Winter Assault

December 26th, 706 CR ― Morning
Encounters

Jesreg paced back and forth nervously beside the wall, his toe-claws tapping softly against the stone. Clenching his hands around the rodent-sized pike he was holding, he strained his ears to listen each time he passed by the thick wooden door. Each time he heard nothing, save the sound of his footsteps and the beating of his own heart.

"Jesreg, dear friend."

The mouse's ears twitched. "Huh?"

"I fully understand the need to stay fit for duty, but would you please indulge an old man and give it a rest?"

The young guard stopped, looked once more over at the door, and plopped down quietly to the floor.

"Thank you."

Jesreg cast an eye over at the gangly figure slouched in the corner of the small room. The man -- to apply the term loosely -- was dressed in a long blue magician's robe, accompanied by a broad-rimmed hat that flopped over his face. Presently he was twiddling his skeletal thumbs and staring idly off at the far corner of the room, glowing red eye-sockets focused on some invisible spot on the wall.

"Sorry," Jesreg said.

"Quite all right."

The largely-but-not-quite-fully dead wizard said nothing more, and Jesreg spent the next minute or so studiously examining his pike. It was in quite good condition, marred only by two hairline scrapes in the pole and a small chip in the blade. He had examined these same features forty-seven times by now and was intimately familiar with each of them.

"So ... what are you looking at?" he asked.

His companion shrugged fractionally. "Magic."

"Magic?"

"Magic."

"Hmm."

Silence.

"What kind of magic?"

Another shrug. "The curses. The inherent magic of the Keep. Aura-prints left by people who were here recently. The corridor opening in this direction above our heads."

The mouse blinked. "A corridor?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded toward the spot in the corner he'd been staring at.

Jesreg squinted at the spot. "I don't see anything."

"Wait for it."

Silence.

"How long?"

"Oh, I'd say right about ... now."

As Jesreg watched, a five-foot wide circular piece of ceiling abruptly descended into the room, just over the spot the wizard had indicated. It stretched out into a column of stone, extending from floor to ceiling, and quickly formed into a spiral staircase. Three seconds after it had stopped moving a small purple dragon stuck its head inside and gazed at them quizzically, cocking its head so rakishly that Jesreg almost fell to one side as he found himself trying to orient himself to the dragon’s perspective.

"Kree?" it said.

"Um, hello," ventured Jesreg as he hastily regained his balance.

The dragonette waved one tiny fore talon at the rodent. In the same moment Jesreg's vision was filled with the image of a small black bird with an iridescent head.

The mouse gasped. "What...?"

"Don't worry," came another voice from above. " 'Tis just her way of saying hello."

Jesreg looked up to see an athletically built young woman descending the staircase, her flame-red hair drawn back in a long ponytail. She was dressed in studded leather armor and wore a rapier at her hip. A small golden key hung from a chain around her neck.

The warrior nodded at Jesreg. "My name is Daria," she said. "This is Starling."

"I'd guessed that," the mouse said, nodding. "I'm Jesreg."

"Pleased to meet you, Jesreg. Who is your ... oh, gods!"

The last statement ended in a gasp, and Jesreg looked over to his companion. The skeletal mage was sitting slumped over, head down, the light in his eye sockets obscured by the rim of the hat. He was intently studying some space on the floor, not moving in the slightest.

"How ... how did he die?" Daria murmured.

The wizard looked up, eliciting another gasp as the woman saw that unearthly glow coming from within his skull. "That," he said, "is a rather long story."

"He's only mostly dead," Jesreg offered.

Three sets of eyes turned to look at him.

The mouse shrugged. "Well..." he said, uncomfortably.

"My name is John Thesmere, Miss Daria," the lich said, rising smoothly to his feet. "I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, especially considering our circumstances."

After a long moment of staring, Daria blinked and nodded. "Right," she said, visibly gathering her thoughts. "How long have you two been in here?"

"Thirteen hours, roughly," John said. "We were forced inside when a rather nasty troop of Lutins poured in through the second gate."

"Master Thesmere's magic kept them out of here," Jesreg said.

Daria nodded again. "Is there anything important near here which you may be keeping them from taking?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"I haven't seen anything around here."

"All right. Come on, then -- we have food and water waiting for you back at the Lightbringer Temple." She gave another glance at John. "For Jesreg, anyway."

John nodded once, and they fell into line behind the woman and the dragonette as they made their way back up the staircase. At the top Daria came to a halt, looking back down at the room they'd come from.

"Huh."

"What?" Jesreg asked, coming up to stand beside her. He wasn't really sure what she found so interesting -- it was just four walls, a floor, and a ceiling, with nothing but the staircase inside it. There weren't even any boxes in the corners, or shelves on the walls.

Daria stared down for several seconds, biting her lip in a thoughtful look.

"Do either of you have any idea what that room was for?" she asked.

Jesreg looked at John. The lich looked down, looked back at the mouse, and shook his head briefly.

"No clue," Jesreg admitted.

"Hmm."

After a moment more of staring at the bare stone walls below, Daria walked off down the corridor, Starling flitting along beside her. With a last look at their former prison, Jesreg turned and followed.

---

“How much longer do you figure we’ll be down here?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that this has been the first staircase we’ve come across that leads up for the last hour. Somehow I doubt it could be worse than the endless tunnels we’ve had to endure to this point.”

Jacob nodded grimly and continued to plod up the narrow stair case behind Rickkter. His paws were sore from covering what felt like untold miles of varied stone flooring, most of that littered with various debris. At least with Rickkter in front, he didn’t have to worry about spider webs covering his face any longer. So focussed was he on Rickkter’s back and simply putting one foot in front of the other that it took him a moment to realize they had reached the top of the stairway.

“At least this looks promising,” Jacob observed, his ears perked up. “The floors seem dry, and the walls don’t appear rotted out.”

“Very true. Now the trick will be in finding someone.”

Jacob nodded and sniffed at the air around them. Finding someone was probably not going to be difficult, the catch was finding someone who would not try and kill them on sight. Surely a good number of the Keepers would have sought shelter down here from the invading army. Of course the army would know that, too.

His whiskers twitched at some of the more pungent odours. Perhaps finding someone in this place definitely wouldn’t that difficult after all; it appeared no one had been down here in months. He was so caught up in some of the more unusual odours, that Jacob almost missed Rickkter when he turned down a small side corridor. About to inquire why they were going that way, Jacob had his muzzle quickly clamped shut by the raccoon’s paw. Rickkter placed a finger across his own lips as he quickly but gently led the fox a bit deeper into the corridor. The witchlight continued to bob its merry way down the corridor, eventually leaving the two morphs enclosed in darkness. Jacob figured someone must be following them, but he certainly had heard no signs of pursuit...

Well, seeing and hearing were two totally different things. Just as he was about to again ask what was going on, his ears picked up the sounds of feet very, very lightly sliding over the stone flooring at the mouth of the corridor. Whoever it was, Rickkter was on them like a flash, grabbing the form by its neck and slamming it hard up against the wall. Before Jacob could even raise his own weapon, Rickkter had a new witchlight burning and a dagger shoved up against the neck of their prisoner.

It turned out their prisoner was a scrawny, naked, and very panic-stricken looking rat. His attention was being split three ways, between Rickkter’s dagger, the blood clotting the front of Rickkter’s coat, and the look of pure homicidal menace Rickkter was giving him back. “Okay, who the hell are you?” the raccoon growled.

“G-Goldmark.” the rat stammered.

“And what were you doing following us?”

“I wanted... I wanted to see what you were doing!” That last past was a little loud, and Rickkter squeezed the rat’s throat to make sure he understood that. Goldmark resumed in something a little over a hissing whisper. “The Keep has been overrun, you two are the first keepers I’ve seen down here. I wanted to make sure you weren’t in with them.”

“I think there’s little chance of that,” Rick replied.

Jacob wuffed in agreement. “Exactly. We wouldn’t have had to spend most of today crawling through the sewers just to get in here. How bad are things going? Is the army holding at the walls to the actual Keep itself?”

“We’ve been totally overrun!” Goldmark squeaked out. At that news Rickkter let him slip down the wall, though he kept the dagger held close. “The defenders never saw it coming; it was only a matter of a few minutes before the overran the walls. That’s all I know since we took refuge down here.”

“‘We’?” Jacob casually inquired, his ears cocked to side.

Goldmark slumped against Rickkter’s paw, his ears folded back against his head, and muttered something. “Look, we’re not going to harm either you or your friends,” Rick told him. “Frankly, all we want to do is find the other keepers, find some kind of shelter.”

“Well that... that I can do.” Goldmark’s little black eyes lifted to stare at Rickkter. “That is, if you’ll let me go.”

Rickkter nodded, letting go and sheathing his knife. “Okay. Sorry about being so rough on you, but we didn’t know who we’d run into.”

Goldmark combed through the fur at his neck, rubbing at various spots.

“Understandable, considering. The rest are jumpy as well, why I’m out here. Now I can take you where we’re holed up, but I don’t know how you two will be able to fit through the entrance.”

“You fit through.”

“Ah, but there’s a difference. You’ll see when we get there. And till then, no talking. And dim the light.”

Rickkter cocked an eye ridge at that, but silently followed the rat, the witchlight little more than a light gathering of sparks in the darkness. The little, silent black rat navigated them down corridors and up winding spiral staircases with the ease of one quite familiar with their surroundings. Eventually the trio came to a solitary store room, the door of heavy oak and bearing a lock that looked like it had not been touched in ages. Rickkter commented on that. “So how do we get inside?”

Goldmark simply pointed down to the small rat hole in the bottom of the door. “I told you you’d have problems getting in.”

A sharp grimace on his muzzle, Rick bent and looked closer at the lock. “You go inside now, tell them we’re coming. We’ll be there in a moment.” Jacob saw Rick had drawn the smaller of his two swords and was working the point into the space between the lock and the hasp.

Goldmark was quick to shift to rat form and scurry inside. Rickkter waited a few moments, making sure his knife was set correctly, before he gave it a quick jerk and split the hasp. Almost no sound, Jacob noticed. Must have been a spell. Rickkter had to brace himself against the wall in order to force the door open. Despite the sound dampening spell, Jacob still heard the hinges squeal.

The storeroom, much to Jacob’s surprise, turned out to be an old wine cellar. Inside was Goldmark and three other rats, all huddled around a trio of candles.

“Nice going,” spat one of the rats, a medium brown one. “Now how the hell are we going to keep the invaders out of here?”

“I cast a few minor fear spells, enough to dissuade anyone from looking down the hall. Also a few illusions on the door itself. It won’t appear to have been touched in years.” Rick looked away from the rat and over the bottles of wine. “Besides, we won’t be staying here long.”

“Oh?” asked the brown one again. The grey and white ones were huddled off in the corner away from the mage, letting their friend do the talking. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Rickkter replied, picking up a bottle from the wall racks and inspecting the label, “we have an army that has overrun the Keep. If they win, they’ll eventually find you here and kill you. If you have to die, better to do it fighting for something.” He turned the bottle towards the rat. “My friend and I have not had any food since last night. Mind if we?”

The rat snorted. “If you can get it open. We’ve nothing to extract the cork on those.”

Rickkter just smirked at him, one side of his whiskers tilting up. He turned the bottle back and crabbed his fingers over the top, so that the tips of his claws were against the glass. With a light screech, he turned the bottle in a circle, clasped the top when that was done, and with a slight strain pulled the top off. “Magic. A wonderful thing,” he explained to the still unamused rat. He gave the others in the room a quick toast. “Morricore, a very good wine. Cheers.” And he tipped back the bottle, taking a full mouthful.

Which he promptly spat out in a deep scarlet spray all over the wall.

“Ug, maybe not so good,” he said, grimacing at the label once again. “The stuff’s been down here long enough to turn to vinegar.”

“You said.... something about getting out of here.” It was one of the other rats, the white one, Jacob noted. “Where do you plan to go?”

“The Lightbringer Temple. It’s one of the few fall back strongholds within the keep, and.... that is probably where I’d be needed most. Misha’s also told me that they’ve provisions there to last out a siege such as this.”

Jacob added, softly, “You know you can’t hide forever.”

“Watch us,” the brown one said, bitterly.

“I’m going with you,” the white one said to Rickkter, slowly standing up. Goldmark and the grey rat also assented.

“Damn it all, Julian,” the brown one mumbled as he rose to his feet. “You’ll get us all killed.” He heaved a sigh. “Fine. Guess I’ll go, too.”

“Perhaps names are in order, then. I’m Rickkter, that’s Jacob.”

“Julian,” said the white rat. “You already know Goldmark. My friend here is Elliot, and that’s Hector,” he concluded, pointing.

The raccoon just nodded. “Right. Okay, get together what you’re taking with you, because we’re moving out.”

---

Rois' three apprentices have been creeping around these halls for what seems like hours now, Colin probing at the minds of the groups of lutins they've come upon, and so far, they haven't had any luck with finding a large group of lutins from separate tribes. ~It's just our luck to keep running into groups of lutins all from the same tribe.~ Drake thinks to himself.

A voice in the dragon morph's head startles him, however, ::I know, Drake. It stinks, but we have to keep looking.::

~Dammit, Colin! How many times have I told you to stop doing that?~ Drake really doesn't like his brother eavesdropping on his thoughts like that.

::Sorry,:: comes the other boy's sheepish mental response. Suddenly, he stops, ::Bingo! I've found some!:: After standing there for a couple of minutes, he continues, ::One tribe calls themselves the Swift Arrows, the other the Shredding Fangs.::

Aisha just stares at him, and he shrugs. ::That's what they call themselves.:: She rolls her eyes, and Drake smirks. ::Now... how to get them fighting each other...:: he scrunches up his face slightly, and soon they hear a ruckus from around the next corner. Lutins yelling and screaming, the clash of arms, the sounds of crude weapons connecting with flesh.

---

Drake and Aisha exchange glances before both asking, mentally, ~What did you do?~

Colin grins and replies, ::Just enhanced their natural violent tendencies a bit, so that they started fighting each other.:: Suddenly the grin drops off is face, and he gulps, ::We better get moving, they're heading this way!::

~WHAT?~ again the twin chorus from his siblings. The three start running from the sound of clashing weapons, only to hear the sound of charging Lutins coming down the hall in front of them.

::Dammit,:: Colin swears, ::that wasn't all of them! Some of the Shredding Fangs are coming this way to join the battle!::

The three of them look around frantically as the Lutins are closing in on them from both directions, and they spot a small alcove off to the side of the hallway. The three look at each other briefly, then run for the alcove. ~Please let this work!~ Colin thinks silently to himself.

The noises of the approaching hordes get louder and louder, as the three press themselves against the walls of the alcove to try and make themselves as invisible as possible, given the circumstances. Drake along one wall, Colin and Aisha along the opposite wall.

---

~If only this hallway weren't so small, I could assume full dragon form and take out huge swathes of these guys.~ Drake grumbled to himself as the Lutins approached. Distracted by their inter-tribal rivalry, the two tribes, with the rest of Shredding Fangs now having reunited with the advanced scouts, commenced the work of death with each other.

The triplets held their breaths, figuratively speaking, as they waited to see the outcome of the battle. Their reprieve was not to last, however, as a cold breeze chose then to blow through the arrow slit behind them and over the lutins, some of whom sniffed the air and turned to see the three Keepers hiding in the alcove.

::Crud,:: Colin swore again, ::They've spotted us!:: The three readied their weapons as the Lutins let loose a war cry and attempted to charge into the alcove, waving their crude weapons.

The first few Lutins fall back under the assault of Drake's fire breath weapon, burning and screaming, but are quickly replaced by others. The three stand together, trying to fight them off, and having some success due to the relative narrowness of the alcove. However, the Lutins just keep coming, with no end in sight, and the three are slowly being pushed further and further back into the alcove.

::I don't know how much longer I can keep this up!:: Colin frantically sends to his siblings.

~Same here,~ comes back the reply from both of the other two, as they are finally pushed back up against the back wall, with nowhere else to go.

~Oh Kami, we're going to die, here! I don't want to die!~ Aisha thinks, panicked and scared.

The Lutins keep swarming the three Keepers and are about to attempt killing blows when Aisha screams, "I don't wanna die!" and she is surrounded by a blue-white aura, as the blizzard outside suddenly bursts through the arrow slit above their heads, and swirls around, literally picking up the swarming Lutins and throwing them out of the alcove, freezing them solid in midair.

Frost forms on the walls of the alcove and quickly spreads out from there along the corridor as a fierce, magically enhanced, freezing wind blows down the hallway in either direction, freezing Lutins in place and covering them with heavy snow drifts, leaving a scene that looks like a forest of snowmen inside the keep. Aisha then collapses, unconscious, into her brothers' arms, the aura fading from around her.

---

Aisha groans and slowly opens her eyes, blinking a couple of times as faces come into focus, those of her brothers and Rois. She winces at a sudden headache and closes her eyes back up, groaning again, "What happened and why does my head hurt so much?"

She can hear the smirk in Rois' voice, "Well, my dear, that's what happens when you burn yourself out on a single spell."
Aisha cracks her eyes open slightly, "Wha?"

Colin speaks up this time, "You really did a number on those Lutins, sis. The whole hallway was littered with frozen Lutin corpses, most of which were still standing."

Aisha sits up now, grimacing at the intensified headache that causes, but grits her teeth for a few seconds before asking, "I... I froze the entirety of that swarm... both of those tribes?"

Drake grins and nods, "Yeah! It was incredible! They just froze stiff and then were covered in snow, looked like some kind of frozen Lutin forest."

Rois nods, "However, because of your little stunt, you're not fit to fight for a while yet. Please try to get some more rest, you need to recharge." She then turns to look at the two brothers, "As for you two, stay with her and make sure that she *does* get that rest." Drake starts to protest, but Rois holds up her hand to silence him, "No excuses, you two are staying here. I know you, and you won't be able to concentrate fully on the fight at hand if you're having to worry about your sister."

---

December 26th, 706 CR ― 1 PM

"Lothanasa?"

Raven looked up from her desk, where she sat before a stack of old books she had gathered from the Archives some hours before. They were collections of prophecies, gathered from a wide variety of sources, most of them several hundred years old. She had been hoping to find some prediction of the current assault on Metamor, but so far her search was coming up empty.

"Aye. Come in, Daria."

