few seconds, it's clear that again, nothing is happening. He quickly pulls out the small dagger from his belt, giving it a quick examination, then pushing his sleeve up and running it a short way up his wrist as a test. The fur comes away fairly easily; thankfully he'd made sure to keep the dagger good and sharp ever since the scare that had come after the Patriarch's murder. He places the dagger against his chest with the blade flat, oriented vertically and level with the amulet, takes a deep breath, then starts to cut at the fur with the dagger, using his other paw to lift the amulet up and away. He winces a few times as the blade makes a little too close contact with his skin, even barely suppressing a loud squeak as the tip starts cutting in a little far midway through, and there's a little blood there now, but he keeps going until he's shaved away a small patch of fur about four inches across. Then he wipes the dagger on his robe and sheaths it, takes in a breath, crosses his fingers and drops the amulet back down so it comes to rest against the shaved part of his chest.
It takes two or three seconds before Kevin grins triumphantly to the accompaniment of the sight of lines reattaching themselves to the amulet.
In the exact same moment, Orrusk also grins triumphantly as he spots the last three Keepers in the tunnel ahead of him, just under the trapdoor -- one VERY large one holding up two children, apparently for his fellows on the surface to grab. Most of those ignorant fools who call themselves Lutin commanders would be disappointed at the low number of available targets in the tunnel, but he's well aware that if they hadn't hurried he wouldn't have had any. He makes a note to himself to praise his fellows behind him once they're done with this particular assault; keeping your troops feeling good reinforces the desire to serve, according to Markesh's rules.
But that's for later. There are other things to do now.
Hoping to intimidate the bull's passengers and thus keep the bull out of combat just long enough, Orrusk decides on the direct approach. Accordingly, he whips the Blackhand Scimitar out, pointing it before him, and with a cry of "CHARGE!" starts barreling towards the remaining Keepers.
The cell they were in was surprisingly good. It was twenty feet long and ten feet wide. Two beds that were set on either side had real feather mattresses and a small magic stone lit it brightly. The floor was clean and dry and there wasn’t even any lice or other bugs in bedding. They were placed on the beds, still bound, and had nothing to do but wait and wonder what would happen to them.
Finally the door opened and a short man dressed in armor entered. Behind him came two soldiers, he recognized one as the lynx who had brought him here. The other soldier was a tall man that had also helped bring him in but whose name he didn’t know. Those two were known to Ferwig, it was the stranger in the lead that had him curious. The man was dressed in chain mail armor and looked at him with cold, hard eyes. There was a mace hanging from his belt and two hand axes were tucked into the same belt. The weapons marked him as a warrior, but the items he took from his sack and laid on the floor were the tools of healers.
“How long have they been in here Janet?” the healer/warrior asked.
“Several hours,” the lynx answered.
“Several hour?” the man said surprised. “And has anyone seen to their wounds?”
“They’re prisoners Jotham. They tried to kill George.”
“That’s no excuse!” Jotham shot back.
“Yes sir,” the feline said coldly.
Jotham removed the gag from Teria’s mouth and began to examine the woman’s head. A girl of about ten entered the now crowded cell and held out a bowl of water and a bag to the healer. He took it and placed them on the floor. The girl looked at Ferwig with large, frightened eyes. Then she turned and fled the room.
Ferwig gave a small chuckle. “The way she ran out you think I was a monster.”
“You are monsters,” the feline answered.
“We’re only doing a job,” Teria said, speaking for the first time.
Jotham stopped his examination and looked the woman straight in the face. “You work for Nasoj, that’s close enough.”
The mage opened her mouth to say something but Jotham cut her off. “Shut up and don’t move your head.”
The next few minutes passed in silence as Jotham tended to Teria’s face. “What did this wound? It doesn’t look like any weapon I know.”
Teria didn’t answer but looked straight ahead into space and Ferwig was in no mood to answer either. Janet finally broke the silence. “George knocked her out with a plate.”
Jotham stopped cleaning the woman’s bruises and looked at the lynx. “A plate?”
“A big dinner plate,” she replied mimicking the plates dimension with her hands.
He nodded and laughed out loud. “Leave it to George to fight someone with a plate and win."
The two guards laughed in agreement. “What did he use on you,” he asked pointing to Ferwig. “A butter knife?”
The fighter held up his arm, revealing a long, bloody wrist. “He did that with his teeth.”
The humor disappeared from Jotham’s face instantly. He took a rag and dipped it into the water. The man wrung out the cloth and pressed it to the woman’s bruised face. Then he took Teria’s still bound hands and brought them up to the rag. “Hold that there.” Without waiting to see if she obeyed his order Jotham moved over to Ferwig and began to work on his wrist.
“I’m surprised George took you two alive,” the male guard said. “He’s not know for showing mercy to his enemies.”
“Dead bodies can’t give you information,” Janet answered.
“You two are lucky that George needed information or you’d both be dead now,” Jotham commented.
“So, the two of you tried to kill George by yourself?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ferwig answered plainly. “We were paid quite well.”
“Just you two?” Janet asked.
“Yes,” Ferwig answered calmly.
Jotham stopped cleaning Ferwigs wrist and looked him in the eyes. “Are you sure of that?”
“Yes,” he replied without a pause. The healer went back to working on the man’s wrist without commenting.
“Only fools would go after George without a lot of help,” Janet commented.
“It was a close fight,” Ferwig said, angry at being belittled. “I almost killed him.”
Jotham laughed, “I find that hard to believe. George is an tough, old bandit. You don’t get to be his age by being easy to kill.”
“Yup,” the feline said. “One man actually slit George’s throat. Not only didn’t he die but he killed the assassin with his own knife.”
“Oh Janet,” the male guard scolded. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that old tale?”
“It’s true Pepin,” the feline countered. “I’ve seen the scar myself.”
Teria lowered the rag from her face. “What did he look like before the magic changed him? Was his nickname The Cutlass?” she asked speaking for the first time.
“Why do you want to know?” Jotham asked.
“I think we served with him once,” Ferwig said surprised. “About eight maybe nine years ago.”
“It cannot be him,” Teria said flatly. “The odds against our meeting him are astronomical.”
“George’s past is none of your affairs,” a figure said from the doorway.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, fox man, dressed in chain mail armor and carrying a five-foot long, black battle-axe. This person was unknown to them but he resembled someone that Nasoj had a large bounty out for. One even larger then George's. The canine standing behind him was well known to both of them.
“Hello Ferwig,” George said calmly. “Been many years.”
“You know them?” the fox asked.
“A long time ago Misha,” the jackal answered. “In another life.”
“I wish we had known it was you we were to kill,” Teria commented.
“Why?” Misha asked. “Would that have stopped you from trying?”
“No,” Ferwig replied. “But we would have raised the price.”
Misha just shook his head in disgust. “I’ll never understand mercenaries.”
“Everybody out,” the jackal announced suddenly.
No one moved for a moment except for the fox who looked at George. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Leave us alone.”
The fox nodded and waved everyone else out of the cell. He paused at the door himself and looked at the jackal. George gave a wave of the hand and shooed Misha out. The door closed behind the fox with a solid thump.
The jackal looked his two prisoners over with a cold, calculating glare. “You both look older, and thinner then the last time we met,” he said finally.
“You look fat,” Teria said.
“Things have been going well for me the last few years,” George answered.
George was now dressed in full plate armor, taken from some armory. Ferwig noted that he still had both of those weapons he had used so well to defend himself. “You were George the Cutlass.” It was more a statement then a question. “We fought under you some nine years ago in Talshet.”
“I remember,” the jackal said. “You both fought very well.”
“Those were good times George. I can see why the Duke would hire you,” Ferwig commented.
“I wasn’t hired by Thomas,” George answered. “I swore an oath of loyalty to Duke Hassan.”
“What?” Teria said, surprised.
Ferwig was just as surprised. “You can’t be the George we knew. George the Cutlass never had any loyalties except to himself.”
The jackal removed the metal collar of his armor and dropped it on the bed. Then he tilted his head back and spread the fur on his throat using both hands. The scar was plain to see. It didn’t go all the way from ear to ear but it was still impressive nonetheless.
“It is you,” the man said, surprised.
“Why the change of heart?” Teria asked.
“I came here because a friend told me the Duke would pay good money for a man of my abilities and he was right,” the armored canine explained as he put the collar back on. “I’m paid very well for my services.”
“Why the oath?”
“The Duke hired me in spite my past. He knew exactly who I was and it didn’t matter. He said that if I was a wanted bandit and was still alive then I must be good. And he hired me right then and there. Now I’m a respected, trusted and well paid officer of Metamor. The people here at the Keep accepted me without hesitation. They didn’t care if I was high born or not.” The jackal paused in his speech and seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Plus Metamor is the first place that I’ve ever truly felt at home.”
Ferwig shook his head. “To a mercenary no place is home.”