The young woman stuck her head in through the open door, then moved to stand before Raven's desk.

"How have your raids been progressing?" the priestess asked.

"Very well, Mistress," Daria said, nodding once. "No casualties as yet, and we've rescued several people from isolated rooms behind enemy lines. We've also made contact with Father Hough at the cathedral."

"Excellent!" Raven said, her ears perking forward. "How is everyone?"

"Safe and secure, it seems. Lady Kyia seems to be doing her best to protect them."

The wolf-woman smiled. "I knew she would," she said, half to herself.

"Lord Thomas is there, as well," Daria added. "Apparently, he arrived with Master Cutter and several of his guards some time yesterday. Cutter is wounded, but they think he will be all right."

"Good," Raven said, nodding. "Has the Duke given you new orders, then?"

"No. On the contrary, he was quite pleased with our efforts," Daria replied, her green eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

"I thought he might be," Raven agreed. "It sounds as though you are doing an excellent job, Daria. Carry on."

"Thank you, Lothanasa."

The warrior-woman turned and left, her gait firm and sure. How much she had matured, Raven thought, from the mischievous boy who had danced across the ramparts with visions of battle in his head!

Leaning back in her chair, Raven sighed. Daria was too young to remember much from the Battle of Three Gates -- and, in any event, all of the children had been hidden in the catacombs below the Keep hours before that battle began. The boys and girls at Metamor now would remember all too clearly what battle was really like. The shouts and screams, the blood, the fire and smoke as the town was ransacked, the evil stink of death ... no, these children would not dream of the glories of battle. Combat was not a dream, but a nightmare, and the young innocents who survived would be plagued by its demons for years to come. Raven knew that from painful experience.

She had just turned twenty-one when Nasoj arrived with his army, storming down through the valley in his first attempt at conquest. At that time the Lightbringers had been strong at Metamor: her father, Elric, had been Lothanas, and there were four other priests and priestesses at the Keep alone. Raven had been the youngest, working primarily as a healer near the front lines of the battle; her brother Aramis was working in a similar role, while her father, mother and sister remained back at the Temple and tended to the wounded.

Or, at least, that had been the plan. In the heat of battle, it was difficult for her to stay aware of all that was going on -- though when a Balrog crashed through the walls of the Outer Keep, pretty much everyone stopped to take notice. Although it was technically a "lesser" daedra, the battle-master struck terror into all who saw it: two thousand pounds of rock-hard muscle and bone, virtually immune to physical attack, the Balrog was Lord Revonos's most fearsome servant.

Raven knew, when she saw her father emerge to face that creature, that it would almost certainly mean his death. Elric was carrying Elemacil, the Holy Sword of Metamor -- one of the only weapons on Earth that could harm such a beast. The Balrog sneered at him, mocking his courage, but Elric strode forward with strength and dignity that belied his age.

The battle was intense and savage, as Elric gave the Balrog far more than it had bargained for. The power of Dokorath himself flowed through Elric's limbs, matching the daedra's brute strength with speed and agility that seemed unreal for a man in his fifties. Even with divine assistance, though, it was not a sure victory by any means, and soon both fighters were battered and bloody.

In the end, Elric summoned all of his power to imprison and banish the weakened daedra, punching a hole in the ether with sheer force of will and pushing the Balrog through. It was a phenomenal task, one that required extreme amounts of energy to accomplish -- Lightbringers never even attempted such a feat without divine backing. Elric, though, did it on his own ... and drained himself so much that he collapsed, unconscious.

He died a few days later, his body giving out from the strain. By that time, the Temple had been washed clean of the blood of Raven's mother, brother and sister, not to mention countless acolytes -- the work of some unholy butcher who had managed to slip through the Temple's defenses. Raven was at her father's side as he lay on his own deathbed, and before the darkness claimed him he weakly picked up Elemacil and placed it in her hands.

"The battle is yours now, Karenna," he told her, addressing her by her childhood name. "Metamor needs a protector, and that task now falls to you. Be brave. Be strong. Raise up others in our ways. Walk in the light ... Lothanasa..."

And then he was gone. And Raven, for the first time in her life, was alone.

Fresh tears rolled down Raven's cheeks at the memory, as she stared unseeing at the walls of her office. She had done as her father said. She had been brave. She had been strong. She had raised up Merai in the ways of the Lothanasi. She walked in the light, even when it seemed that more than half of the High Council was steeped in some kind of hidden darkness. And now the man who killed her family seven and a half years ago had come back to try to finish the job.

A soft, high-pitched whine sounded beside her, stirring Raven out of her reverie. She looked down to see Wanderer nosing the palm of her hand, his ears back against his head and his tail wagging submissively. His expression of concern was obvious.

With a sad, silent laugh, Raven scratched behind his ears, stroking his head consolingly. He whined again, sticking out the tip of his tongue in another submissive gesture. Then, much to the priestess's surprise, he put his front paws up on her lap and nosed at her face.

"Agh!" Raven cried, pulling away from him as she pushed at his nose. "Wand'rer!"

Abruptly, the wolf stopped, drawing his head back and staring at her. Raven looked back, puzzled at his sudden change in behavior. His yellow eyes gazed alertly into her own blue ones, canine submission suddenly replaced with ... something else.

Tentatively, Raven sent a mental probe towards him, projecting a tendril of consciousness into the wolf's mind. On the outer edges, she saw the chaotic thoughts of an animal swirling like a maelstrom -- unconscious, without direction, more instinct than real cognition. But in the center, desperately trying to hold itself together, was something more ... structured.

"Wand'rer?" Raven whispered. "Charles? Are you in there?"

Slowly, the wolf lifted one paw. Then, carefully, gently, he reached up...

And touched her cheek.

Raven stayed utterly motionless, hardly daring to breathe, as Wanderer awkwardly held the rough pads of his foot to the place where the tears had run down her face. Then, he shifted his gaze to that paw, his expression of concern changing to one of confusion and anxiety. Slowly, he lowered the paw and placed his head on her lap, whining softly.

Raven closed her eyes and let out a long, defeated sigh. She ran her hand over his head and shoulders, tears once again rolling down her face.

"Wand'rer," she murmured, shaking her head sadly. "Why? Why did you do this to yourself?"

"Because Christopher is his friend."

Raven looked up, startled at the intrusion. Lurene stood leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and legs crossed, her eyes fixed on the priestess and the former poet. Her expression was neutral, but her gray eyes shone intently.

The Lothanasa glared at her, lupine ears flattening against her head. "And what was I?" she demanded, her voice like ice. "If he does this to himself for a friend, what was I, Lurene?!"

The younger woman didn't flinch. "I don't know, Raven. What were you?"

Raven blinked. It took her a moment to find her voice. "What are you talking about? I love him!"

"Did you ever tell him that?"

"He knew!"

"Did you ever show him?"

The priestess sputtered for a moment. "I -- well -- I was at least as close as Christopher!" she protested.

"Were you?" Lurene pressed, her voice firm but totally devoid of any mocking tone. "I never saw you break fast with them, or show up to one of his performances. Are you sure that he knew you loved him?"

Raven swallowed uncomfortably, blinking back angry tears. "He knew," she insisted quietly, looking down. "It was just ... so hard for me to say it. Everyone I ever loved ... my family ... they were all dead. All of them, Lurene. And then Charles came, and..." She fell silent for a moment, running her fingers through the wolf's fur.

"He made me care about life again," she said, her voice soft. "He showed me how to find joy in the world around me -- that my family's death didn't have to mean death for me." She looked back up at Lurene. "He was a pillar of strength when I needed it most."

"But did he know that?" Lurene asked. "Did he know how much you depended on him -- on his strength, his love? Did you tell him?"

Slowly, Raven shook her head. "No."

"And that," the younger woman said gently, "is why he did this." She came closer, putting her hands on Raven's desk. "You were always trying to be strong, Raven. You had everyone convinced that you could handle anything. Maybe you had to be that way -- maybe that kind of confidence is part of being the Lothanasa. But you never showed Wand'rer the truth, did you? He may have known you loved him, but he didn't know that you needed him. As far as he knew, you were strong enough to stand on your own. But Chris -- Chris needed him. To Wand'rer's mind, Chris had a problem that he could never solve on his own. He needed Wand'rer's help. And like any loyal member of the pack, Wanderer sacrificed himself to help the one who needed him."

"And let the strong one stand on her own," Raven murmured, her eyes distant.

"Aye," Lurene agreed. "I'm sure it would have torn him apart, had he known that he would be forced to choose between you. But Christopher's need gave him more impetus to risk his life than you gave him to try to preserve it."

Again, Raven looked down at the wolf, his body still draped over her lap. "It is still tearing him apart," she said quietly. "He is still in there, Lurene. Somewhere." She shook her head. "Why can he not come out?"

Lurene straightened, backing away from the desk a little. "Who can say?" she said, shrugging sadly. "Perhaps, on some level, he's waiting." She turned and began walking toward the door.

"Waiting?" Raven asked, calling after her.

Lurene stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

"Waiting for someone to need him."

With that she left, shutting the door with a soft click. In the silence that followed, Raven wrapped her arms around the wolf, pressing her face against the scruff of his neck, and quietly wept.

---

"How accurate is that thing?"

Daria shrugged. "As accurate as we need it to be. Most of the main rooms don't change position overmuch, at least on the first floor -- 'tis the corridors around them that shift the most."

Morel looked at the rough map skeptically, but nodded. "What did you have in mind for our next target?"

The woman smirked. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Something bigger," Garulf said, pointing a thick, furry finger at the map. "This storage magazine for the southward trebuchet battery. There are at least a dozen kegs of dragon dust inside, and a few dozen explosive loads."

Brennar stared aghast at the bear-morph. "You want to blow up the castle?!" he cried.

"It wouldn't blow up the castle," Morel assured him, putting a comforting hand on the feline's shoulder.

"But it would raise hell in the enemy camp," Daria said, gesturing at a set of markers on the map. "Look here -- that makeshift barracks the scouts found this morning is right next to it. If we hit the dust reserves in that magazine, the explosion should blow out this door -- here -- and blast straight through the middle of the barracks room."

"Exactly," Garulf rumbled. "If it does enough damage, we may even be able to eliminate the survivors before we escape."

"Wait a minute," Weyden said, lifting one feathered arm. "How do we protect ourselves from the explosion?"

Starling spoke up, projecting an image of the map with a series of blue X's lining the walls outside the enemy barracks. There was an additional X in a small passageway next to the magazine. Then the passageway closed, the magazine flashed red and yellow, and the other X's entered the barracks through passages in the walls.

"Good idea, Starling," Daria said. "I'll enter the magazine using the Key and lay down a few trails of dust as fuses. Starling, I shall need you to light them before we close the passage behind us."

The dragonette nodded.

"After the blast, the rest of you will storm the barracks and kill any survivors. I'll guard our escape route and make certain the battle doesn't turn against us. If things seem to be going badly, I'll call for a retreat."

"How will we get into the barracks if you have the Key?" Brennar asked.

"I don't have to be with you for the Keep to open the passageways," Daria reminded him. "Remember the battle at the armory -- all I need is to be able to visualize the corridors that need to be formed. I know this part of the Keep well, so it should not be difficult."

Morel ran a hand over his chin stubble thoughtfully. In the end, he nodded. "Looks good. How many troops were there in the barracks when the scouts came through?"

"They counted around three dozen. Depending on the hour, of course, there could be more or less."

"Chancy, but worth it," Bradfox said. "Nobody ever won a war by playing it safe."

"Agreed," Daria said. "What about the rest of you? Are you with us?"

She extended her arm toward the center of their circle, palm facing upward. Garulf placed his hand over hers immediately. They were swiftly joined by Bradfox and Weyden. Brennar looked nervous about the whole idea, but followed suit when Morel and Starling put their own hands in. Jessica came last, putting her wing carefully atop the stack of arms.

"We're with you, Squire," she said firmly. "Anywhere you lead."

They broke the circle and rose to their feet, as Daria opened a passage out of the small stone room where they had held their meeting.

"Let's go then, all," she said, starting off down the corridor. "We've a fireworks show to put on."

---

The trapdoor is firmly closed, thanks to a spare metal rod discovered on the campsite shoved into the crack around the trapdoor to keep it stuck. It rattles a bit as the Lutins underneath keep pushing at it, but they’ve failed to make progress so far.

Kirk has caught his breath, thus accounting for the only thing that could count as a casualty in the last encounter. He stands off to the side, taking off his clothes and adding them to a more or less self-contained bundle along with his axe, and then he starts doing a few stretches in preparation for the run he’s going to have to make.

The other tent has been taken down, and Jo and Jono (having taken over for Perry) are working quickly with the poles and fabric and ropes, working it into a configuration shaped much like a wagon, but without the wheels. Each time one of the wood poles gets to Jo, she takes a modest-sized vial filled with some liquid and proceeds to pour it over the wood, presumably treating it somehow. The ropes get the same sort of treatment. Jono in the meantime is continuously checking measurements, making sure there’s enough material to work with. There are two of the enemy tents (thankfully both Very large) in addition to the two smaller ones they’d kept with them, and he plans on having two of these “wagons.”

Perry is checking his sword over, then going through the meager armory the Lutins that formerly occupied this campsite had with them, sorting through what’s availabe to see if it could be of any use. He has one particularly long spear set aside; Jo specifically requested one. She’s going to be helping with the rearguard, so she apparently thinks she’ll need the melee weapon. He thinks she’s probably right.

Dana has already made sure her sword is in good condition. She’s not checking any other weapons; she doesn’t need them. She has the best eyesight of anyone in the group, so she’s watching in the direction that the Lutins had come from. The effects of Kevin’s illusion can’t be expected to last forever; he’s still in the middle of the campsite concentrating on maintaining it, but the Lutins are bound to figure things out eventually. So she keeps an eye out.

Jahnsen, by the same token, is keeping an ear out, though not as much as Dana. Between checks he’s doing a few stretches not dissimilar to Kirk’s for the flight he’s going to have to take. Fortunately the wind is headed in the direction they want, so he’s not going to have to fight it. It’s still going to be an adventure, though...

Kevin, as Dana has noted, is busy keeping the illusory wave of flame going. He’s had a lot of practice with maintaining illusions under pressure, though he’s used to pressure from trying to study at the same time rather than from combat; he usually uses these to recreate historical scenes rather than creating them.

The kids are mostly watching Jono and Jo with interest, though Derek and Sammy are all going around to make sure everyone in their earler cabal is armed Just In Case. Jeremy is getting lots of accolades for being the kid of that mage guy who just did that Really Cool-looking spell against the Lutins, but is responding mostly with silent smiles. Daemion is carefully watching all the adults, one after another, just making sure that they all stay okay; somehow he’s pretty confident that if something goes poorly with them he’d be the one to help again. He can already tell what the two bards are working on, though; it’s a pretty clever idea...

---

Orrusk is completely out of patience.

“Jargand! Stand back,” he says in a very firm voice; the commanding nature is instantly recognizable. The impressively large Lutin that’s been shoving at the trapdoor for the past few minutes backs away, watching his new commander in an almost curious fashion.

Orrusk walks up, looking upwards at the trapdoor. Going from what Jargand had reported from his attempts to push it open, something was keeping it locked shut. No way to deal with that unless he takes action.

So in one swift motion, Orrusk whips out the Blackhand Scimitar, arcing it upward torwards the trapdoor, leaving an afterimage of a continuous dark green flare through the air as he cuts in an arcing direction around the front end of the door itself. The blade cuts through the stone and adjacent blocking metal like warm butter, leaving only a slight ringing sound as it does so.

---

The sound might have gone unnoticed in the winds. But Daemion clearly sees the tip of the sword as it flashes up from the trapdoor, causing him to go wideyed for a moment before calling out. “Dad! Guys! They just put a sword through that door thing!”

Perry just blinks, turns to look at the trapdoor. Nothing apparent. “You sure?”

“Cross heart an’ hope not to die!” Daemion shouts back.

Perry nods, even as Jo and Jono look up from their nearly completed work. “What’s going on?” the cat asks, looking rather concerned.

Perry opens his mouth to answer, but stops as the trapdoor is suddenly shoved upward and with one quick motion a Lutin leaps outward from it, brandishing a mean-looking scimitar and grinning evilly.

Before most of the others have mentally registered the Lutin’s arrival Jo is already moving, both of her daggers in her paws. She can see an arm holding up the trapdoor, presumably to allow more Lutins to get out; one of her daggers is headed that way. The other is for the one with the scimitar. The former connects, and the trapdoor slams down just in time to cut off any more than the first second of a howl of pain from the owner of said arm.

The latter misses as the Lutin dodges to the side, half-parrying it with his scimitar and almost knocking it to the ground. This in itself is enough to shock anyone watching. He parried one of Jo’s daggers? That’s impossible!

Jo herself doesn’t look nearly as intimidated, quickly stowing both daggers. “Perry!”

He knows, somehow, that she means she wants the spear, and he’s tossed it to her well before he conciously realizes it, let alone what her wanting it implies. He gets the latter fairly quickly, though, when she swiftly covers the shaft of the spear with the same liquid she’d been using in the tent reconstruction and then charges torwards the Lutin, shouting back. “Jono! Get the kids moving!”

“Wha– ...Right!” Jono yells, leaping up and starting to disrobe, much like Kirk. “Jahnsen! Get going; to the tower like we planned!” The batmorph nods, turning and spreading his wingflaps in preparation for takeoff. “Perry! Get the sleds ready! We need to get going!” he yells, slightly distracting the porcupine as he watches Jo raise the spear to deflect an overhead stroke as though it were a quarterstaff... and then he blinks amazedly as the shaft not only blocks it, but survives the blow. Damn. Whatever the hell’s in that formula, it’s got to be serious stuff!

“PERRY!” The ’pine shakes his head, nods to the bard. “Right!” He turns to Dana, who’s watching Jahnsen to make sure nothing goes wrong as the bat takes off. “Dana! I’m going to need your help getting the harnesses on!”

“Of course!” The woman runs torwards the two ’wagons’, veering torwards the one nearest her brother

---

Clang! The spear, incredibly, stands up to another blow from the Scimitar. That must have been an alchemical treatment she put on the shaft, Orrusk realizes. He grins across the crossed weapons at the vixen, who is showing no signs of enjoyment, only resolve. “Surrender,” he offers. The vixen’s reply is merely to smile coldly just before swinging the butt end of the spear torwards his head.