“Metamor is my home,” George said his voice hardening. “A home I’m going to protect.” He drew a dagger. “Now, tell me how you got in, how many were with you and exactly how many other assassins are loose in the Keep.” There was a dark gleam in his eyes that Ferwig recognized.
The man looked to his partner and saw that the usual air of confidence was gone. Instead he saw real fear in her eyes. She had recognized that look in Georges eyes too. “We entered the Keep about an hour before we met you after coming in the South gate. There were four others with us, all fighters.”
“Where are the other four?” the jackal asked in clipped tones.
I don’t know. We lost them soon after coming in. One moment they were behind us, the next all that was there was a stone wall.”
George nodded. “Kyia protects her own. How did you get past the guards at the gate?”
“Another group had killed the guards before we got there.”
“How many others came into the keep besides your party?”
“I have no idea. We were kept separate.”
“Who else were they after besides me?”
“The Duke, the Lightbringer priestess, the Follower priest, and a porcupine alchemist and your fox friend. There is a big bounty for them all,” the fighter answered. “I’m sure there are others but I don’t know them.”
“The main force, what’s the composition?” George asked. “How many and what types?”
“At least three or four thousand Lutins. Plus around five hundred human mercenaries and a score of ogres and the like,” Ferwig explained.
“Plus at least two groups of mages,” Teria added. “Powerful mages.”
“Who and how many?”
“No idea. They were very well shielded.”
“Any other information?” the jackal asked coldly.
“No,” Ferwig responded.
“Good,” George said and then turned and left.
George walked slowly away from the cell. There was too much to do to waste time thinking of the past and old friends. “You hear what they said?”
Misha fell in step beside the jackal. “Yes. Are they telling the truth?”
The Jackal nodded. “Yes, they were too spooked not to. When are you going out again?”
“In an hour or so,” the fox answered. “Too much to do. I want you to stay here and take command. There’s no telling who or what is out there.”
“You think they’ll attack the Long House?”
“Yes I do. Its too important not to attack.” The fox stopped and looked around to be sure they were alone. “And don’t forget we have a traitor among us.”
The jackal stopped and looked at his friend. “How do you know I’m not the traitor?”
“Because old friend if you were, I’d be dead by now.”
George laughed, “True enough. Now lets go see to the defense of Long House.”
Long Hall was the heart of Long House. From the large hall rooms, corridors and stairs radiated in all directions. It was the place people trained, relaxed, congregated for meetings or gathered before or after patrols. Usually the hall was quiet at night aside from the odd person moving about. But it was far from quiet now. Misha, and George stood at the doorway looking over the countless people who filled the hall. There was at least one hundred of them; refugees. Every time a patrol went out it came back with more refugees in tow.
“I didn’t think we brought in that many,” Misha commented.
“You didn’t, many of them seem to wander in by themselves,” George explained. “In little groups mostly.” The two began to walk across the hall, moving around the various people. “And they’re still coming in. I think Kyia is deliberately directing people here as a refuge.”
Misha nodded. “Makes sense. She’s also taking people to the chapel and the Lightbringer temple. Do you have enough food for all of them?”
The jackal nodded. “For the time being. I figure about a month’s worth.”
“We won’t be in here that long,” Misha commented. “I hope.”
“So do I.” The two reached the opposite side of the hall. In front of them was the only exit to Long House, the single doorway that Ferwig and Teria had been brought through. Flanking the exit were two other doors. The fox and the jackal opened the right hand door and stepped through.
The room they entered was small about twenty feet long by twenty feet wide and had a table and several chairs. Three of the walls were lined with racks filled with spears and quivers of arrows. A doorway was set into the wall at Misha’s right. The two soldiers in the room came to attention. “Relax,” Misha said. “What’s your duty?” he asked the woman who was in charge.
“Sir,” she said, saluting. “If an enemy tries to enter Long House we are to use our spears and arrows to stop them.”
“How?” George asked.
The woman pointed to the one wall not holding weapons racks. There were numerous slits in the stonework. “Those arrow slits open into the entrance passage. All we have to do is shoot arrows and poke spears through them. In that small room we can’t help but hit someone.”
“Good,” Misha said. “Carry on.” Misha and George moved through the doorway and up the circular stairway on the other side. After several turns of the steps they reached the upper floor. The smell of hot oil filled his nose and the sound of something boiling reached his ears.
Two large cauldrons sat facing each other in the center of the room about twenty feet apart. Small fires were burning under each of the large pots. The space between the two pots was surrounded by a small wall barely a foot high. Misha noted the kegs of oil that lined a far wall. Two people were in here carefully tending the pots of boiling oil, keeping them from boiling over or going cold.
“Good,” Misha said. “I see we can give any Lutin who attacks a hot reception.”
George nodded. “Yup. We keep both pots simmering constantly. With a tip of a cauldron we can pour gallons of boiling oil into the murder room right below. They don’t even have to be neat about it. The low wall keeps the oil from splashing back.” The jackal pointed to a steel door set in a nearby wall. “That’s our next stop.”
Misha opened the door and stepped through onto a balcony. This was the same battlemented balcony that Ferwig had seen on his way in. Misha saw four guards standing on duty watching over the battlements. He noted numerous quivers of arrows hanging from hooks on the inside of the battlements. Misha leaned on a stone merlon and looked at the hall below. Empty, the hall was devoid of any cover for an attacker.
“Why is this hall still here?” George asked. “Long House was easier to defend when the sole entrance opened onto a small corridor.”
“Kyia has her own plans,” Misha answered cryptically.
“What does that mean?” George asked.
Misha shook his head. “Have there been any Lutins inside yet?”
George didn’t like the fact that Misha had changed the subject without answering his question but he knew his friend wouldn’t answer it. “A small group this morning. We killed them all easily.”
“In one of the store rooms by my office there was a disassembled ballista. I think we can assemble it up here. It would add considerably to the defense.”
“Sounds good,” the jackal said. “I have the feeling we’re going to need it.”
The two had been ignored after George had left their cell. Food had been brought them but the mole carrying it had entered and left without speaking a word. It gave them plenty of time to think and talk.
Their seclusion was suddenly broken when the door opened and Misha and a wolverine morph entered. The fox had a hard look to him, cold and angry but the wolverine looked frightened. “This is Jenn,” the fox said in a nasty tone. “She has a few questions to ask, and you will answer them.”
“You came in through the South Gate?” Jenn asked in a quiet, female voice.
Ferwig realized that under that robe and thick fur was a woman. “Yes we did.”
“Did you see any sign of my husband?” she asked. “He’s a wolverine like me. Andre is the Captain of the South Gate.”
“I saw no wolverines among the dead, my lady,” Teria answered truthfully. “But we did not take the gate, another group did.”
“Could he have been taken prisoner?” Misha asked.
“He could have,“ Ferwig responded. “We didn’t linger in the gate but moved on to our target.”
“You mean my friend George,” the fox commented.
“George is your friend?” Ferwig asked.
“Yes he is and so is Andre.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see him or hear someone mention him?” Jenn asked hopefully. There was a panic in her voice. She was obviously trying not to break down and cry.
“No, I know nothing of him.”
The wolverine burst out in tears and ran from the room. Misha started after her but paused at the door. “You’d better hope he’s still alive or I’ll take it out of your hides. Slowly and painfully.” With that he turned and left the cell. The door slammed shut with an ominous thud.
Neither doubted that the vulpine was dead serious about his threat.
Jono's mind is also working quickly, though he's not grinning triumphantly as a result. The expression on his face is one of stone-cold determination. "Jo! Perry! Take the tents down; try to keep them in one piece! We're going to need them for the trip over!" he yells as he helps another one of the kids up. "Go over to Dana and the others!" he says to the child, not having the time to even see who it is.
Jono has a Plan. If visibility through the snow wasn't so dismal, one would be able to see it in his eyes. He's certain that not all the kids would be able to keep up in an all-out dash to the tower; the Lutins would catch them. And there's far too many kids to carry. So he's going to have to improvise with what was left behind. “At least I'd already told them that story before this mess happened in the first place; it won't be an entirely new concept to the--“
It's the scream of terror from one of the two kids still down there with Kirk that rips Jono's attention away from the tents.
Kirk, having heard the battlecry, has whirled around to face whatever threat is coming even before the girl has screamed. When she does, he's already assessing the situation. The upcoming combat, he can see, will consist of himself against roughly fifteen or so very active Lutins, one of whom is swinging a Very nasty-looking sword. His axe is useless in these tunnels; there's not nearly enough room to swing it. Worse from a combat perspective, he still has the last two children in his arms, which is certainly going to slow him down. Will likely have to resort to kicks, but they won't be all that powerful since he can't balance with the kids in his arms. Perhaps he could drop them, get in front of them so none of the Lutins ca-
"KIRK!"
He looks up to see Jono on his belly before the doorway, reaching down inside. Before his mind even registers what Jono's trying to do Kirk has already given each child a quick heave upwards, sending them momentarily flying through the air until Jono catches them both. By the time he does, though, Kirk has already turned his attention to the Lutins.