He ducks, holding the Scimitar before him, waiting for his opponent to move next; she doesn’t dissapoint as she attempts to follow through, swinging the spear around to jab at him with the point, arms twisted at a slightly unusual angle. He parries the tip to the side, then tries to swing in to take advantage of her being in an unusual position, but in a blindingly swift move she twirls the spear back around and the butt end is there to block his swing. Before he can react to That she brings the middle of the spear down onto the Scimitar, knocking it off-balance briefly so she can swing the point at his face; he dodges to the side, rebalancing the Scimitar as he does so, then leaps backward to avoid her jab with the butt end as she follows through on That swing.

The two combatants stare at each other for a moment, and then Jo smiles coldly again. “Surrender,” she offers.

“Ha!” Before Jo can realize it the Lutin is thrusting his sword forward torwards her; she manages to smack it away just in time before it manages to do anything more than prick her clothing. Orrusk starts trying to press the advantage, swinging in low, and then after she catches the blade with the spearpoint and flicks it upwards, swinging in high. She catches the blade on the middle of the spear, then suddenly twirls her spear around the scimitar, thus causing the scimitar to curve slightly in Orrusk’s hand.

Orrusk grunts in surprise, and tries to flick his wrist and send the scimitar’s tip upward in an attempt to disarm the vixen. As soon as he does so, though, Jo gets the spear under the blade and smacks it even further upward, then turns the butt end torwards him and rams it into his belly before he can correct his mistake, causing him to let out his breath with a surprised oof!. He brings the blade swiftly downward, but awkwardly, and only manages to catch her on the side of the muzzle with the flat of his blade, eliciting a surprised yip! and a leap backwards, but no more.

The combatants both look at each other.

“Surrender,” they both offer in unison.

Jo smiles again, this time with a bit of respect mixed in with the coldness; she’d expected to be over with this much earlier. Still, it’s almost welcome after the failure with Derek and Sammy; about time she had a challenge that she can face straight on.

Orrusk’s grin is completely unchanged, but underneath that he’s starting to get more than a little worried. Ideally he would have been able to quickly plow through this mage, then the other one beyond her and get his Lutins some time to get out and overrun the small fighting force he was sure was here. But there’s clearly more than just a few strong individuals here; even this mage is giving him trouble. The situation is clearly Not in his favor.

So Orrusk resumes by feinting to the right, and Jo follows when he cuts to the left; Jo quickly brings the butt end up to deflect the blade upwards, then spins around completely, swinging the butt end of the spear towards Orrusk’s head. Orrusk ducks downward, swinging for Jo’s unprotected back, but she gets all the way around and has the spear shaft in the way before he can connect. Then suddenly she flips the end of the spear torwards him, smashing into his hand. The brief half-second Orrusk takes to readjust the severely disrupted grip on his sword is all the time Jo needs to reverse the direction of the spear and catch Orrusk in the side of the head with the spearpoint, leaving a nasty looking gash next to his ear, and knocking him slightly dizzy just long enough for her to deliver a coup de grace with the butt end, crashing it into the other side of his head and knocking him to the ground. It’s a very strong blow; Orrusk almost doesn’t even have to fake unconciousness; as such by the time he hits the ground his wits return to him, and he slumps, his attempt to look defeated assisted greatly by the thickened snows.

“Surrender accepted,” he hears the vixen offer one last time. It’s all he can do to resist chuckling.

Jo then turns torwards where the Lutin came from, pulling out another vial from her belt, and hurls it torwards the trapdoor. It shatters against the stone, and the contents therein quickly splash all over it along with some of the snow before rapidly congealing and hardening, forming a swift and rather tight cover. She glances down one last time at the Lutin, ponders for a bit, shrugs, then turns back torwards the others.

---

Misha fell down in the chair behind his desk, the wood groaning under the strain. With detached disinterest he noticed that the clock that hung opposite the desk had stopped. He didn’t care. For the fox time had lost meaning. He had no idea if it was day or night, morning or afternoon. All that mattered was the fight. All that he cared about was defeating the monsters that now infested his home and were killing his friends.

Outside his office he could hear the sounds of people talking, moving and some laughing and others crying. Even though the thick door was closed he could still hear them, muted to a dull, background buzz. It reminded Misha that there was more for him to do then kill. He had to save lives, that’s what matter most.

He was supposed to be here coming up with his next move but it was hard to concentrate on planning. So much had happened; Andre and Rickkter were missing, Charles had taken off with little more then a note. Everyone he knew seemed to be dead, wounded or missing.

Perched on the desk within arms reach was a bottle of wine, half empty. The missing portion had been drunk by him and Caroline during the party. That happy moment had seemed so many years ago. Was it really just two days ago?

Misha’s ears perked up suddenly but not at some noise. What had caught his attention was the sudden silence. Gone was the background buzz of the people outside in the hall. He was halfway to the door when it opened and Caroline stuck her head in.

“Misha . . .” was all she said before the fox rushed past her and into the hall beyond.

Outside he found Long house wreathed in silence and full of people all as still as statues and all staring at one point. As Misha moved forward the crowd parted in front of him like waves parted by the bow of a ship revealing a lone person standing just inside the entrance to the Hall.

The bedraggled figure was covered in thick, black and white fur and had once been wearing brown cloth. Now the cloths was gone replaced by tattered, charred remains that hung over fur that was singed and charred to a dull, ashen gray. The once luxurious tail was now a thin burnt remnant. The blackened person was carrying a large blackened thing in both arms. With a bolt of horror he realized that the thing had arms, legs and a tail. It was the corpse of a Keeper burnt beyond recognition. The stench of burnt flesh and death filled the air, clogging his nose like a poison gas.

George appeared out of the crowd carrying a large blanket. “I’ll take her, Muri,” the jackal said in a surprisingly soft voice.

Muri! If the person was Muri that meant the corpse was Llyns. Horror, pain and shock swept through the fox and he rushed up to the skunk.

He looked at Muri and found the skunk staring back at him with eyes that were sullen, sunken and empty of life. Muri made no comment or movement as George wrapped the blackened corpse of the Skunks lover in the blanket. Suddenly they were surrounded by people. Misha watched as Caroline took the foot of the wrapped corpse as Arla, Kershaw and Jotham tenderly helped George’s burden. Meredith wrapped an arm around the nonmoving skunk.

A wild, animal scream erupted suddenly from the skunks muzzle that seemed to erupt from the deepest pit of hell. There was dangerous fire in Muri’s eyes that made a shiver run down the fox’s back. Gone was the light of warmth and intelligence. Replaced by the flames of a wild demon; a blood soaked, murderous, killing machine with but one thought - killing. With one blackened hand the skunk removed Meredith’s paw from his shoulder. Then he turned around and silently stalked toward the door.

“Muri . . .” Meredith said as he reached out but Misha’s hand stopped him.

“Leave him be,” the fox ordered. Then he turned to the blanket wrapped corpse. Without looking he pointed to a small door on one wall. “Take her in there. We’ll give her a proper ceremony when we can.”

Misha spun about and fled into his office with Caroline close behind. He just collapsed onto the floor near his desk and started crying. The otter came and sat down next to him and he rested his head on her lap. Together they cried and mourned the loss of a friend.

---

Rickkter called them up short when he saw the body. Certainly the Lutin was dead, there was no doubt about that. Still, the raccoon insisted on going in prepared, his sword poised to bring down anything that might move as he silently made his way forward. Jacob, Julian, Hector, and Elliot chose to stay back. Only Goldmark was brave enough, or crazy enough, to follow Rickkter. Jacob’s curiosity was piqued, however, when he saw Rickkter reach the centre of the intersection, straighten up, and openly gape at one of the halls leading off. Goldmark’s reaction was a little more subdued – his small ears went back and whiskers twitched faster as he surveyed whatever was in the hall – but equally as captivating as Rickkter’s. That did it and Jacob had to go see for himself. The other two rats followed in his wake.

When he finally reached the spot and saw the destruction that lined the hall, he had no trouble understanding the stunned look on the other’s faces. There were few bodies in the hall. Most of them were in pieces, those pieces being charred and scattered all over the place. In fact, most everything was charred and burned, but done so in lines and patterns. Carpets and once grand tapestries were scored over with burns, and various objects d’art that lined the walls – including statues of notable individuals in the history of Metamor valley – were lying in heaps of scrap, apparently blasted apart. For as far as any of them could see up the hall the destruction extended.

Hector was the first to break the silence. “What caused this?” he whispered.

“Magic,” Rickkter replied. “More magic than I’ve seen used in this manner in a very long time.” He started up the hall, gesturing with his sword as he went. “You can tell from the marks that it was lightening. This whole corridor must have been alive with it.” He gingerly stepped over a torched body that had armour melted to the bones. “Ambassador Yonson’s the only mage here who would favour this kind of attack. Whatever these guys did, it must have really pissed him off.”

“Remind me never to get on the ambassador’s bad side,” Julian mumbled as he gazed over at a life sized marble statue that had been blown in half by a single strike to its centre. He reached up and pulled his tunic tighter about his neck. The other rodents instinctively clustered around Rickkter and Jacob, all but the mage shooting furtive glances along the devastated corridor.

“What worries me about all this, though, is that we’re seeing it at all. Kyia should have given us a much shorter route to the temple.”

Jacob’s ears flicked about in anxiety. “So why are we out here?”

As if in answer to his question, the sounds of battle poured in from one of the side hallways. It was like someone had opened a door for them, but it was nothing more than the Keep’s variable geometry.

“My guess would be that,” said Rickkter as he headed off towards the battle, his sword drawn. Jacob and the rats elected to play rear guard for the crazy mage.

---

It takes about five or so minutes before Sandaron realizes he’s been had.

Not through any cleverness on his part, though he’d be loath to admit same to himself. While the Lutins had all eventually dispersed to the side of the flaming wave, he’d kept running, even outdistancing most of his human troops. And then he he trips and falls, suddenly alone in the path of the massive wave of flame that’s been persuing him relentlessly. He closes his eyes, prays to Ba’al that the end will be swift...

...and he waits for a long time for the burning to start.

He opens one eye, then jawdrops as he realizes he’s within the flames. They should be consuming him by now! Is he already dead? Or has Ba’al decided to bestow a dark miracle on him?

One of the soldiers from his human detachment walks over to him, looking fairly puzzled and yet somehow annoyed. He’s about to chew the bastard out for being annoyed with HIM when suddenly a spurt of flame goes straight through the soldier. Sandaron just watches then, waiting for the soldier to fall... but he doesn’t. Indeed, he doesn’t even seem to notice the flames. And that means...

Illusion...

“...damn them! An ILLUSION!”

He gets to his feet. “IT’S AN ILLUSION!” he yells at the top of his lungs, pronouncing what his soldiers, Lutin and human both, had mostly already figured out. “GO! KILL THEM! KILL THE ENEMIES OF NASOJ!!” His face colors red in his fury. Damn them!

And as he starts to run forward, screaming at the lazy Lutins to move forward like his human soldiers are already doing, the illusory wave of flame collapses around him.

---

“Damnit! Last guy figured it out...” Kevin turns over to the others. “Time’s up! They’re headed this way!”

Kirk and Jono can’t respond; they’re both in full animal forms, each in front of one of the former tents. Behind them, Jo and Dana are both helping kids over the canvas-and-pole “walls” and onto the stiff canvas “floor” within while Perry herds the kids.

The two tents have been taken apart and put back together to act as apparent large-scale sleighs, with enough room for half of the kids in each assuming they don’t mind getting too cozy; they’ll be literally piled on top of eachother. Kevin will also fit in if he goes to full animal form as well; indeed, the plan calls for him to do so and to ride in Daemion’s pocket. There isn’t likely to be room for Dana, though, and Perry’s quills keep him from being on such a close-knit ride, so they’re going to have to run along behind. And since they’ll probably need a bit of assistance in case the Lutins start to overtake them, Jo’s staying off as well.

“How much time?” Jo asks, clearly occupied with the kids as she hoists them up.

“Probably about five minutes!” he yells back, running torwards the sleighs, starting to pull off his outer cloak as he does so.

“Going to be close...” Jo mutters more or less to herself; it’s unlikely anybody else could hear her in this wind. But that’s good; we need the wind for this to work...

“Hi!” One of the kids. She looks down, noticing who’s at her feet. “Josh? Good.” she says, squatting down so she’s eye to eye with him. “I have something extra I need you to do...”

---

“Captain! Something heading our way, sir!”

Captian Travis Selinar dashes up the stares as swiftly as he can upon hearing the private, staring out beyond the walls. “Where?”

“Up over thataways, sir!” the private yells, pointing off in the direction of the Keep. He’s not sure, but Travis could almost swear there’s some sort of black shape out there headed torwards him... He scrutinizes it as best he can, taking the quietly and automatically offered farseeing tube from a nearby corporal and staring at the black shape through it.

Travis, when he was younger, had wanted to become a ship captain. He’d worked hard while growing up, learned all the lessons to be learned without direct experience, and eventually got his chance to serve as an officer on a Whales trading ship. He’d had to withdraw quickly, though – while he had the soul of a sea captain, he definitely lacked the legs; he got too seasick to work. He’d gone to Metamor in self-disgust, joined the guards and quickly built up a reputation as a strong independent leader, and so it wasn’t long before he started getting several commands, not for ships, but for fortresses. He ran his place much like a ship, and anyone who didn’t like it usually didn’t make it far in the Guard; being assigned to Captain Travis quickly became the ultimate test of dicipline.

The private – Travis doesn’t even try remembering his name; it’s not yet immediately important – is doing his best to show how well he’s learned this lesson by remaining silent while Travis takes a look at the rapidily approaching figure. Then he lowers the farseeing tube, handing it back to the corporal, looking puzzled. “I think that’s Jahnsen.”

“Sir?” the soldier asks.

“Regular NCO on the night watch; the hell is he doing out here?” He shakes his head, then goes back to his voice of command. “He’s probably bound for this point. When he lands, detain him where he is until I get there.”

“Sir!” the private swiftly replies, turning his attention back to the rapidly growing figure.

---

Starling poked her head into the storeroom, scanning the space below her for any sign of enemy soldiers. The room was apparently deserted, though, which made the dragonette relax a little.

Flitting out of the small alcove the Key had made for her, up near the ceiling of the room, she carefully checked around all of the boxes and shelves that filled the long, narrow chamber. Peering under the room's single door, she saw no sign of anyone standing on the other side. That was good; there would be less chance of someone hearing them.

Satisfied, Starling flew back up to the alcove and peered down at Daria, who stood waiting in the passageway below. The dragonette nodded, and the redheaded human nodded back, reaching up to clasp her hand around the Key. A moment later a door appeared, connecting the corridor to the storeroom, and Daria opened it carefully. Fortunately the door hinges were well-oiled, and it did not make a sound.

Starling watched as Daria moved silently through the room, making note of the large wooden kegs that lined the wall opposite the door, as well as the racks of smaller cylinders that served as explosive loads for the trebuchets. Smiling tightly, the woman began piling those loads in front of the wooden door, being careful not to make a sound in doing so.

Once she had a good number of the explosive casks in place, she took another one and opened the plug at one end. As she tilted the hole towards her hand, Starling saw a mixture of black powder and small metal beads spill out. Smiling again in grim satisfaction, Daria crouched on the floor and began pouring the deadly mixture over and around the pile of ammunition.

Once the pile had been covered to her liking, the human warrior began laying a trail of dragon dust from the loads to the large storage kegs on the opposite side of the room. She then drew connecting trails between the kegs themselves. Taking a dagger from her boot, Daria bored small holes in the side of each of the barrels, letting the dust begin leaking out to add to the trails she had drawn.

Finally, using the last of the dust in her deadly little cask, Daria drew a thin line from the nearest of the storage kegs to a spot just a few feet in front of the passageway through which they had entered the room. Looking up, she beckoned to Starling; obediently, the dragonette flew down from her perch, then turned to see that her little alcove had disappeared.

Starling flew alongside Daria back into the passageway, until they were a good five or six feet inside. The redhead grasped the Key again, took a deep breath, and nodded to Starling. Crouching, taking careful aim, the dragonette breathed out a long plume of fire. The flames licked against the little pile of dragon dust at the end of the fuse, and the black powder lit with a flash.

Immediately, a wall of stone closed up before them, filling the entire space they had left between themselves and the doorway. Just to be safe, they quickly turned and began moving down the passageway.

Twenty seconds later the walls shook with a thunderous explosion.

---

"Nervous, Brennar?"

The cat-morph looked up at Private Morel and nodded, his green eyes worried.

Morel smiled kindly. "Can't say I blame you. War is hard on a man. No one should really enjoy it." He held up his sword, examining it for any sign of weakness. For a Lutin-made weapon, it was holding up well. "That battle for the armory -- was that your first time in combat?"

"Aye," Brennar said, nodding again. "I mean, I'd fought in training sessions before, but nothing like this. Nothing real."

"Aye, 'tis quite different when your Enemy is actually bent on killing you," Morel agreed with a lopsided grin. "You did all right, though."

Brennar smiled a little. "Thank you, sir."

"Now, don't go calling me 'sir', there, Brennar!" the man scolded playfully. "I'm a footman, and proud of it! Save 'sir' for the officers, soldier."

The cat grinned. "Aye, aye, Private."

Morel chuckled. " 'Private'. Gods, that sounds odd. Do you know what I do for a living, Brennar?"

"No, what?"

"I'm a cook. Work in Donny's kitchen at the Mule, have for the last ... thirty-two years, methinks. Never handled a sword in my life until after the Battle of Three Gates."

The tomcat's ears perked up. "A cook? What made you decide to join the army?"

Morel's lip twitched. "My husband was killed during the battle."

Brennar winced. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," the graying man replied with a small shrug, a faint expression of sadness on his well-worn face. "William was a soldier. Soldiers die. We bury them, we mourn, and then we move on. With Nasoj to the north of us, we have no choice."

"So you joined the army in his place?"

Morel nodded. "At first, I thought I'd make Will's killers pay for his death." He chuckled softly. "Jack gave me a good working over, though. Showed me that we can't do what we do for personal revenge -- it clouds the head, you won't think straight."