Jono hasn't even gotten the chance to pull the kids all the way out of the tunnel before Kirk engages the Lutins, kicking out once towards some Lutin that looks to be carrying a scimitar; he misses, but ends up hitting someone directly in front of his target and knocking both back. Another kick delivered to the other side manages to send another Lutin crashing into what looks like two or three more.
Then Kirk starts to crouch down, and so Jono quickly pulls the kids back, managing to get them away from the trapdoor just before Kirk reappears, bellowing loudly and leaping up Incredibly high for one so big, landing halfway in and out of the trapdoor. It takes a half second before Kirk has pulled himself fully out of the doorway, and another second for him to grab the trapdoor and slam it down shut with a final grunt.
A few seconds just pass then, as Kirk lays there almost panting from the effort put into the jump, and Jono tries to keep both the kids and his friend all in view at the same moment. Then the little boy Jono is still holding gets an enthusiastic look of wonder on his face. "WOW! Can we do that again?"
"Twenty yards! They're almost on top of us!" comes Jahnsen's voice, bringing Kevin's attention back to the outside world. "Whatever you're going to do, Kevin, better do it now!"
"Coming!" he yells back, getting his robes back on over the amulet, making a brief check to insure that the lines are still attached.
Kevin is not primarily a combat mage. Strictly scholarly mages tend to be limited in what they can do, and Kevin is no exception; he only recently learned the Fireball spells after the death of the Patriarch and the scare of potential war that had come up in light of that event. He's not a combat mage by any stretch of the imagination -- he's a historian. And it's highly doubtful that a detachment of Lutins will be intimidated or otherwise repelled from the field of battle by historical findings, no matter how dramatic.
But there's another tool he uses for his historical works that, if one is clever enough, can be very versatile.
He rushes out of the tent even as he notes Jo and Perry running towards it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that the other tent has been apparently reshaped somehow; must have been that plan the bard was talking about. Near it is the collected future of Metamor, guarded by Dana. He waves to them as he runs over to Jahnsen; he knows they're going to love this.
"What're you waiting for?" the bat asks, yelling to be heard over the wind as Kevin makes it up to him.
"What direction are they coming in from? How's their front line oriented?"
"What?" the bat asks, momentarily puzzled. Then he shakes his head as if to dismiss that thought, and holds out his hand in their direction, turning it flat vertically so it's parallel with the Lutin front line. "Like that!"
Kevin looks out in that direction. The kids are well out of the picture; the tent contraption show up a little to the left, but it's not interfering. Jono and Kirk are off to the other side, but they're just close enough to him such that he still has room. "Perfect," he says almost under his breath.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Kevin turns to Jahnsen briefly. "Stand back a couple yards! Otherwise you could ruin the effect!"
Jahnsen knows better than to argue with a wizard on a point like that. He immediately runs towards the kids, looking back and watching.
And Kevin starts chanting.
Kesk Morgrim likes to keep things small and swift, based on the simplest lessons learned from the legendary Markesh Blackhand. Move in with small units run by trusted warriors, take by surprise and be prepared for the use of strength when surprise is lost. Only the most basic of tactics, he knows, but most northern humans don't know that, let alone most northern Lutins. That includes the human mages (damn them to the nine hells!) that have been running the remainder of the Blackhand tribe while Tharag goes off playing scout -- they hear that Tharag's party has been attacked, and they insist on a show of force! Sure, it'll accomplish the job, but it'll also cause more Lutin casualties; the small detached units Markesh favored would do far better there...
Kesk spits in disgust. Takes eight score poison arrows launched into a forest and blind luck for that damn mage to throw away the greatest Lutin warrior that ever lived, but only shouted words from a lowly follower of same to throw away the remainder of that warrior's army. The Blackhand Tribe still knows how to Fight, damn it, and yet they're being thrown out here to cut off retreat and reinforcement. A living-wall force! One of the things Markesh would never have done. He spits again. It could be worse; he could find himself dead along with the rest of Markesh's general staff. Only a few of the lieutenants and one or two of the generals (including himself, he thinks in disgust) managed to survive the purges Nasoj ordered after Markesh's death.
Not that all of them would really have been threats. Most of Markesh's supporters, though thought of up North as military geniuses, would probably be considered equivalent to run of the mill officers here at the Keep. Kesk has a large amount of respect for his foes - another lesson of Markesh's. When you respect a worthy and strong foe, you're better prepared to defeat said foe when the time arrives. “All the more reason to fight them with brains throughout and not this damn sneak-up-then-smash foolishness.” But there's no way Tharag would ever listen to him.