Brennar nodded sadly. "I understand." Images of Captain Farmer flickered briefly through his mind. He hoped that Amanda's father was still alive, but something inside him told him that it wasn't likely. He wished that he could somehow make sure that the captain was all right, if only for Amanda's sake. But Private Morel was right: they had a job to do here, now, and it would only hurt them if he let things get too personal.

The old private chucked Brennar on the chin. "Hey, eyes front, mate," he said, smiling again. "We'll make it through this, you'll see. Say, you're a baker, aren't you, Brennar? Have you ever made a Yule Pie?"

Brennar shook his head, frowning at the abrupt change of subject. He wondered if maybe Morel was secretly just as nervous as he was. "Never heard of it."

Morel clucked his tongue. "Pity. 'Tis a meal in itself -- meat, potatoes, carrots, celery, onions and peas, all within a pastry crust. The perfect dish to warm old bones on a winter's night!"

The tomcat scratched his head, puzzled. "It sounds like awful trouble to get all those vegetables in the winter."

"Aye, they have to be properly preserved at harvest-time if you're to make them for Yule. As it happens, we have a pantry at the mule with an excellent preservation spell. When this is all over, how would you like to help me make the greatest Yule Pie that Metamor has ever seen?"

Brennar grinned. "Sounds like fun! I have the perfect recipe for the crust, too..."

The muffled sound of an explosion on the far side of the wall abruptly cut short the conversation.

"That's our cue," Morel whispered, rather unnecessarily. "Stand ready..."

---

The wall opened suddenly before him, and Garulf charged through with his axe at the ready. Though younger than Daria, he had already seen a good deal of action on patrols; his battle-tuned senses now served him well, as he quickly scanned the room for threats and targets. It was a large, open room with a low ceiling, its bare floor covered with salvaged beds and mattresses that had replaced whatever furniture had originally been present. There were piles of clothes and other clutter, as well -- a testament to the soldiers who had been camping here. The most readily-noticed aspect of the room, however, was that almost everything was either burning or charred by fire -- including the enemy soldiers who had been sleeping here moments before. The scent of burning flesh and hair filled Garulf's sensitive nostrils, and the haze of smoke hanging over the room obscured his view of the bodies that littered the floor.

The bear-morph didn't bother to stop and take stock of which ones were alive or dead; if it was on the ground and wasn't moving much, it was of little concern. Instead, he focused his attentions immediately on those who were still standing, or were scrambling to their feet. In the confusion of the smoke and flames, his first few targets died quickly.

Bradfox was behind him, braced against the entranceway and cursing loudly and creatively as he unleashed a hail of deadly arrows any surviving invaders he could see through the haze. To either side of him other passages had opened, and the rest of Daria's team came forth to join the battle.

Garulf ignored them all, unconsciously aware of their presence but devoting his full attentions to the enemies at hand. Nasoj's troops had largely gotten over their shock by now and were coming at him in twos and threes, unwilling to face the huge bear-morph alone. Garulf pushed them back with the long handle of his axe, swiped at them with his claws, crushed their skulls against the stone walls, and cleaved off limbs and heads as the opportunities presented themselves, reveling in the heat of combat.

An arrow shot past his head, burying itself in the eye socket of an archer who had been ready to shoot him down. Garulf chanced a quick look back at his savior.

"Watch yourself, big guy," Brad grunted, nocking another arrow. Garulf bared his teeth in an ursine grin and dove back into the fray.

Moments later -- or at least it seemed so to Garulf -- a war cry echoed through the room from the doorway that stood opposite the sabotaged magazine. Glancing toward the direction of the sound, the bear grimaced as he saw a mob of at least thirty enemy soldiers rushing into the room.

---

Daria bit back a curse as she saw the enemy reinforcements arrive, flooding into the room with their weapons at the ready. Jessica cast a few energy bolts at the incoming enemies, even as Starling lashed out with fire and Bradfox set loose an even greater barrage of arrows; but none of them could continue such assaults indefinitely, and the attackers kept coming. In seconds her warriors were battling against four-to-one odds, fighting back to back or keeping the makeshift passageways behind them to keep from being surrounded.

"Starling, guard the passage!" Daria shouted, gripping her rapier and cutting into the half-dozen attackers approaching her. "All of you, come this way!"

The other Keepers complied, though Bradfox complained loudly at being forced to switch to his sword and plunge bodily into the fray. He was skillful even with the blade, though, and soon fought his way to join Garulf. Across the room, Weyden and David were inching their way towards Daria's escape passage, Jessica flying overhead and doing her best to thin out the ranks around them. Brennar and Morel were nearest to the door where the reinforcements had come in and were facing the heaviest opposition, but so far they were managing to hold off their attackers. Daria focused on eliminating any enemy soldiers who came close to her passage, knowing that there was no way she would last long trying to make it to the others on her own.

One of the enemy soldiers Daria was fighting swung his broadsword in a long arc, and pain lanced through Daria's arm as she blocked the blow. She and her fellow Keepers were tiring under the relentless assault -- something would either have to give way soon, or most of them would not make it out of here alive...

The man with the broadsword was brought down with a sudden axe-swing to the back of the neck, and Garulf and Brad forced their way through the small opening created to take their places alongside Daria.

"Glad you could join us," Daria said.

"That makes three of us," Brad said shortly, dropping back behind the woman and the bear. With the two warriors shielding him from the enemy swordsmen, he had his bow out again in a matter of seconds. "Duck."

Daria did so, dropping into a crouch as Bradfox sent an arrow over her head and into the neck of one of her opponents. She blocked a sword that was aimed at her head, then leapt up and gave the offending soldier a quick jab to the nose.

Behind her, Starling gave a small cry. An image flashed in the redhead's mind: Brennar and Morel with their backs to the wall, fighting against six men at once.

"Damn," she muttered, blocking a quick series of strokes from the tallest swordsman attacking her. He risked a stronger blow, probably hoping to knock the woman to her knees, but she ducked in close to him and used her body as a pivot point, directing the man's own momentum into a throw that sent him tumbling into his nearest comrade. Grabbing her dagger from the sheath on her leg, Daria took advantage of her opponent's momentary disorientation and drove the sturdy blade firmly into his neck. Any scream he might have made was cut short as the dagger sliced through his windpipe.

A sharp kick to the ribs knocked Daria off of the dying man's body, but she quickly regained her feet. Her side was burning, but she couldn't worry about that right now. Garulf was a powerful fighter, but she could leave him to handle these invaders alone -- especially since this was her team.

More shouts echoed through the room, and Daria looked up to see about ten more enemy soldiers rushing into the room. Dammit, she thought, didn't we have enough to worry about?

A moment later, though, she noticed something odd. The new arrivals weren't paying any real attention to Daria's team or the battle currently underway -- they were looking backwards toward the doorway, expressions of fear on their eyes.

"What in...?" Brad exclaimed from behind her.

A ball of green fire suddenly shot into the room, hitting one of the enemy soldiers full in the chest and knocking him flat. His companions scattered, heading for the now-empty passageways that Daria's teammates had used on their way in to the room. The corridors would peter out a few ells past the entrance, closed off by the Keep, but at the moment Daria was in no position to capitalize on their miscalculation. Besides, she was far more interested in what could have caused the invaders such fear.

The answer came in the form of a gray raccoon dressed in a heavily tarnished white fur overcoat, the front of which was covered with dried blood. In fact, the only thing really clean about him was the sword he was wielding; it was a blade of medium weight and thickness, but longer than usual and of a slightly peculiar design.. Daria recognized him immediately as the same warrior she and Merai had seen hunting gremlins on Daedra'kema; Rickkter was his name, or so Daria was told, and he had developed a rather astonishing reputation among the members of his unit.

Right now, Daria was just glad to see a friendly face.

"Rickkter!" she shouted.

He threw her a look and nodded, taking in the situation in the space of an instant. Stretching out his hand, he threw two more blasts at the soldiers that stood between Daria's passage and David and Weyden, giving them an opening to fall back. He then turned his attentions to the crowd of soldiers around Brennar and Morel, laying into the invaders with blinding speed. In the space of a few seconds all six lay dead, and the surviving enemy soldiers scattered before the battlemage.

"Thanks," Daria called to him, stooping to retrieve her dagger. "We needed that."

"Welcome," the raccoon said shortly, looking back over his shoulder. "I assume you're from the Temple, right? Do you have a way out of here?"

Daria frowned. "Yes, why?"

Rickkter was still looking over his shoulder. "Because we're going to need it in a few minutes. I took care of another pocket of these guys on my way here, and I think some of them managed to get away and find reinforcements."

"More?" Brennar said plaintively. "Are you sure?"

"Never argue with a mage." The raccoon walked over to Daria. "You in charge here?"

"Aye, sir."

"Thought so. Let's go."

"Right. Come on, people."

"Jacob, Julian, Hector, Elliot, Goldmark, let's move!" Rickkter shouted back over his shoulder. A few moments later a group of four rats, and what Daria could only assume was a black fox, hesitantly emerged from the same doorway Rickkter had. They quickly surveyed the carnage before hurrying through it to where the rest of the Keepers were.

They headed into the passageway, Daria in the lead. It was only about five feet wide, and went back roughly two yards before turning to the right and proceeding another ten yards or so to end in a stone wall.

"Nice," Rickkter said wryly. "This the way you came in?"

"Aye, with this," Daria said, holding up the Key. "We closed the passage behind us so no one could find the way back to the Temple if we were killed. Give me a moment, and I'll open it up again."

Daria clasped the Key in her hands and focused on the wall in front of her, visualizing the passage she wanted to form. Obediently, the stone began to give way--

And then stopped. The woman frowned, feeling the sudden resistance in the stones as she willed the passage to open. The stones seemed to give for a moment before melding back into their original flat shape.

"What's wrong?" the 'coon called out, noticing her expression. Rickkter had moved to the back of the group, looking out for unwanted company.

"It ... is fighting me," she said at last, scarcely believing it herself. "That's never happened before."

In the distance, she could hear the growing sounds of enemy soldiers, accompanied by the screams and war cries of Lutins. Brennar crept back to the entrance of the passage, out beyond Rickkter, peeking out into the room they had left. A few seconds later Morel was at his side, gripping his sword in one weary hand.

"We haven't much time," Rickkter growled quietly. "If this is not going to work..."

"It will work!" Daria insisted, her brow creasing as she put more effort into it. Slowly, the passage began to open once more -- but the shape was unstable, the path warped. And it was taking all of her concentration to get it to go even that far.

The gibbering outside abruptly grew louder, as a horde of Lutins came streaming into the room.

"Get back! Get back!" Morel hissed, pulling Brennar away from the entrance -- probably hoping they wouldn't be spotted. His hopes were in vain, however, as the Lutins made a beeline for the frightened tomcat. Morel positioned himself in front of the entrance, his sword at the ready as the little green-skinned brutes swarmed towards him.

Daria gave one final mental push, attempting to force the passage the rest of the way. For a moment it worked, but only a moment before the magical stone of Metamor closed once more upon itself. Daria swore loudly, shaking the key at the resisting wall.

Her frustration drew Rickkter's attention for a split second and he looked back to see what was the problem. That almost cost him a sword through the gut, but his sword whipped up faster and took off the arm of the attacker, swiftly followed by the Lutin's head. Another half dozen perished in the spell the mage cast a moment later, as five yards of corridor burst into a wall of flame.

"That should hold them a while," Rickkter explained as he jogged up to Daria. "What seems to be the problem? The short version, please."

Daria was quick to explain the function of the key and what had happened when she had tried to use it. Rickkter's expression grew less and less pleased the more she talked.

"Can you show me what is supposed to happen?" he asked, glowering back at the bend in the corridor. Fortunately he'd cast the fire spell near the entrance, and thanks to that bend they were now well out of the enemy's line of fire if they thought to bring any archers with them. Clearing her mind, Daria turned back to the wall and pictured the passageway leading up to the inside of the temple. She could feel the passage forming, and then the unknown force that blocked her efforts.

A voice came to her from inside her head. {Here, let me help.}

Before Daria could protest she felt a pair of paws clasp her head at the temples and ten tiny claws dig into her head. A surge of power went through her, so fast and strong that it almost took her breath away.

{Concentrate, damn it!} Rick's voice scolded her in her mind. {Focus on the passage and let me do the rest!}

Much to Daria's surprise, it seemed to be working. Their combined power was counteracting whatever was preventing her from opening the passage in the first place. Within about a minute they had a long staircase before them, leading up and northward in the direction of the temple. She quickly recognized that the passage was about as stable as it was going to get.

"Let's go!" she shouted, still rooted in place from the power Rickkter was channeling through her. She watched as Starling, the four rats, the black -- or was he blue? -- fox, Brad, and Garulf ran past and up the narrow flight of steps. The only two left were Brenner and Morel, both watching the slowly dying flames. "Rick, I think we had best be moving," she stuttered, trying not to let their weakening defense break her concentration from the corridor.

{Okay, but go slowly. It's taking all my concentration to keep this thing open.} Daria could clearly hear that strain in his projected thoughts. When she heard Rick tell her to move, she did so, however slowly it was. "Brenner, Morel, fall back!" she cried as she and Rick reached the first steps. She noted with some horror that the flames weren't even a foot high by this point.

The corridor they had opened seemed smaller when they were in it, Daria and Rickkter almost having no room to turn around in their awkward, attached state. They were about a quarter of the way up the flight when the first of the Lutins appeared. Fortunately the narrow passage worked to their advantage here and Morel and Brenner were able to hold the attackers back. But the further they went up, the narrower the passage seemed to become, and the more tightly Rickkter gripped her head. She could hear his panting behind her and could only guess at the effort this was taking the mage.

They hadn't moved more than half a dozen steps when first the grating sound occurred. Rickkter growled along with it, digging his claws further into the skin on Daria's head. She was horrified when she saw that the sound was made by the corridor warping behind them, closing in on itself, flowing almost like liquid.

{Can't... hold on much longer!} Rick told her.

"You two, get behind us!" Daria cried, sensing through the key what was about to happen. "Hurry up!"

"Funny, I thought we were!" Morel gasped, stabbing at another of the advancing Lutins. The staircase had slowed them down a little, but they were making up the distance.

Brennar was quick to see the situation and felled one more attacker before dropping to all fours and scrabbling up and around Daria and the mage.

Morel had apparently become winded from the fighting and so was slower than the cat. Daria cried out when she saw the contorting stairs of the passage heave beneath the man, tripping him.

"Morel!" she shouted, trying to break free and pull him up. She was stopped by Rickkter's iron grip on her.

{Forget about him!} Rickkter shouted, his expression harsh. {He's gone!}

"The hells he is!" Daria retorted angrily. She could see that the old soldier had scrambled back to his knees, but already he was being set upon by Lutins. "I don't leave my men behind!"

{There's no time!} the raccoon snapped, practically dragging her up the stairs by her head. {Move! Now!}

Morel screamed in pain and fury as he bravely tore into the Lutins with his meat cleaver, doing his best to buy time for the others -- and in an instant, Daria realized that Rickkter was right. With a bitter taste in her throat, she turned and continued her frantic climb up the passage, not daring to look back again.

They made it another thirty seconds or so before Morel's screams ended. Forcing back the tears she wanted to shed, Daria heeded the instructions Rickkter was screaming inside her head and concentrated on the passage once more. The passage was now hardly big enough for the two of them to stand in and was shifting and moving about almost like a liquid. Redoubling her efforts, Daria channeled all her rage and frustrations into keeping the way open. Looking up, she could see the others on a wide landing, their expressions nervous as they saw the horde of Lutins closing in behind. Brad nocked an arrow and took aim, then apparently thought better of it and lowered his bow -- the passage was too narrow for him to get a shot off.

Even with both Rickkter and Daria channeling all their efforts into the Key, and the others at the top of the passage yelling encouragement, it was tough going. As they neared the top the passage was brushing their shoulders and undulating beneath their feet like an ocean. The Lutins screamed and gibbered madly below them, as the stones shifted and disappeared under their feet and they fell cursing onto the swarm of green-skinned brutes behind them.

"Al--most ... there..." Daria gritted.

Suddenly the floor churned beneath them, and the steps they were climbing dropped limply away from the landing. Months of training kicked in as Daria jumped up, Rickkter copying her motion in sync, and grabbed onto what had suddenly become a ledge six feet high. The raccoon held on to her with an iron grip, dragging her down with his extra weight.

“PULL US UP!” Rickkter shouted, though Daria couldn't tell whether he was speaking out loud or only in her mind.

Whether he heard the battlemage's order or not, Garulf quickly knelt and seized hold of Daria's arms, pulling her upwards. Bones and muscles screamed at her as Daria felt her arms pull out of their sockets. In that instant her concentration on the key wavered -- and the walls slammed shut beneath their feet like a battering ram, straight into the Lutins that were fast on their heels.

The crunching sound alone was sickening. The blood that squirted through the closing gap was worse. But it was the single outstretched arm reaching up from the floor below, fingers clutching for something they could not reach, that probably did the most to send Brennar and Weyden retching in the corner. Daria was in too much agony from her dislocated arms to pay much attention.

There was a door at the top of the landing, which someone opened a few seconds later. Some part of Daria's brain took note of the Lightbringer Archives on the far side of the doorway, and Merai rushing to her side.

"Oh, bother," Merai winced, quickly seeing the problem. "What have you done to yourself this time?" Taking hold of her left arm and its shoulder, the priestess did something extremely painful and the limb popped back into place. She then did the same to the other arm, completely ignoring Daria's screams and curses. Then she placed her hands on both shoulders, and Daria finally felt the pain dwindle away.

The feline girl smiled a little. "Feel better?"

Daria glared up at her. "I suppose you think you're clever."

Merai grinned broadly and rose to her feet, reaching out a hand to help the warrior-woman up. "What would folk like you do without folk like me?"

"Bleed a great deal more, I imagine."

By now Rickkter had recovered from his exhaustion, and Garulf helped him to his feet. "Thank Akkala you two are all right," the bear-morph rumbled. "We didn't think you two were going to make it up here."

Rickkter shook himself off, his tail bushing out behind him. "Almost didn't. Got lucky there. But what I want to know is what the hell is happening around here to cause the keep to do that."

"You'll have to talk to Mistress Raven about that, she might know something," Daria said, leaning on Merai's shoulder as they stepped out into the first floor of the Archives. A crowd was waiting in a loose semicircle around the entrance, and they looked greatly relieved as the warriors finally entered the room.

"Rickkter?" said a soft voice from beyond the wall of people. A few acolytes parted the way to allow a female skunk to pass by.

"Oh, Kayla," Rick gasped, holding out his arms when he saw her. The skunk almost rushed him, falling into his arms. Rickkter held her tightly against his chest as she clung to him and shook.

"I thought you had been killed out there," she said, her voice muffled against his coat.

Gently stroking the fur at the back of her neck, Rickkter shushed her. "I know, love. I know. I'm just glad nothing happened to you."

Whatever Kayla mumbled in response was lost in the thick fur of his coat. She just buried her face into it and squeezed him tighter. Rickkter felt himself doing the same, feeling the fabric of the dress slide beneath his paws as he rubbed her back. But he soon stopped and just held her, pressing her close. She was shaking very slightly as she clung to him. He could feel now the fur of her thick winter coat compressing under his touch and her ribs beneath. It was so soft, just the fur on her head as he pressed down on it with his chin, squeezing his eyes shut. Great Maker, it had been many, many very long years since he had had wanted to just hold someone as bad as he wanted hold her right now. If his grip was a little tight, she never complained. In fact, Rickkter felt her long tail wrap around his legs. He just hugged her tighter, whispering quietly that he loved her.

Eventually the conversation from the others drifted back, breaking his moment of peace. Rickkter opened his eyes and raised his head as he leaned back a little from the skunk. He had to blink his eyes several times, as they were a little wet. Kayla did likewise, though with greater reluctance. When he looked down into her blue eyes, Rick couldn’t help smiling.

"Well, I don't know about anyone else," said Rickkter as he turned and looked at the rest of the people in the room, many openly gawking at his show of affection, "but I am starving. Who's ready for dinner?"

---

Just like Randolph helping Alexander of the Northlands! Well, at least kinda sorta, Josh tells himself.

The staff that Uncle Jono’s ladyfriend gave him is extremely heavy for someone his size. The lantern at the end only makes it even more of a difficulty. But Josh is being a Tough Guy now. He’s got to be. Uncle Jono and Miss Joanne are both counting on him to keep the light out front, and he Always follows through on that sort of thing. As Mom and Dad always said, it’s just something you have to do.

So he stays at the very front edge of the makeshift sled, holding on tightly to both it and the staff, watching Uncle Jono run. If he turns to look behind him, he can see that other big guy – Uncle Jono called him Kirk, he reminds himself – pulling the other sled, looking like he could go a lot faster.

There are a few discontinuities between his role and that of Randolph. He doesn’t really recall Alexander of the Northlands having two sleds, for one, let alone ones thrown together with lots of canvas and a few tent poles, or ones pulled by a large panther and an even larger bull. And wasn’t Randolph one of the guys pulling? He’d wanted to join in, had asked Uncle Jono as nicely as he could, but he’d still been told that he couldn’t. So he does his job as best he can, holding the lantern remarkably steady for one of his strength.

Hopefully this’ll all be done soon, he thinks. Perhaps then he can be the one to tell the stories. That’d be... wowwww...

---

The campsite and surrounding terrain have begun to stand out as a battlefield quite clearly even through the rapidly falling snow. While for the most part individual tracks have been quickly swallowed up by the incredible masses of snow, enough have been fighting or just marching in this one area that the snow is trampled down a great deal, enough to be clearly visible.

That makes Kesk’s work to relocate it all the more easy. It doesn’t do anything for his mood, though. Forcing his best scouts ahead in a flat out charge as though they were common grunts! As if it’s going to accomplish anything in this weather, too, what with the lead they’ve taken from the time that illusion had Nasoj’s tool intimidated.

He keeps moving regardless, though, one hand near to the pouch where he keeps a small set of poisoned darts, not about to let any lucky Keeper catch them by surprise again. And besides, it gives him more time to torture his imagination’s representative of that damnable mage.

---

The guard on duty pays the price for blinking in the form of a snowdrift that catches him in the belly as Jahnsen lands, leaving him dazed for a moment. If he were leading an assault, Jahnsen could have very swiftly taken said guard out. And with the Captain only a few meters away at the time! He’s undoubtedly not going to be pleased with that.

Fortunately for him, Travis knows how to prioritize, heading straight for the downed batmorph after sending a glance in the guard’s direction that confirms his disapproval. “Corporal Jahnsen! Report!”

Jahnsen manages to leap to attention very quickly, despite his weariness. “Sir! Twoscore kids and defenders heading this way right now, persued by Lutins, sir!”

Travis’s response is to blink. “Say that again?”

“Sir. We got nearly forty children out of the Keep, but there’s a Lutin force of unknown strength tailing them at the moment. They’re coming here on makeshift sleds; two of us are going to full animal form to pull them. We need a place to defend the kids, sir. I was ordered to fly ahead.” He keeps his voice calm, direct, to the point.

“Spyglass”, Travis says, turning to his aide, who immediately produces the telescope, handing it to Travis.

“North-northeast, sir.” Travis nods in acknowledgement, training the spyglass in the direction the bat came.

If it weren’t for Josh, they’d be virtually impossible to see in the weather, calmed down even as it is. With the lantern, though, Travis can spot them.

There’s two sleds, done apparently by stretching layers of canvas between three tent poles in an almost triangle shape. The one bearing the lantern-carrier is of modest size, and being pulled at a remarkably rapid pace by a very large black cat; probably a panther of some sort. The other, immediately behind and a little to the right of the first, is considerably larger, and being pulled by a very large bull. The axe in the back of the sled is distinctive.

“Kirk.”

The cat’s unknown to him, but he can recognize Dana in the second sled, along with some other porcupine-like character. The other sled only has one apparent defender; while he recognizes Kevin in there, he looks rather out of it; only the vixen there seems ready to fight.

And, of course, there’s all the children down there. Jahnsen apparently wasn’t kidding; near to twoscore, obviously.

He hands the spyglass back to his aide, turns to the guard who’d noted Jahnsen’s arrival. “Take the corporal down to the sickbay and get him checked out.” Then to his aide, “Have someone keep an eye on them, and let me know when they get within fifteen yards.” A nod.

---

The two Lutins he’s found are virtual giants of their race. The weather’s barely affected them, too, so they can do an effective ferrying job. He’d appreciate it quite a bit more, though, if the two oafs didn’t keep him from juggling around like a ship in a storm, Sandaron thinks to himself, conveniently forgetting that he still is in one. They are making very good time, though; they’re rapidly outpacing the rest of those lazy bastard Lutins.

To Sandaron’s credit, he’s no longer leading from the rear. Having been taken for a fool once, he now has to avenge it, which means getting close enough to toss off a few spells at the opposition. He’s already got his favorite far-seeing spell running, so he can see his target. There’s a little boy carrying a lantern that they’re obviously counting on to guide their way... ha! Proper foes would have used something or someone less vulnerable. Just a few more meters...

---

Kesk glances to the left just in time to see Jekk and Harl... both carrying the mage as though they were palanquin carriers or something equally low! Bastard misuses some of his best soldiers...

---

There! That ought to do it! “Set me DOWN, you great oafs!” He can’t hardly cast a spell while he’s being bounced about, can he?

Sandaron is obviously not one for command; though he prefers not to admit to recognizing it, he was tossed out here because it was believed he’d do the least amount of damage here. He’d long since have been expunged from Nasoj’s ranks, except for one thing. Despite all his blustering, his cowardice, and his pompousness, when he’s aroused and angered he manages to be a deadly capable foe, all disbelief from everyone around him to the contrary. As such, he knows exactly where to aim his firebolt for maximum effect. Straight through the boy’s head, and from there to the cat’s leg...

---

Josh is completely unaware of what’s going on behind him, keeping all his concentration on holding the lantern up. Nearby, Jo can finally see their persuers, watching them very slowly but surely making up the distance. They shouldn’t be able to catch them in time, though, especially if more of them keep holding back like those two big ones...

---

A small patch of ice is ultimately what saves Josh’s life, when Jono’s rear paw slips on it, bumping the sled a bit, and thowing off Sandaron’s aim just enough to miss Josh.

He doesn’t miss Jono.

Daemion has been just sitting in the sled contemplating his future healing career once more when suddenly the bolt, and a subsequent howl from Jono catch his full attention. Crap! They’re able to hit us from back there! His first instinct is to leap up and move to examine where the bolt hit Jono. His next is to stop that and grab on tight to the canvas as Jono loses his footing and goes skidding, sending a few of the kids into the snow.

---

When I finally found them, the skunk and raccoon were at a table together, bent over a simple meal and talking softly to each other. I saw that they were splitting a loaf of rye bread, the skunk placing small pieces of it in her muzzle and slowly eating as Rickkter whispered near her ear. The rats, Julian, Elliot and Goldmark, everyone from the cellars, stopped a few feet from the table, waiting for the eating couple to notice us. I had to clear my throat to make them look up.

"I was wondering what had happened to you, Rick," I told him, softly smiling. "Who is this?"

"Ah, yes. I'm sorry about dropping you guys like that." He ran his muzzle along the skunk's head in a quick nuzzle. "Just that some things are more important to me." He returned his attention us. "That and the Lightbringer wanted to have a few words with me. She told me to tell you that she wants to talk to you about those soul stones we found in the labyrinth as well. She's quite intent on knowing their exact location. But where are my manners?" He straightened up and gestured to the skunk beside him using a piece of bread. "Everyone, this is Kayla, my love. Kayla, this is Julian, Elliot and Goldmark," he continued, pointing out the white rat, grey one, and black rat. "And lastly, that is Jacob Alton." Rick paused, looking at me for a long moment, I couldn't tell if was respect or a slight dejection. "We met in town. He was the one who kept me from freezing out there and helped me back to the Keep were we ran into the others."

Kayla turned up and looked at me with a pair of wide eyes, studying me with an intensity I had never had directed towards me before. Never one for such critical examinations, I was the first to break eye contact and dropped my gaze from her's. "You saved his life?" asked the skunk eventually.

I folded my ears back and nodded once. It didn't understand why she was looking at me like I was a hero. I would never claim to be one nor should I ever.

"Thank you." She looked over at Rick and smile before returning her gaze to me. The way her eyes were lit up, such vivid blue against the deep black of her fur, I could see some of the beauty that that crazed raccoon found in her. "From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I am deeply in you debt for that."

"Really, it was nothing. He saved my life before that, and I returned the favour like any good person should."

"Maybe to him." She squeezed the paw of her raccoon tighter. "But you still brought him back to me. That's something I can't forget."

"Um, well, yes." I reached up and scratched at the back of my head at an imaginary itch. "I was just honoured of the experience and to have a captivated audience for one of my stories." Nervously I looked around, uncomfortable by the situation. "I must go. If the Lightbringer wants to see me, I guess I had best go now."

Rick nodded and turned to the rats. "Why don't you guys grab something to eat, join us?" Their squeaks ascended as I turned and went off.

My throat had gone quite dry as I made my way past the people in the temple. The high priestess herself wants to see me! True that I had seen her many times already around the Keep since the attack, but never had I actually had the chance to speak with her. I was not a believer of the religion or of any but I do remember the small kindness she gave me when we were children. I still carry the gold in my pocket and in my heart. But my love is for Christina Fields, she warms my heart with the aura of love. The Lightbringer brings a warm smile to my face, nothing more.

I had seen Raven enough over the years, at public gatherings, celebrations, and even on occasion walking the walls of the Keep that she seemed more like a friendly, familiar figure and not a holy woman respected from a distance, but I was still nervous. She often had that flighty wolf minstrel with her, but I never paid him much heed at all. Besides, now it was just me and her and a million thanks for a simple gesture on her part.

Raven was at her desk when I nudged open the door and announced myself. She gave me just about the most charming smile I have ever been the recipient of. No teeth, of course, just a very pleasant drawing up of her lips and righting of her ears. Ah, like silvered temples those ears, I could write poems about them for years.

"Please, have a seat, Jacob. There are a few things I'd like to ask you about."

"Certainly," I replied, slipping my tail through the gracious hole in the back of the proffered chair. "What would you like to know?"

"I'll keep this simple. What I want to know about are the soul gems; specifically their location. Could you find them again if I wanted you to?"

"Certainly!" I said, my whole body -- from my tail to the tips of my ears – perking up. "I know exactly where they are located."

“Excellent. That's good to hear Jacob. From what I heard, you were down in those tunnels for several hours. Not many people could remember their way like that. When this is all over, you'll have to take my acolytes and me to find them."

I suddenly recalled a fantasy that I've had about Raven for years; that one day I would be at The Tavern's Hearth, treating myself to a decent meal in celebration of having sold one of my manuscripts when *she* would come in. Sometimes there was a reason - like The Tavern was full - and sometimes there wasn't, but in the end she would end up coming over to my table and asking if she could share it. And, with no hint of nervousness or trepidation, I would agree. And we'd have a good dinner, and I would make witty conversation, and sometimes we'd go walk the streets together in friendly banter, and sometimes not. But the end result was always my walking away having made some sort of positive impression upon her. But those are a poor man's dreams.

Sitting there, staring at her across her large, ornate, cluttered desk, I asked myself if this could be more than a friendship? Am I lying to myself because of a distaste to the Lightbringers and her affinity to that. No, it was more than an affinity, this was her life, and her calling. What could I convey that could flatter this woman of intrigue and mystery. My bushy, black tail sank to the floor. No matter how much I might want to, to try and impress her, I could not lie to her. Not when she was counting on me that much.

"Well... that's not quite what I meant. If I were on the bridge once more, then I could find them easily enough. As for the tunnels... the best I could do is follow my own scent trail down. Which would quite possibly lead us in circles for a few hours before reaching the bridge once more. If you wanted to navigate those tunnels, perhaps you should ask one of the rats. They... they've more experience with the tunnels than I do, I fear."

Raven wuffed a sigh, turning her head away from me. She only looked down at a patch of her chamber's floor. "Did you... did you happen to bring any of the gems back with you? Did you take any besides the one you gave Rick to examine?"

In dejection I hung my head, giving it a slight shake. "No, ma'am. I had a second one picked up, but dropped it back when I learned what it was. I had heard they were things of the Daedra and not to be trifled with."

Raven nodded sadly at that what I said, not seeming to pay too much attention. Silence filled the room after I had stopped speaking, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything to fill it. Eventually she turned her gaze from the floor to the ceiling beams and rubbed her chin in thought.

"Well... they may just have a chance now," she muttered softly to herself. Her smile looked a bit forced as her gaze returned to me. "Thank you for your help, Jacob. I'll be sure to speak with one of the rats in regards to following the tunnels. As for the soul gems, you made the right choice. It's not something mortals should trifle with. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to try and work on some new strategies to use against the insurgents." She gave me that wooden smile again.

I stuttered at her, my jaw not quite working right. "Of... of course," I finally managed to get out. "Thank you for your time." With that, I got up and walked towards the door when I turned to look at her, I wouldn't waste an opportunity like this.

"I remember you when I was a child. I was a trickster in the street, more begging than labouring for money when you passed by me. You were a beautiful girl in those days, not that you aren't now, but you were kinder to me on that one day than fate had ever been in my whole life." I reached into my pocket and pulled the gold coin. "I could never spend it, even when I was laying in the street, even when I was crying for food. For some reason, I could never part with it."

Her jaw slightly dropped when I showed it to her. Inside, I wondered if I sparked a recollection of a memory. She stood silent and I stuttered one more time.

"I am a poor scoundrel who is just trying to fool another who has much more than I."

I turned and left the Lightbringer's chamber. I made my way through the main hall without really seeing anyone in it, my thick black tail seeking refuge between my legs. It was just about the worst. How could I have EVER thought that a woman like that would want anything to do with a mangy animal like me. I grit my teeth tightly together, my lips and whiskers drawing up in a snarl. The truth hurts when it comes crashing in fiery embers all around you.

What a moron I am to try and be more than what fate intended for me!

---

December 26th, 706 CR ― 5 PM
Complications

Daria let out a long sigh, trying to ignore the pain in her side and the chill of the stone floor against her back. Merai was working her hands slowly over the warrior's ribcage, using a Lightbringer healing technique to shift the broken bones back into place and fuse them together again. It was a wonderful tool when rapid recovery was needed, but it did nothing for the pain inflicted by jagged shards of bone pushing their way through her chest cavity to their rightful places.

"How much longer?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"A few minutes more." Merai smiled at her friend's expression. "Well, you don't want me puncturing a lung or something, do you?"

"No, thank you."

Garulf sat beside them on the floor of the temple hall, watching impassively as Caitlyn examined his arms for broken bones.

Daria's mother pressed down gently on one spot just below the bear's elbow. "Does that hurt?"

"Aye."

Another spot. "What about here?"

"Aye."

"Here?"

"Aye."

The girl sighed, shaking her head. "Well, your skin must be black and blue everywhere, but I can feel no breaks. Count yourself lucky."

The bear grinned. "Thank the gods for chain mail."

"And the fact that there weren't many archers," Daria added wryly.

The door to the Lightbringer's chambers opened, and Raven stepped out into the temple hall. Taking a look around the room at the healers, acolytes and wounded soldiers present, she approached Daria with a questioning gaze.

"Don't move," Merai cautioned, as her friend made eye contact with the wolfen priestess. Daria nodded in acknowledgement, laying her head back down on the floor and trying to relax. A particularly large piece of bone had just started shifting...

"Lothanasa," she said in greeting.

"Squire," Raven replied with a nod. "How was your latest battle?"

"The hardest we've seen, Mistress," Daria said, gritting her teeth as the migrant bone shard worked its way past her lung. "Between the explosion from the trebuchet magazine and the battle that followed, I estimate seventy to a hundred enemy casualties." Her face fell. "But we lost Private Morel."

Raven closed her eyes and nodded, her expression sorrowful. "I am sorry to hear that. I counseled Morel for a time after his husband's death. He was a good man."

"Aye." Daria frowned. "There's something else, as well, Lightbringer. During the battle, the Key ... did not work as it should."

Raven cast a sidelong glance at Caitlyn, apparently debating whether they should be having this conversation in front of her. Daria's mother, after all, had no idea of the Key's nature.