He nods to Neska, one of the other ex-supporters who'd had to lay low and play dumb when Nasoj showed his wrath. If real tactics were being thought of she'd be just behind him, ready to use a few spells so as to narrow the odds against these Keepers. But Nasoj doesn't trust the Lutin shamans, so none of them can cast spells; only his incompetent humans can. And he, an experienced warrior who's run more campaigns than those babes have even dreamed of, has to take ORDERS from them!
Neska waves a hand to him, jolting him away from that line of thought. There is a task to do, however distasteful it might be. The Keepers that attacked Tharag's camp would be about oh, twenty yards ahead. “Would that we could have Fortune smile on us by insuring that runt's death in the assault,” he thinks to himself before he starts forward once more, his ragtag 'command' (he hesitates to dignify it with such a phrase) behind him.
And then he halts as the campsite comes into view.
A war raged in the hallowed and ancient halls of Metamor Keep. A war that would effect the course of millions in the next thousand years was being fought by a mere handful of people. It was being fought in a thousand little skirmishes, ambushes, attacks and desperate last stands that were taking place in nameless corridors and rooms. Halls that had seen only calm and happiness, that had echoed to the sounds of parties and celebrations now rang with the sounds of combat. It heard the clash of steel on steel, the crackling of flames and the screams of the dieing.
In one corridor which seemed much like any of a hundred others a score of Lutins had battered down a door using a makeshift battering ram. In the rooms beyond a family of seven huddled in one corner while their father bravely tried to hold off the monsters attacking them. It was a hopeless fight and they all knew it, especially the Lutins. First they would have some fun with the man, then the rest of the family -- especially the wife and daughters. Four of the green creatures were taking their time in killing the man, taking turns attacking him while the others cheered and egged them on. They were so busy with the entertainment that they didn’t see the group of Keepers approaching until a javelin imbedded into the back of one of Lutins. He managed one scream before he died. The rest followed seconds later.
The ten panic stricken keepers were running for their life. Three men, four women and three children of various species were moving a fast as possible to escape but they weren’t moving fast enough. Death was snapping at their heels and they knew it.
Behind them, a dozen Lutins screaming and howling raced towards the Keepers. They were all trying to out race each other, eager to score the first kill. Their quarry was barely forty feet ahead of the lead Lutin when they reached an intersection. They paused for a moment as if deciding what to do then continued on. But they were still moving far too slow. The lead Lutin was a small male carrying a spear as long as he was tall. It’s long steel point was covered with blood. A raging blood lust filled his eye. The rest of his band was mere footsteps behind. He reached the intersection without slowing down. There was a brief flicker of a shadow and the Lutins head went flying from his shoulder to land at the feet of the rest of the war band. They had barely a moment of surprise before a shower of arrows, javelins and spears ripped through them. It was over in moments.
Misha casually wiped the blood from Whispers blade as Finbar moved among the Lutin bodies slitting their throats to be sure the dead weren’t faking. “That went well,” the fox said.
“Well for you,” one of the ‘panic stricken keepers’ said as the group walked back up the corridor they had just run down. They seemed none the worse for having been chased by such a bloody group. The speaker was a middle aged man with dark brown hair. “You weren’t the ones being chased.”
Standing next to the man was blonde haired women still holding her baby by one leg. “Here,” she said, handing the doll to the man. “You get to hold junior this time.”
“I’m surprised they keep falling for such an obvious trick,” Caroline said as she stood, bow in hand and an arrow nocked in case more Lutins appeared.
“How many times are we going to do this trick” Danielle asked.
“Once more,” fox answered. “Four times is our limit. After that we’re stretching our luck.”
“Then what?” The woman asked.
“We start over again but we’ll use another trick this time,” Misha explained. “It’s a good one. Lutins used it against me four years ago and almost killed me.”
The hall was thirty feet wide and forty feet long, small by the standards of The Keep. It was laid out for a feast. Tables chairs and benches were everywhere many scattered or knocked, over evidence of the hurried retreat of the Keepers. On the walls hung fine tapestries richly decorated with all manner scenes done in silk, silver and gold thread. Equally beautiful carpets lay under foot.
The Lutins moved warily through the hall fearful of an ambush. They looked in awe, greed and hunger at tables laden with food and drink held in fine silver and pewter goblets and plates. These people were from the Mountain Storms, a tribe who eked out a precarious living in the Dragon mountains. In that terrible place merely surviving was a major victory.