"Let me see it," she said at last. Daria looked at Merai, who paused, then nodded once. Carefully, the warrior woman removed the necklace and held it up for Raven to take, being careful not to move her chest in doing so.

The priestess studied the Key closely, doubtless examining its aura as well as its physical appearance. "I see nothing wrong with the Key itself," she said.

"There isn't anything wrong with the Key itself," said a voice on the far side of the room. "There's something wrong with the Keep."

For an instant, Daria saw Raven's ears flatten, the corner of her muzzle twitching in agitation. Then she composed herself and turned to face the man walking towards them. "Hello, Rickkter."

"Hello, Lightbringer," he said, in the pleasant sort of voice that the proverbial Mongoose might use with the Cobra if they were to meet by chance at a royal banquet. "I really must thank you for your acolytes' hospitality in welcoming me into your temple."

"Our house is open to all Keepers," Raven replied smoothly.

"Rickkter helped save our lives in that battle," Daria put in, anxious to defuse this sudden tension between her benefactors. "If not for him, we all likely would have been killed."

The Lightbringer looked at her for a moment, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the raccoon. "I am not surprised," she said. "Rickkter is one of the best warriors in all of Metamor. Thank you for your help."

Rickkter crossed his arms over his chest in an "X" shape, fists clenched, and bowed slightly. "I live to serve," he said -- his voice, at least, totally sincere.

"I believe you were saying that there is something wrong with the Keep?" Raven prompted.

"Aye. To all appearances, something -- or someone -- is interfering with Metamor's variable geometry."

Raven raised one eyebrow, her ears pricking forward. "Any idea what that could be?" she asked speculatively.

The raccoon shrugged. "Why don't you ask her?"

Slowly, a small smile crept on the wolf-woman's face. "Merai?"

"Aye, Sister Raven?"

"See to it that I'm not disturbed."

"Of course."

Without another word, Raven turned and strode quietly back into her chambers, shutting the door behind her.

---

Once inside her bedroom, Raven cast her eyes up at the ceiling.

"What's going on, Kyia?"

Reaching out to the aura of the Keep all around her, Raven immediately sensed an undercurrent of frustration. And beneath it, something like ... fear?

"Black magic," Kyia said bitterly. "They have cast an enchantment at my gates, cutting me off from sections of the Keep." She paused, and when her voice came back it was softer, filled with a quiet terror. "Raven ... I can't feel those parts of the Keep anymore. They are like ... like dead limbs on my body."

Raven clenched her fists. "Who would dare to do such a thing?" she growled, righteous indignation springing up within her. It was one thing for the wizard to attack the human occupants of the Keep; but to attack Metamor herself, to assault a being who may well have existed since the very dawn of time...

"This was Ba'al's doing," Kyia spat. "His chosen servants have entered my house and desecrated it."

The priestess looked up in alarm. "What do you mean, Ba'al's servants?"

"You know what I mean," the nymph replied. "Moranasi."

"Moranasi," Raven breathed. She shook her head, hardly believing what she was hearing. Moranasi -- "Shadow Bringers". The secret order of mages created by Ba'al as a perverted reflection of the Lothanasi. Their kind had not been seen in centuries -- and yet they were here, now. And they were working with Nasoj to destroy Metamor.

"How many?" the wolf-woman asked.

"Two masters, four apprentices," Kyia said. "With the one master being greater than the other."

"A full circle." She let out a ragged sigh. "Where are they now?"

"I do not know. They are within the area that has been lost to me." The nymph paused, sounding thoughtful. "They appeared again within my senses a short time ago, but soon after that area, too, went dark."

"They must be expanding the spell through the Keep," Raven mused.

"Aye. They tried to isolate Daria and her friends, but I fought the effects long enough for them to escape ... though only just."

The priestess nodded, frowning, and turned to look out the window. The storm was still going strong. "We will have to seek the gods' help in this, of course."

The Keep's aura changed subtly, as if to imply that Kyia found the suggestion distasteful. "Do what you must," she said at last.

Raven glanced up at the ceiling. "Always," she murmured.

---

There he is!

He’s been looking for Tharag’s puppeteer ever since his scouting team had run past, not giving him a second look. He probably looked rather dead, though, so they would’ve pressed on. Still, he’s going to have to discuss that with them. After he retakes his tribe, of course, Orrusk thinks to himself.

Jekk and Harl make for good visual references. The mage is between and just ahead of them, starting to move again after having cast the one spell. About twenty-five, thirty yards ahead, he judges. Not too far.

He starts running that way, trying his best to keep a low profile, mentally planning out exactly what he intends to do.

---

The first thing that comes to Kirk’s mind when he sees Jono go down is surprise. Then comes concern, more for the kids than for Jono – he’s a professional despite his lack of formal training, so he can probably take care of himself. But the kids are his responsibility...

“KEEP GOING!” This from Jo, who managed to keep from getting tossed out of the sled when Jono fell. He speeds back up immediately, of course. Even though Jono had the lantern with him, he can just about see their destination, so he shouldn’t need the lantern...

Behind him, Perry overhears the order, and takes a look back. He counts five, maybe six Lutins in advance that are probably going to overtake the others beforer he can get moving, and so even as that thought registers he leaps from the sled, rolling as he lands then springing back to his feet and running for the downed sled, while Dana just blinks and shakes her head.

---

Kesk doesn’t have the privlege of being one of those six. Markesh always picked his scouts more for endurance and intelligence rather than their ability to run away quickly, and so six of the regulars have overtaken them in the charge. Which means that that mage he’s about to go back to overtaking is going to scream at them after this is over for not being in the front despite elite status. He’s certainly looking forward to that.

He’s so focused on that that he takes no notice of Orrusk, about three meters behind him, and running just about as fast.

---

“DAMNIT!” He didn’t manage to get the boy! The damned thing moved as he was casting and...

But he did manage to cripple the cat pulling the sled. And six of his Lutins are about to overtake them. The other is too far ahead, but he’ll have enough captives to bring back to Nasoj. That brings a smile back to Sandaron’s face.

---

Six Lutins, two grownups, only one who can Do anything, Derek thinks to himself. Good thing we started that Plan... “Okay, everybody in the Plan! Get ready!” He’ll have to lead them over to the side a bit, so that nobody hits Jono’s friend, but he can do that quickly enough...

---

The sled’s stopped moving, so Daemion can follow up on his first impulse now, which he does, quickly dashing over to Jono’s side. It looks pretty nasty, but it’s probably not Too bad, and he’s dealt with worse before, he tells himself. After all, he was there for Jeremy, he saved Sammy and Derek from that really evil thing...

“Daemion!” He turns at the sound of his name, just in time to catch the two compresses Jo tosses him. “Put that on the wound!” He recognizes them instantly; it’s the same sort of compress she put on Jeremy seemingly eons ago. A bit of surprise – she wants ME to do the healing?. Then, She’s got other things she needs to do! She needs my help!

And Daemion is not the type to stop helping someone; he’s too much of his father’s child to be that way. So he allows himself only a moment to recall how Jo put the compess on Jeremy’s back before turning back to Jono. “This is going to hurt a bit at first...” he starts, but then he sees the cat nod, bearing its teeth in a manner that looks intimidating until he realizes it’s an attempt at a grin. Well, if he thinks I can do it...

The first thing that comes to his mind is that it’s really hard to see. And you need to be able to see well to do this right, yeah... So he glances over to the front of the sled. “Josh! I need you to move the light so it’s over here!”

Josh is sitting there wide-eyed, not registering Daemion’s words at all, having SEEN the magic bolt hit Big Uncle Jono, right next to him. He’s still holding the staff with the lantern – he did manage to keep it up even when the sled fell – but it’s drooped now, as the shock got to him so badly that he couldn’t hold it all the way up. The Bad Guys hurt Uncle Jono! But... that’s not supposed to be Possible!

“JOSH!” Hearing it screamed finally gets to him. “The lantern! I need it over here so I can help Uncle Jono!”

Helping Uncle Jono. So he can beat the Bad Guys again. Even adventurers got hurt sometimes, right?

“HEY! JOSH!” Oops! Need to help Uncle Jono! He promptly moves the lantern over so it’s hanging right over Daemion, and holds it as tight as he can. Gotta help Uncle Jono...

---

The six Lutins who’ve managed to get ahead of those pompous Blackhanders (damn swine, thinking they’re so important just ’cause they only had one decent fighter in the lot) are feeling pretty confident. Only one of the Keepers standing. And they’re both mages, to boot! All are convinced that this is going to be extremely easy.

Then one of them blinks in surprise as he hears something. Like an order to throw weapons, except it sounds like a ki–

Derek’s firing squad’s first volley catches them all by surprise, but the wind gusts just as they throw, and so only one of the six actually goes down, though several are wounded. The second volley has a better chance of not being thrown off that way, but the Lutins are aware now, and aside from a few more wounds, little impact is made.

Drat! He’d been so sure that it’d work perfectly... “Everyone! Quick! Back to the sled!” Derek yells, scooping up a bit of snow as he and the others start to run.

---

So that’s what he was up to! Jo thinks to herself. Not an original idea, but a very clever one; if only he had some more grown up people to work with, more of an impact might have been made. As such, there’s still five left, and they’re getting far too close...

She’s still got her spear in one hand, so she can only get one of the daggers into the air, cutting down one of the ones closest to her that seems not as badly wounded. But there’s still one other, and it manages to get close enough to her that all she can do is block the blow with her staff long enough to stow the thrown dagger, whereupon she shoves the Lutin back, trying to get a little more breathing room and time to plan...

And then she hears the yells of “For the Duke! For Metamor!” as Perry charges past the sled and torwards the Lutins, taking them All by surprise, swinging at one Lutin who was attempting to flank the sled, and Jono... this one has a higher quality sword, though, as it manages to parry...

---

“ANOTHER Keeper?! HOW DARE THEY!”

Sandaron is now very much back to being pissed. How dare they come back and disrupt his scheme? Bastards.

But that can easily be rectified. So he starts preparing...

---

Finally! The lantern Definitely helps; he can actually see what he’s doing now, and hearing his father leap in just tossed away all his doubts about the approaching Lutins being able to get them. Okay... now, next... there was that paper she pulled off. He carefully peels off the small strip of paper on the bottom of one of the compresses, following up with the other. Probably to keep all the healing inside until it needs to be used. And the hurt spot is big enough that both are gonna be needed. He can’t see the look of intense concentration on his face as he gets both compresses in both hands, getting ready to put them both on simultaneously, counting to himself. One... two...

“...three!” he ends up saying out loud as he drops both compresses across the scar the bolt left on Jono’s rear left haunch, making sure to hold them down even as Jono yowls loudly and starts to try to squirm out of the way. Even the lantern starts to shiver a bit as Josh sees Uncle Jono obviously hurting... but Daemion’s got to keep the compresses on! “Have to stay still, Uncle Jono!” The cat grits his teeth, but to Daemion’s relief, he manages to comply for a few moments more; long enough for the compresses to do their work, and also long enough for the lantern to steady again.

Okay. Then she tied them down with something... some kind of rope! He glances up and looks around very briefly before making eye contact with another someone. “Sammy! I need some rope!”

Sammy perks up at the sound of his name very quickly, then upon hearing the rest nods and starts searching eagerly. Prob’ly looking for something to do since we can’t redo that Plan thing yet. It doesn’t take long before he’s rushing torwards Daemion, holding a bit of rope from the makeshift sled and handing it to Daemion.

Okay, this is good, this is good... “Hold these down for me,” he tells Sammy as he takes the rope. Sammy quickly obliges, looking a little puzzled but going along with what Daemion says. After what Daemion did for him, of course, he’s ready to believe he can do almost anything to make people better.

The rope’s much more than long enough, which is Very good. Daemion threads it under Jono’s leg, then loops it over the compresses two times, then very carefully ties the two ends together, tightening them down and getting another wince out of Jono. “Sorry... you okay?”

He gets a relieved-looking nod back.

That’s when the grin comes to Daemion’s face, followed quickly by similar ones on Sammy and Josh. He’ll be okay.

It vanishes immediately when Daemion hears another bolt, followed shortly by a cry from Perry.

---

The door to Raven's chambers opened again, and the Lightbringer strode forth with a look of iron determination on her face. Merai had just finished healing Daria's ribs, and the redhead swiftly rose to attention.

"Squire, I have a new assignment for you," Raven said.

In a few minutes, Raven had outlined the threat described by Kyia -- a circle of six dark mages called the Moranasi. "How soon will your team be ready for action again?" she asked.

Daria looked around at the other members of her squad. All of their physical injuries had been healed, but they were exhausted from a long day of fighting -- to say nothing of their mad dash to escape the Lutins a few hours ago. "We should be ready tomorrow morning, Mistress," she said at last. "I dare not try anything further tonight."

"Agreed," Raven said. "Tomorrow morning, then, I want you to send out your best scouts. Find these Moranasi and report back immediately."

"Aye-aye, ma'am." Daria turned to her comrades. "Rest well tonight, people. In the morning we're going hunting for shadows."

---

Hunting

Brennar stopped and carefully peeked his head around the corner, staring into the gloom beyond. It was still a few hours before dawn -- partly due to the mountains that hid the sun's rising from the Valley, and partly due to the recent winter solstice -- but his feline eyes could see just fine in the dim lighting, especially in his full tomcat form. The hallway looked clear, so he padded down it with the perfect silence that cats seemed to specialize in. He could hear breathing somewhere up ahead, so he decided that he must be headed in the right direction.

He found the source of the breathing a minute or so later: an enemy guard, fallen asleep at his post. Brennar would have chuckled, if he had been in his normal form and it had been safe to do so. As it was, he slipped quietly by, and the guard was never the wiser.

From that point on, it was easy to see that he was in enemy territory. Soldiers and Lutins were sprawled here and there, in rooms and sometimes even in the hallways, often snoring loudly. There were guards on duty, of course, but they never saw Brennar in the darkness -- and Jessica had cast a spell on him to hide his scent from any of the Lutins. So he continued on, slinking through the shadows, unseen, unheard, and unsmelt, looking for the people that Mistress Raven called Shadow Bringers.

A few turns later, Brennar found himself in the main hall that led from the southern gate to the Duke's throne room. He felt a tinge of sadness as he walked through it; the banners and tapestries were all torn apart, the expensive paintings covered with blood, the carpet all ripped and torn. It wasn't enough, Brennar thought, for Nasoj's army to break into the Keep and try to kill all of its people. They had to tear the place apart, destroy everything that was nice and good and beautiful, as if they thought that getting rid of the beauty would make their own ugliness go away. What horrible, miserable people they must be!

The main entrance hall was empty -- with as far as the invaders had gotten into the Keep, there wasn't much reason for anyone to be here anymore. With the town outside -- or what was left of it -- under their control, the Enemy had their flanks well-guarded already. Still, Brennar decided to check the guard house, just in case.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he came near the doorway. The room should have been dark, but there was a soft green glow that spilled out onto the floor outside. Crouching low, the tomcat crept up to the edge of the room and poked his head inside.

The sight was like nothing Brennar had ever encountered. Evil-looking writing covered the walls of the room, glowing with a sickly green light. Blood covered the floor, and from the looks of it, it had been there a long time. The body of a horse lay dead in the corner of the room, its throat sliced open, but strangely there was no sign of scavengers -- as if not even the rats could stand the evil that filled that place. Something inside him kept whispering at Brennar to run, to leave this place, to go as far away as he could. He knew that this was important, though, and so he forced himself to go forward into the room.

In the center of the guard house was a long, low table, just tall enough that Brennar couldn't make out what was on top of it. Around the table, collected in little pools here and there, was more of the glowing green liquid that covered the walls; in a couple of places it dripped down the sides of the table, leaving long green streaks behind.

Looking up at the window, Brennar saw a sill that was low enough for him to reach -- he wanted to see what was on the table, but he was afraid to actually jump up onto the table itself. Crouching, he measured the distance to the top, then took a running start and leapt up onto the sill with ease. Tail flicking, he turned around--

And let out a startled cry. On top of the table was a girl -- or what was left of her. There was a sinister-looking dagger buried in her chest, and all around the wound was that horrible green liquid, oozing out of her, running down her body and onto the table, where it then dripped down to the floor. The girl looked barely twelve years old.

If he had been able to, Brennar would have cried. There was some kind of black magic at work here, some foul, evil spell that the Enemy had killed this girl in order to be able to cast. Brennar remembered that Mistress Raven had told them about the Shadow Bringers' spell that was hurting Kyia, and that it had been cast at the gates of the Keep. This must have been the place where they did it, he thought.

Leaping down from the window sill, Brennar moved quickly and quietly out of the horrible room, heading back down the main hall toward friendly territory. He hadn't found the Shadow Bringers, but he had found where they cast the spell. Maybe that would be helpful. Maybe that would tell Mistress Raven and Master Rickkter and the others how they could stop these evil people once and for all.

---

“DAAAAAAD!”

Before anyone or anything else can even act, Daemion is up and running torwards his father. Still standing! No, half-standing... hurt, but not dead! But that Lutin...

Perry’s cry is more than enough to get Derek’s attention. The subsequent one from Daemion only reinforces it. He really only needs a half-second to notice what’s going on. Daemion’s dad got hurt, and there’s a Lutin right there!

Protect comrades. A warrior is supposed to protect his comrades.

With little more thought than that, he quickly presses the scoop of snow he has into a ball – no time to add one of those spikeballs – and hurls it at the Lutin, just catching it right in the back of the head. The Lutin blinks, and turns slightly to see Derek charging at him, screaming at the top of his lungs, which catches his attention for just a brief moment. But that ends up being more than enough time for Perry to sit up just enough to thrust the tip of his sword into the Lutin’s chest, causing them both to cry out from pain of wounds and fall over.

He’s not dead yet though! thinks Daemion, even as he keeps running forward. He’ll be okay. I’m going to help make things okay. I can do that sort of thing.

It takes him ten seconds to get to his father, collapsed in the snow. A quick look gives him a chill... it looks like there’s a whole part of his shoulder carved out, on the arm that was carrying his sword! Oh no... “Dad... you okay?”

No answer for a few seconds. Then, “...still here... yeah...”

Yes! Daemion instantly turns torwards Jo. “I need another one of those compresses!”

---

“Where the hell have you oafs BEEN?! FORWARD! CRUSH THOSE WHO WOULD DEFY NASOJ!” comes the mage’s cry.