Nearly a year ago the man had arrived warmly dressed in expensive furs. He came with a dozen soldiers and a tall troll all dressed like him. Between them they had more furs and clothing then half the tribe combined. The man brought with him a dozen ponies laden with gifts - food, furs, clothing even gold and silver in amounts none in the tribe had seen before.
This man spoke of a great and powerful leader called Nasoj who was going to conquer all of the Midlands. He spoke of great victories and of the immense wealth -- loot and slaves for all. They only had to take one castle and all the wealth of the Midlands would be theirs.
Despite living high in the mountains and wearing skins these Lutins were hardly gullible fools. They knew about Metamor Keep and Nasoj and how he had failed to take it before. But they also knew of the legends of the wealth of that legendary place and besides it was something more to do in the deep of winter then huddle in their shelters and try and keep warm. And it HAD to be warmer down there.
The long walk through the storm had been easy enough for a people who lived in a land where the snow never melts even in summer. They did see how many other Lutins had died on the trip to the keep and most of all they saw how Nasoj had stayed behind warm and safe in his citadel.
The fighting to get in had been surprisingly easy, few of the Keepers were out and about in the storm. But those few they had come upon had fought hard and with great courage and skill, true warriors. The tribe would sing of their bravery forever.
So now sixty members of the tribe were in a place that had only been a fairly tale till now. Standing in a hall full of more treasure and wealth then any of them could imagine. Like small children they started to grab everything of worth within reach -- gold, silver, pewter even iron and wood. Tapestries were pulled down and carpets rolled up and carefully piled in the center of the room. Roast meats, bread still warm from the oven, myriad cakes and all manner of vegetables were greedily snatched up and devoured. Washed down with fine wines, hardy ales and cool water.
One Lutin was carefully collecting the iron tongs and poker from the fire place. When he picked up the wooden bucket that was next to them he saw the contents. Surprised he stood there for a moment then tenderly touched the riches that lay within. The bucket was resting on the floor in front of a small door that was barely two feet high. Far too small for even a Lutin to use. In a flash of inspiration he pulled open the door and was rewarded with a sight of treasure far beyond his wildest dreams. His squeal of delight brought his comrades running and soon all the other treasures lay forgotten. The lure of the greatest treasure having driven thoughts of all else out of their minds.
An ancient Lutin, her facial tattoos marking her as a shaman, carefully reached into the small room and tenderly picked up one of the pieces of treasure. She sniffed it and then breaking off a tiny portion tasted it. All others waited in silence hoping that this wasn’t some foul trick but real. She smiled showing teeth stained a deep burgundy color and held up the piece for all to see. The room erupted in cheers and shouts of joy. This was a treasure trove they would remember and sing tales of for centuries to come.
What food and drink that wasn’t consumed was carefully packed away for the trip home. There was enough there to feed the hungry mouths of the tribe for months. The worthless gold and silver was also packed safely. It would later be traded to the low land tribes for more valuable things like weapons to protect the tribe and tools of steel like axes and shovels to cut wood and move the frozen earth. The carpets and tapestries were carefully folded and rolled. Soon they would decorate the rooms and temple of the tribe. They would be cherished heirlooms passed down from generation to generation. Their thickness would help to trap in the warmth while their bright pictures would stir the imagination and lead to many happy nights spent singing songs of how they were brought back from the mystical Keep.
These were all great treasures but none compared to the greatest treasure -- that which had been found behind that small door. THAT treasure was packed and handled most carefully of all so that not one lump was lost. The treasure? Coal. Long burning, easy to carry coal. So much coal would last the tribe all winter. It meant that no one need go out to find and cut wood to burn. It mean that no longer would the tribe be forced to burn dung when the heavy storms came and no one could go foraging. All could sit by the warm, coal fueled fires and eat the food taken from this feast all winter. No need to leave their warm homes at all!
Without a second thought the tribe left the hall through the door they had entered and to their delight found themselves outside! The wind howled and the snow swirled so strong as to blot out all vision beyond a hands span. It was weather that would kill most folk but to these Lutins it was like being embraced by their mothers. Behind them they left a hall empty of all treasure save two. In the center of the room they left two entire handfuls of the life preserving coal and the largest portion of venison from the feast. These were left as offerings to the spirit of the great keep for the wonderful gifts she had given them. For Nasoj they left what he deserved -- nothing.
Sandaron d'Magaere once was part of a noble family whose magical prowess had been famed up and down the land, or so he claims. Nobody else has ever heard of the name; the suspicion is that he keeps trying to make himself a name before he makes a name for himself, so to speak. Either way, he's certainly known for having the arrogance of a dethroned noble.
"Damn this infernal cold!" he grumbles, pulling his cloak about him as he marches forward at the back of the ranks, not really grasping the irony of his choice of complaints. Nasoj had no right to send advisers to his circle out here. “I'm one of their biggest assistants, damn it! I should be back at the Citadel, not freezing to death and dealing with these damn insolent Lutins. That one commander up front just wanted to argue, I damn well know it.”
Sandaron d'Magaere (whose birth name was actually Maygar in origin) isn't exactly one of the most capable mages at the Citadel, but he certainly considers himself significant. Why, he's thrown at least two fireballs at once to show those Lutins who's boss, and he's been able to alter thunderstorms such that lightning would strike where he determined it. Surely his talents would be better served making sure nobody attempted any sort of takeover up North while the army was down here! But no, he's given a cloak and an amulet and forced to come down Here, along with all these other lowly excuses for "mages", one of them asserting Command Authority over him! and the other human soldiers while he gets to baby sit the known insurrectionists.
That last has a bright side though. If he's trusted enough to watch over the Blackhands, perhaps this means that he's on the way up in the hierarchy! This had not previously occurred to Sandaron, and he suddenly brightens considerably at the prospect. “Why, I could get a new imperial cloak, would be able to stay at the Citadel and not go on posts like this. I could go all the way up to directly serving Nasoj himself.”
His reverie is interrupted suddenly when he sees Kesk halting. “Why the hell is he not moving?” "YOU! LUTIN SCOUT! KEEP GOING! MOVE!"
If Kesk considered the human to still be worth mental exertion, he'd curse under his breath at the sheer stupidity of shouting to an advance scout. But Kesk's attention isn't on Sandaron at all; it's currently being occupied by the Keeper mage in front of him.
Right in front of Kesk, Kevin can clearly be seen as the storm appears to be almost dimming around him. Going by what limited knowledge he has of magic, Kesk would guess the reasons for that to be both the mana he's drawing and the immense column of flame just above the Keeper that the mana is undoubtedly going to. It seems to reach up far into the sky, several yards wide and impossibly tall, rotating slowly just above the Keeper's head as he stares upward at it, paws extended towards it.
Kesk hefts his sword and prepares to leap forward and charge when the Keeper turns from his creation to stare directly at him and those at his back. "LUTINS! BEGONE!"
The voice is incredibly powerful for such a tiny Keeper, but the implications of that become a secondary concern when the Keeper sweeps his paws outward towards the Lutins, and the column of flame follows, collapsing before the Keeper into a massive wave of animated flame heading straight for them.
“And we could STOP it, if Tharag hadn't took the Scimitar! Damn that bootlicking swine to the Nine Hells!” "FALL BACK!" The order is probably unnecessary.
"Fall back?" Sandaron screams in disbelief and anger. "NO! Attack! ATTACK! Destroy the enemies of Nas-"
His words stop, caught in his throat as he sees the massive wave of pure flame heading straight towards him, preceded by a wave of heat that he seems to feel even through the cold weather.
Sandaron will eventually decide he needs to replace or at least clean his robe. This does not occur to him until far later. At the immediate moment, the only thing that comes to his mind is to RUN.
Sandaron d'Magaere, supposed powerful mage of Nasoj, turns and runs, scrambling in a panicked frenzy to get away from the wave.
And all the while, Kevin stands watching, his paws extended before him, mostly focused on the spell, though one part of his mind detaches to reflect on the situation. “Yep. Illusions can be real effective.
December 25th, 706 CR ― 8 PM
Aisha walks over with her siblings to the commanding officer, and Rois-sensei is standing there, talking with her. "Aisha, Colin, and Drake, reporting in," the young woman states as the trio reaches the pair. Both turn and look at the triplets, the commander saying, "Welcome back. I've been talking with Rois here, and we've come up with a plan to hopefully cause some infighting in the lutin ranks."
She looks over at Rois, who continues, "We're certain that at least some of the tribes here are ones that would normally be fighting each other, if they weren't here to fight us. Colin, with your mental powers, you should be able to find a group of lutins from normally warring tribes. You three then need to get them to start fighting each other. Possibly by making them think the other tribe had just insulted them."
"Sensei, what about Drake and I?" the girl asks the centauress.
The commander responds, however, "You two will be supporting Colin, and
helping fend off the Lutins if you are discovered."
Rois nods her assent, then speaks again, "This may be a bit taxing, so
I want you three to get some sleep. You'll start on this mission in the morning."
"Yes sensei," all three of them say at once and then head off to get some rest.