Kesk just barely manages to stay silent as he approaches Sandaron’s position. To his far right, he can see Neska, looking about ready to explode, but holding her peace as she moves forward. It’s plainly obvious even from this far back that the six that got there aren’t going to be effective enough, even with the mage’s attacks on their defenders – which, Kesk grudgingly admits to himself, have been extremely effective; now if only he could have done that BEFORE! – and so he keeps one hand on his sword, certain that he’s going to have to clean up after Another mess very shortly.

---

Shit! She’s not usually given to cursing, but... if any situation deserved it, this one does! So Jo leaps backward, tossing the spear in her first opponent’s direction, catching the Lutin off guard for a moment – long enough for her to pull both daggers and send them flying, taking down her opponent and the runner-up immediately behind him. “Dae! I’m coming!”

She turns and dashes for the sled, skidding to a stop and grabbing first her backpack, then her bow and quiver right next to it. Then a thought occurs – wasn’t there six of them...?

“Kevin!” She prods the groggy-looking mouse with her bow. “There’s still one close by; I need you to look for it; I need to go help Perry!”

---

The sled is still a ways away, but he can still easily recognize the figure that stands up, grasping what looks to be an amulet of some kind. That’s the mage that cast the illusion! The one who tried to make a fool out of ME! He conveniently ignores whether or not the attempt was successful. That’s not the sort of thing you want to focus on.

Regardless, Sandaron wastes no time this time.

---

Fortunately for Kevin, he’s still tired. As a result, he’s not quite standing steadily, and so when he staggers it causes the bolt to crease across his back instead of going straight through his chest. That doesn’t prevent him from letting out a scream of his own.

“DAMNIT!” This comes from Jo. That is fucking ENOUGH! She tosses her pack torwards Daemion, then turns, pulling both daggers, and hurls them both as hard as she can torwards the distant mage, not bothering to notice whether or not her pack lands anywhere near the intended destination.

---

Orrusk has his hand on the handle of the Scimitar now, ready just in case the mage somehow anticipates what’s about to happen. “Sandaron! Orrusk Blackhand, reporting in!” Just as expected, Sandaron starts to turn, looking like he’s about ready to start screaming bloody murder.

That’s when Orrusk sees the Keeper he’d fought before tossing those daggers.

The thoughts come to mind in an instant. The daggers are heading straight for the both of them. They’re almost certainly deadly accurate; most thrown magic weapons are. Sandaron would be dead; this is Good. Orrusk would be at best severely wounded because he wouldn’t have time to react to daggers going through Sandaron’s body; this is Bad.

So he leaps forward, knocking Sandaron to the ground, and the Scimitar comes out, parrying both daggers in one swing.

---

YOU again?! Damnit! She stows both daggers, then starts to string her bow, keeping her eyes and her focus on the Lutin and human.

---

“WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS WAS THAT FOR?!” Sandaron screams, jumping immedately to his feet and glaring at Orrusk with a look that would wilt most lesser Lutins.

“In case you didn’t notice, I just saved your life!” Which is an amazingly calm response for Orrusk. He’d love to just put the Scimitar straight through Sandaron’s chest, but then the other tools of Nasoj might notice, and that wouldn’t be good for him...

“With the weapon you stole from your brother after you killed him!” Sandaron turns to his two mage-bearers. “You two! Disarm this impudent traitor immed–”

Jono has never been one to use magic weapons; he always observes that if you get dependent on them, then the instant you lose them or they become ineffective, you’re as good as dead. Jo, consequently, has kept in practice with a number of other combat skills just in case the improbable occured and her daggers wouldn’t work out.

Skills such as archery.

The winds throw her aim off down and to her left. Therefore, of the two arrows she fires simultaneously, only one reaches its target, striking Sandaron dead center in his stomach in the middle of his screaming, cutting it off very suddenly.

The cutoff immediately gets Kesk’s attention, causing him to turn, instantly noticing the arrow sticking out of the belly of that damned idiot mage. In less than a second, before Kesk even realizes what he’s doing, he pulls one of his poison darts and lets it fly, catching Sandaron right near the stomach.

The mage gasps a bit in surprise, then twitches... and falls.

Arrow must have been poisoned, Kesk thinks to himself. Such a pity!

---

To Daemion’s surprise, the pack didn’t fall short. Jo accidentally tossed it too far, sending it almost a meter and a half past Perry. It takes him a few precious moments to retrieve it before he’s back to his father’s side. Half a minute of searching through the pack locates the same kind of compress she’d tossed him earlier.

“Okay, this isn’t going to feel nice at first...” Daemion warns his father, starting to prepare it, keeping his eyes as focued on Perry’s eyes as he can, hoping to get his father’s attention away from the wound.

He does so well that neither of them realize that the last Lutin is right behind Daemion until it’s far, far too late.

But Derek notices. And the Lutin doesn’t see him. And he’s close enough this time. With a wild battle cry, he lauches himself at the Lutin’s back, slamming into it and staggering it briefly. “Leave my friends alone!”

The Lutin turns, and...

It’s remarkable how similar many of them seem to look, Derek’s mind thinks from far far away. For once again, despite everything that would dictate that it’s crazy, he’s once again facing the Lutin that found him when he was armed with little but snowballs; the Lutin that surprised him from behind and nearly killed him. The same countenance, the same scar, even the same weapons and clothing seem to all be in place.

But this time neither Jono or Jo is available to defend him.

So Derek launches forward again, just barely ducking a swing from that giant sword, going between the Lutin’s legs. He quickly gets to his feet even as the Lutin starts to turn, and out of the corner of his eye, he spots a dagger tucked into the Lutin’s belt. One quick jump, a desperate grab, and his hand closes around the dagger’s handle. The Lutin is swinging again, but Derek’s calm, now, knowing exactly how to pull this off; he leaps back, dodging the blow from the Lutin’s fist, gets to his knees, and hurls the dagger as hard as he can, straight into the Lutin’s forehead.

And his opponent finally falls by his own hand.

And Derek can only stand there in total shock, just staring at the foe he just took down, only one thought occuring to him. Finally got you.

---

Despite the surprise of the moment, Orrusk manages to catch Sandaron as he’s falling, even as the revised lines for this part of the plan start to race through his mind.

The first part, obviously, is to drop his sword and set Sandaron down carefully; even though he’d never be so foolish as to do so otherwise, it’s a necessary part of the act. Then, “Stand back! He’s been badly wounded!” Another part of the theater. He knows already that the mage is dead, but the whole series has to be played out.

He then checks the wound carefully, removing Kesk’s dart by sleight of hand as he does so. I’m going to have to have a talk with him... get him a promotion, perhaps.

Then, it’s time for the proclamation. “He’s dead! DEAD! The keepers killed him!” Couldn’t have gone better if I’d planned it...

The cry manages to reach one Jerek “the Twilight” (self-appointed), Sandaron’s apprentice, effective second-in-command, and not much brighter than he, but without the combat spell skills to justify much in the way of existence. With his immediate superior and master dead, though, he’s now got his own skin to worry about!

“RETREAT!!”

---

When Charles awoke the next morning, he felt as if he’d been sleeping for several years. Where he had fallen into his blankets upon the pile of hay sore and bruised, he rose from them feeling rejuvenated, and without any sign of the wear the previous two days had lent him. Opening his eyes, he stared down at the portion of his tail that Wessex’s spell had scalded, only to find that the skin was well, and that the pink tint had faded. Apart from his memories, there was nothing left to remind him of that battle.

Turning his eyes about the shallow chamber, he saw that Zagrosek and Jerome were both still huddled tightly in their blankets, black Sondeckis robes beneath their heads as they rested. The hay was fresh, and was the only thing between them and the rock of the cave floor. The accommodations in Lars’ brewery were hardly desirable, but they would have to do until it was safe to venture out in the open once more. Staring at the thick lines of granite and other more colourful veins that he did not recognize, he realized that he was secretly glad Garigan had insisted upon coming here. It was as if a part of the rat had been left behind in the Glen when Misha and he had returned to Metamor last April.

There was not much light to see by in the caves of course. A torch hung in a sconce outside the chamber entranceway – he refused to acknowledge the open passage as a door – but its flickering illumination was enough for his rodent eyes to notice most details. Yet his ears and his nose had become just as important to him as his sight in the past six years, and with them he knew that they were alone, and that no Glenner was moving about nearby.

Of course, as he shook the sleep from his head, Charles was given to wonder just what time it was. It felt like morning, and as he had lived the last six years of his life in a room with no window, and until recently no clock, he trusted his instincts. It was surely before dawn though, but as it was only a few days past the Solstice, that could mean it was as late as nine o’clock, though he knew it to be far earlier. A moment later, as he heard Jerome shifting to his side, he knew that he was right.

Throwing back the blankets, Charles stretched, and slipped on his garments, pulling the Sondeckis robe tightly about his small frame. Zagrosek yawned behind him, even while Jerome began to wipe the sleep from his eyes. They were Sondeckis, and their training still forced them to wake at the same time. Matthias smiled at that, imagining that Garigan was probably rising from his bed of hay and straw, surrounded by all his old friends, many of whom doubtless would have found his early rising contemptible. At the thought of their groaning, the rat nearly laughed, but he kept his peace, and did not disturb the rough walls beneath Lars’ brewery.

“Good morning,” he whispered instead to his fellows, even as he began to fold the blankets Lady Avery had procured for them. “I see we still get up at the same time.”

Zagrosek let out a throaty chuckle, but softly. “And you are the first up, not surprising either.”

Matthias smiled and then stood up, stretching again. “When do you suppose it is?”

Zagrosek shrugged, and stretched, his joints popping one by one as he did so. “I’m not sure, though it couldn’t be late enough for my liking, I can assure you. For once, I wish my body would let me sleep past the sun. Just once would be nice.”

The rat grinned then, his whiskers set to twitching furiously on his muzzle. “Oh, then you should be here for the Summer Solstice. Dawn comes very early then, much earlier than it ever did back at Sondeshara.”

Jerome rubbed the back of his head with one hand as he stared vacantly at the walls, tracing down the lines of granite. “By now, Ladero would have been praying.”

Charles nodded, a sullen moue stilling his whiskers. “Yes, he would have been. I wish he were here. We could use his devotion now.”

“But he isn’t,” Zagrosek murmured, his own face morose, and his voice gravely. “Even so, we are four, with young Garigan at least.”

The slim-shouldered Sondeckis rose and gazed back at them, “Speaking of Garigan, there is one thing I have been thinking about ever since our fight with the Shrieker.”

“Yes,” Jerome muttered, stepping across the rom to the open passageway. He glanced out both sides and then turned back to the rat and the other man. “We’re alone, so we can safely discuss it.”

Charles pointed to his nose and his ears with one paw. “I could have told you that. These do work much better than they used to, you know.”

Jerome blinked, and then grinned slightly. “I had forgotten how much better your senses are like that. Too bad we all can’t be rats, eh?”

Matthias felt a bit of pride at the implication that being a rat was something to be hoped and yearned for. After so many years living with his fur and his tail and everything else, it felt as if he always had been a rat, and he had no desire to change back anymore. With a wistful smile, he considered the loveliest part about being a rat, that of being with his Lady Kimberly, cuddled close, not saying anything, but just being together. And then he remembered that she was back at Metamor, hopefully safe in the Chapel, and his smile vanished. What if the Chapel had been overrun? Those filthy Lutins could be raping her violently, before they killed her in any hundreds of horrible ways. The thought of those abominable creatures desecrating her holy flesh made his own quiver with sudden rage. The Sondeck nourished that rage, turning his heart into a cauldron of boiling oil ready to spill forth and flay the skin off the next Lutin he should see.

“Charles?” Zagrosek asked, waving his hand in front of the rat’s face. “Are you even listening?”

Matthias turned at the sight of his friend, the unquenched desire still smouldering inside his chest. With terrible reluctance, he sought to find his Calm, assuring himself that Kimberly was safe, and that they would be together again after this was over. He banished all thoughts of Lutins even coming near her, seeking only to think about them by that espaliered tree, snuggled close, bodies touching in a most pleasant fashion.

“I’m sorry, my mind started to wander,” Charles said, drawing the blanket close to him and around his waist, to hide the visible signs of his emotional wavering.

“We noticed,” Zagrosek said, though his voice was dry. “We asked you what sort of techniques you’ve been teaching Garigan.”

“Only the standard methods to calm his mind and heart, and to reach a balance with his Sondeck. Why?”

Jerome and Zagrosek glanced at each other for a moment before the larger man said, his voice cautious, “Do you remember what Garigan did to the Shrieker when it charged at him?”

“Yes, he–“ Charles stopped speaking, his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence. He did indeed recall the scene, with that black mass hurtling towards his student, and the ferret reaching out with his arms, as if to draw it towards him. Instead, the abomination was sent sprawling backwards as the Sondeck’s intent was turned backwards upon it. He’d almost forgotten it in the nearly two days since then. So much had happened that he’d not given it much thought. Alone in the morning with lifelong friends, the implications of that moment were becoming rather clear.

‘That technique is not taught until a Sondecki attains the blue,” Jerome added. “How did he learn it?”

“I don’t know,” Charles said, his voice filled with the frightened curiosity that the rest of them shared. “He might have picked it up watching me, but that is all I can think of.”

Zagrosek let out a throaty chuckle. “I remember trying to do the same sorts of things that I saw the higher Sondeckis doing when I was a yellow. I couldn’t even push sand, let alone a creature of the Underworld. Do you realize what this means?”

Charles sat staring blankly at the floor, and the blanket draped before him as he sat on the hay. Jerome finished the thought that was going through all of their minds, his voice level, but certain, “He is one of the most powerful Sondeckis ever to tread the face of this world.”

The three said nothing for sometime as they sat in the vague light, the flickering torch casting the shadows this way and that as it shone outside the small room. Charles had known that Garigan possessed a very strong Sondeck, as it had taken him very little time at all to master the techniques of the yellow. He’d been able to find his Calm within weeks of searching, a feat that had taken Charles and his friends several months to duplicate. And he’d risen to the green after barely seven months of training. Charles had chalked that up to Garigan’s age, but as he considered it, he knew that had been a self-deception, for even the Sondeckis he had known at Sondeshara that had started late, still spent two or three years wearing the yellow robes of a novice.

“How old is he?” Zagrosek asked, drawing his thumb down his chin speculatively.

Mathias’s voice was hollow when he answered. “He just turned seventeen two months ago.”

“Had he been born in the Southlands and started his training at the same age we had, by now he would undoubtedly be a purple.”

“If not a black,” Jerome added.

“A black?” The thought made the rat shudder. He’d never even heard of a Sondeckis ascending to the penultimate rank in less than fifteen years. It had taken sixteen years for Charles to do so, and he and his friends had been among the most talented at Sondeshara. It was thought that one day, one of the three of them, or Ladero, would have become the new white. But the thought that the ferret had more raw power within him than the three of them combined was most unsettling.

“I’ve read more of the history of our clan than either of you two have,” Jerome pointed out, crossing his arms and pacing a moment. “There have been figures in the past that have possessed the Sondeck to the same degree as I believe Garigan does. Every one of them ascended to the white within ten to fifteen years. Every last one of them. Our greatest and worst times have been when our clan has been ruled by ones such as they, and your Garigan.”

Suddenly, a stray thought came back to the rat, and he exclaimed, “That can’t be what he means!”

“What who means?” Zagrosek asked, even while Jerome continued to pace, scouring his own thoughts, surely on the annals of the Sondeckis history.

“Remember that kangaroo, Habakkuk, I told you about?”

“Yes, I remember. The one who told you to give the Sondeshike back, the one who is a Felikaush.”

“Well, I’ve heard that he’s introduced a new character in his story. This one a white weasel.”

Both Jerome and Zagrosek looked to each other, then back at Charles, their eyes saying all that was required. Licking is lips, the black-haired Sondeckis finally gave voice to what they all knew, “So, how long before he becomes the next white?”

“And how?” Jerome muttered. “He’s a ferret. The Council of blacks is not likely to accept an animal as their leader. No offence.”

Charles shrugged. “I’m used to it, and I agree. I don’t see how they would tolerate having an animal that parades about like a man as their leader. I cannot imagine anything but dissension being formed in their ranks if he does fulfil this pseudo-prophecy. I’m going to have to find Habakkuk’s story when all this is over to see just exactly what he’s written.”

Suddenly though, even as the words finished leaving his mouth, he heard the sound of footsteps echoing faintly off the cavern walls. His nose rose into the air, drawing in the various scents that mingled in the dry caves, seeking to identify the trespasser. Both Jerome and Zagrosek looked at him oddly for a moment, then their ears heard the clinking of claws against stone, and they turned to face the open passage, no longer speaking of matters only for the Sondeckis. Whatever thoughts they still had would have to wait for another opportunity.

As the footsteps grew closer, Charles tried to turn his mind away from things that might be, and away from that kangaroo. He wished Habakkuk would stay out of his life, and not keep trying to interfere. Yet with each passing moment, the rat knew that he would have to entrust himself to the Felikaush’s guidance eventually, and the thought angered him, though not to the same extent that the Lutin’s harming Kimberly had. He still wished to see Habakkuk pay for breaking his arm, but so far, he’d not thought up a suitable bit of revenge he could exact, at least not without being caught. And he’d had a lot of time to think while scrubbing all the armour in the Long House the previous month.

When their visitor finally arrived a few moments later, they saw Angus’s angular head with the familiar diamond-shaped white blotch of fur amidst the black on his forehead peer around the corner. “Ah, you are awake. Good.” He stepped full into the room, a thick jerkin pulled tightly about his chest, while his leggings threatened to engulf his paws. “The scouts returned a few hours ago, and we’ve begun planning our counter strike. I thought you might like to participate. And get a little breakfast in you besides.”

“Certainly!” Charles said, leaping to his paws and dropping the blanket. “What time is it anyway? We’ve been wondering about that.”

Angus shrugged, his massive shoulders wider than Jerome’s. “I’d say nearly seven. The scouts are getting their sleep after a long hard night, while most everybody else is heading back to the common room. Lord Avery is already there trying to decide what we should do. It is a good thing that you stumbled across that supply wagon yesterday, we’ve been able to track it back to its source.”

Jerome and Zagrosek grabbed their Sondeckis robes and began to pull them over their heads, while Charles continued to ask questions. “Where is it?”

“Up at the Dike. It is almost a day’s journey that far, so I doubt we’ll be attacking there unless there is nothing else we can do.” Angus then shook his head, eyes gazing past the wall at something distant. “You are not going to believe who is overseeing the supply lines, at least if our information is correct, which I am certain it is.”

Charles reached down and snatched the black cloak from the hay and began to shimmy into it. “Who?”

“Our old friend Baron Calephas. At the very least he was seen at the Lutin camp by the Dike. I’m surprised he’s still alive even after all the failures he’s overseen for Nasoj.”

The rat shrugged, not too terribly surprised to hear this bit of news. “He’s overseen quite a few successful ventures as well. If nothing else, he maintains order in Nasoj’s holdings west of the Dragon mountains better than any of his other minions probably could.”

“Who’s Baron Calephas?” Jerome asked finally, staring at the two animals.

“One of Nasoj’s lieutenants who has some very sick tastes,” Angus spat, and then waved them on out the passage. Jerome’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. They followed the badger up the slanting corridor a short distance, until it met the intersection with the main passage into the mount’s heart. A long staircase had been chiselled into the floor, and it twisted this way and that up the natural corridor, with only the torches spaced every few metres to guide them.

The light of course was something that the rat relied on to steady himself as they headed back towards Lars’ brewery and the surface. It would be comforting to be out from underneath the tonnes of rock that were surely overhead. The only thing that Charles could think about as he moved along that passage was the weight of all that stone being placed atop his shoulders, crushing him flat. Shuddering, he pushed that image from his mind, and focussed instead on the badger’s back.

Soon though, the sound of other voices rang down the corridor, and the rat felt safe again. Stepping out into the main room of the brewery again was comforting, as so many familiar faces were clustered about the tables, spooning the culinary efforts of Mrs. Levins into their muzzles. There were eggs, and some lovely stew cooking, Charles’s nose told him, and he found himself drawn towards it, his stomach churning in anxious delight.

However, his eyes caught sight of the grey squirrel Lord Avery sitting at a table, with a piece of parchment spread before him. Garigan was there as well, pointing to it and saying a few words that they could not hear to the lord of the Glen. Angus led them to that large oak table, the two’s eyes rising to meet them as they approached.

“Ah, good to see that you are awake at last. Garigan and I have been discussing some ideas while you slept.” Lord Avery pointed to the chairs about the table, and the four of them sat, gazing at the unfurled map before them. The parchment was yellowing at the edges, curling up from lack of proper care, but otherwise, it appeared to be in reasonably good shape.

“Can we get something to eat first?” Charles asked, even as he leaned forward, his nose drawn by that irresistible smell.

“Of course. Christopher! Darien!” Lord Avery called out, and suddenly, the two young squirrels who had been hiding behind the counter bounded out across the floor and stood by their father’s side, their faces eager.

“Yes, Dad?” they both chimed, their high piping voices well formed from out of their rodential snouts.

“Would you get these three gentleman something to eat. And don’t fight over who gets to carry the extra plate this time.” His voice carried that weariness only a father with mischievous sons could have.

Both of the young squirrel’s tails twitched as they looked at each other and then back at the three Sondeckis. Their eyes settled on the rat and then grew very large, nearly popping out of their head. “Charles!” one of them shouted in delight, skittering over, almost on all fours to be at the scout’s side. “You came back!” the other added as he joined his brother.

Charles looked at them both, trying to decide which was which and failing completely of course, and then smiled affectionately, giving them both a pat on the head. “Good to see you two as well. Are you being good little helpers for your Father?”

One of them, Darien he thought, nodded and wrapped his tail about one of the table legs. “We’re helping to make the arrows!”

“Oh really?” Charles aid, letting his eyes widen in amazement. “That takes a lot of skill, why you two must be very talented.” He could hear Brian stifle a laugh over his shoulder. Both the other two Sondeckis were grinning as they watched. Angus and Garigan nodded in agreement with Charles though, congratulating the two young squirrels for their efforts.

“Mr. Berchem says in another year we’ll be making them for the whole Glen!” Christopher proclaimed proudly, or was it Darien? They’d both grown several inches since the last time Charles had seen them, he could not even guess which was which!

“I’m sure he’s right,” Charles said, smiling that huge grin which encompassed his thick set of whiskers. His stomach then offered an indignant growl, and he had to chuckle. “Now, would you do us three a favour and bring us something good to eat?”

“I’ll do it!” one of the two shouted, darting off towards the kitchen behind the counter. However, his brother was following right after him, protesting that he’d be the one to get their food. Lord Avery sighed, shaking his head, his tail laying against the floor in defeat, but laughing lightly with the others around the table.

Jerome watched their long tails dart behind the counter and out of view and then looked at Brian whimsically. “Those are your children? They’re adorable, and slightly incorrigible too, I might add.”

“And they’re a bit taller than I remember them,” Charles added, looking back to the exasperated father.

Brian nodded a bit, leaning back in his chair slightly. “Yes, they’ve grown nearly half a foot since April. They don’t even go around in clothes during the summer, because they keep outgrowing them! I think Walter stitches them new outfits every four months.”

“Why are they growing so fast?” Zagrosek asked, even as he drew his cloak tighter about himself, as if the mention of heat had left him chilled.

Lord Avery turned to the lack-haired Sondeckis, his face gone curious. “Aren’t you from Metamor?”

Zagrosek shook his head, “No, Charles is an old friend who we’re visiting. You’ll have to bear with our ignorance, I’m afraid.”

Angus and Brian looked at each other quickly, their faces suddenly very serious. “You do realize that if you stay here for long you may end up like us? We are still inside the radius of the curse here at Glen Avery.”

“We know,” Jerome said, glancing back at the kitchen door once before turning his wide face to look at the three Glenners seated across from him. “We are willing to take that risk.”

“We’ll help you in anyway we can, and stay for as long as we are needed,” Zagrosek added, favouring them a tight grin.

Angus nodded approvingly, while Lord Avery smiled. “I’m very glad to hear that. We can use all the help that we can muster up here. What can you do? Are you good fighters, scouts? Can you use a bow, staff, sword? What are your specialties. We’re going to be making our plans soon, and I’d like to know what you are capable of.”

The two Sondeckis flashed glances at each other, smiling slightly, while Charles just chuckled to himself. Jerome, then spoke, his voice certain, “Whatever Charles is capable of, we can match it. Our strong suit though is close combat. We could wield bows if necessary, but I’m afraid our accuracy leaves much to be desired.”

Lord Avery shook his head then. “We have more than enough archers. What weapons do you use?”

Zagrosek set the retracted Sondeshike on the table and just gave them a rather amused smile. Jerome held out his hands and favoured them with a similar smirk. “We don’t need much, Charles can tell you.”

Angus reached out and plucked the small cylinder from the table, and examined it in his paws. He traced two thick, hairy claws across the smooth surface, twisting it about, but he did not press the catch set in the middle. Setting it back down before the black-haired Sondeckis, he gave the man a very dubious stare. “Show me what you can do with that.”

Zagrosek took the Sondeshike and extended it with a flick of his wrist, spinning it over his head in a graceful arc before stashing beneath his arm and shoulder. “Something along those lines.”

The badger laughed quite loudly, while Lord Avery just stared in disbelief at the large staff that had suddenly appeared in the Sondecki’s hand. “If we had the time, and Nasoj’s army wasn’t marching over top of our home, I’d take you out to the fields and spar with you a bit, just to see how good you really are with that thing. What do you call it?”

“A staff usually,” Zagrosek said, returning it to its compact form and slipping it beneath his robes once more. A plate suddenly found itself in front of him, as the two young squirrels returned with their breakfast. Charles grinned at the two boys, but they quickly ran off back behind the counter, probably to work on more arrows. They’d been served a large helping off eggs, with a biscuit on one side, and a small portion of warm oats.

“I see Mrs. Levins has taken over all the cooking for you.” Charles spooned some of the eggs into his muzzle, and knew instantly he’d been right. There was some flavour to them that he’d never known in simple scrambled eggs before.

Jerome and Zagrosek were too busy feeding their faces to add to the rat’s peroration, but Brian Avery nodded emphatically. “She has a way of making even the simplest of meals taste like a banquet.” His dark eyes trailed after his sons, and then his face lit up with a forgotten question. “Oh, you wondered why they are growing so fast. Because they were born as squirrels, they age faster than normal children would. It is a burden that Angela and I are happy to bear, except that it makes them twice as hyper as normal children too.”

Zagrosek chuckled between mouthfuls, and grinned, “Well, they are adorable.” Then, he paused a moment and swallowed the last of his eggs. “Now, you said you’ve been discussing what you are going to do about this supply line. What have you thought of so far?”

Angus, Garigan, and Brian Avery leaned over the table further. A few of the other Glenners that had been mired in their own conversations stopped and turned to watch them as well. Charles chewed down a bit of the oats as he gazed down at the map of the northern Valley before them. He recognized the ravine between Mount Nuln and Kalegris that Misha and he had scouted last April, where the Lutins had been building catapults. However, where the squirrel’s paws were was atop the forests near the Giant’s Dike.

“Our scouts have found that Baron Calephas is making his camp just south of the Dike. They’ve got provisions there to last at least a month, and every few hours or so, a wagon is loaded and sent south to Metamor along the old North Road. As Garigan has informed us, and our scouts have confirmed, there are about twenty Lutins guarding each transport, with ten covering each flank.”

“Yes, we found that out the hard way,” Jerome muttered as pushed his plate aside.

“Now, Calephas’s camp appears to be well guarded, and there are several hundred Lutins stationed there. They’re going to Metamor piecemeal, but as it stands, we do not have the manpower to assault his camp. But we do need to stop those supplies from reaching Metamor.”

“So what are we going to hit instead?” the skunk named Berchem asked.

“I think we should try to destroy the bridge.” There was a bit of a gasp from several around the room. “It is the easiest way to cross the gorge in the hills without going to the eastern side of the Valley. Without that bridge, Calephas won’t be able to get the supplies to Nasoj’s troops for some time, hopefully long enough for the Metamorians to turn back the assault. Now, it is being guarded, several squadrons of Lutins on both sides, and several hounds with them, so we’ll have to be cautious in our approach. We cannot be certain how many patrols they have circling the area either.”

Angus tapped the line of the gorge that drew up into the Western mountains. “Perhaps we could come in from below? Torch the bridge, let it burn. It is made from wood after all.”

“We’d need an awfully hot fire in this weather,” Berchem pointed out, his monochromatic tail circling behind his head.

Avery glanced over his shoulder at the woodpecker who was hopping from one foot to the other so he could see. “Burris, do you think you could help there?”

“I think so yes, I’d just need a few moments free from distraction to convince the wood to burn hot enough.”

“Good, then we’ll definitely have to send a team down into that ravine. Unfortunately, that means they’ll need to leave several hours before the rest. We’ll have to have an attack up above as well, to keep the Lutins occupied while Burris destroys the bridge. Bercham, I would like you to take several of your archers and accompany Burris in the ravine. Charles, why don’t you and your friends accompany them, you may run into some unpleasant company on the way.”

Charles nodded and hen glanced at the skunk, who was grinning slightly, “We’d be delighted to do so. When are you planning to attack?”

Brian Avery gazed at him, his face set in a firm moue. “As soon as you can reach the bridge. It takes three hours to walk there via the road. You’ll have to take the long way around, so you had best leave within the hour. Once we are finished making our plans, we’ll get you powdered up and then you can be off.”

“Powdered?” Jerome asked suddenly, noting the amused grin that had crossed the skunk’s face. Angus wore a similar one, and as he looked about, he noticed that almost every Glenner wore that mischievous smirk.

“Of course, you’ll need to blend in, and you are not quite white enough to do that yet,” Lord Avery said, his own smile quite large.

Jerome and Zagrosek looked at each other uncertainly, but then shrugged, and turned back to the map. Charles had to stuff his biscuit into his mouth to keep from laughing.

---

At lunch that day a council of war was held in the Lightbringer temple, as Daria and her scouts related what they had found to Raven and Merai.

As it turned out, Brennar had found the most of any of them. Slowly and carefully, he described every detail of the guard house he had discovered, from the markings on the walls to the color of the girl's hair. He was naturally observant, Daria thought; she had chosen well in sending him in as their forward scout.

"It sounds like Brennar found the main focal point for the Moranasi spell," Rick observed. "Once they cast the spell there, they could expand its range by setting up relays further inside the Keep. Of course, they would have to enter an area that was still under Kyia's control before they could expand their spell there, so we have a chance for a surprise attack if we hit them before their relay is completed."

"How long would it take them to set up a relay?" Merai asked.

Rickkter shrugged. "Six of them, working together ... well, I've never seen this spell before, but normally a relay would take about ten minutes to cast. Of course, there is a lot of preparation that has to be done before you actually cast the spell, but they may have servants to set everything up for them. That way, they could stay back in the 'frozen' sections of the Keep until it was time to perform the casting -- Kyia wouldn't be able to sense their location until they were actually ready to set up the relay."

Daria grimaced. "That doesn't give us much time. By the time Kyia senses their presence, it will be too late for us to get there."

"Which just means we'll have to know where they're going before they get there," Jessica said.

"Which means more sneaking around," Bradfox muttered.

"Agreed." Daria took a bite of her sandwich, chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, and swallowed. "We'll have to keep watching the perimeter of the Enemy's territory, I suppose -- watch for any suspicious activity, people setting up magical equipment. I don't see what else we can do, under the circumstances."

"I'll track down Misha and let him know what to look for," Daria offered. “He told me how to find him if I needed to.”

"We may also be able to capture some enemy soldiers for interrogation, if we're careful," Rickkter said.

"A good idea, but that may be a little out of our specialty," Garulf said. "All this cloak-and-dagger business is more the Longs' area of expertise."

"Good point," Daria agreed. "Rick, David, why don't you two work with the Longs to try and find someone to interrogate. We can use the Key to fashion a holding cell for our guest, when the time comes. The rest of us will take shifts scouting the front lines -- the Enemy's sections of the Keep are mostly frozen now, anyway, so there are only a limited number of ways for them to get in or out. Gods willing, we should be able to find these Shadow Bringers before they expand their control any further."

"One question," Brad said, raising a hand. "I don't mean to rain on anybody's festival, here, but what do we do when we find these Shadow Bringers? If these are the terrible, sinister, unimaginably powerful bastards you make them out to be, can we really beat them?"

There was silence around the circle. All eyes turned to Raven.

"We can," she said at last. "Not alone, perhaps, but I am confident that we will be able to secure divine aid for the battle. Lord Dokorath has a long-standing vendetta against the Moranasi; with his help, we shall be victorious."

Brad took a long drink from his wine. "Let's all pray that you get it, then."

---

They’re all in fairly decent shape after their ordeal, despite a few wounds. Most of the kids were shocked to their very souls to hear that Uncle Jono had been wounded, but that was immediately reversed when they heard he was going to do okay, and because of Daemion – one of their own! Wow!

And of course, everybody has heard about Derek taking down that one Lutin while Daemion was helping his Dad. They don’t know much about it, though; Perry and Daemion were both concerned with Perry’s wound at the time, and Derek is refusing to talk about it for some reason. That has a lot of folks puzzled; why Wouldn’t you want to tell everyone about how you kicked butt? But Derek still isn’t talking. One or two of the kids are real worried; they think this might be a sign that Derek is becoming another one of those Grown-Ups that never tell you about cool stuff like that. But, of course, this is Derek. He’s got to tell them all sometime. Really.

Nobody missed Kirk’s big stunt, though, when he ran in through the gates, then tossed off the sled harness and charged right back out. Now that was fun to watch, though there were several who wished they could go along. Especially Jeremy, but he’d been told to stay, and so he made sure Everybody stayed back in the fort where the Bad Guys couldn’t possibly get them.

There’s been a small army of kids staying at Jono’s bedside for a while now. Even though Jo and Daemion (he’s DEFINITELY becoming one of those stuck-up grownup types, many think) keep telling them that Uncle Jono needs his rest, they all want to know about the pie. After all, now that the Bad Guys aren’t able to get here, wouldn’t the deal be over yet?

So Jono has to tell them that no, the deal isn’t quite over yet – but yes, there Is a brief “time out” from it, so they can go ahead and play and do whatever, so long as they’re not bothering the soldiers keeping the Bad Guys out.

It’s not exactly the Yule they’d been looking forward to, but it’ll do. Well, except that there’s no presents, one child objects, but she’s quickly shouted down by the others – we got to have that big an adventure, and you’re complaining about no presents?

Most of them are just wanting to see their parents again. Hopefully the Bad Guys won’t find them.

---

Berchem and three other Glenners were waiting outside Lars’ brewery for the three Sondeckis. It was still mostly dark out, and the entire grove was shrouded in a pale twilight, the littering snow strangely luminescent. The archers were equipped with long bows strung over their shoulders, and quivers lined with smooth feathered arrows at their sides, that they might reach them easily. Their faces had been powdered haphazardly white, making it hard to notice them when they stood against the trunks of the trees.

The skunk waved the three Sondeckis over with one paw, and they quickly stepped through the low snow. The winds had buffeted much of the snow to the sides of the grove, leaving the area around the hillside mostly free from the accumulation. Drifts climbed the trunks of the trees, as if to swallow them and bear them down to the earth. Charles held his arms close to his chest and the thick tunic that he now wore. They’d had to leave the Sondeckis robes behind, as they were the wrong colour for this kind of weather. Though it was still night, it would be dawn soon, and they would be visible to any competent scout.

The clothes they had been given were thick, and fit relatively well, though Jerome found it amusing that he’d had to borrow some of Lars’ own shirts just to fit over his chest. The Sondeckis had told the others that if he were to become a bear, he’d be enormous. Even so, the breeches were a bit loose on him, and he gripped the belt that held them up tightly with one hand every now and then. Their faces were just as Charles’s, smeared with the white dust, to obscure their natural colours. They were three ghosts walking silently in the barren winter wastelands, their only life capture din the intensity of their eyes.

Charles gave the skunk a brief smile as he approached, his red tongue pressing against the back of his large teeth. He’d long since grown accustom to being covered in dusts and dyes, being a Long had taught him as much, so its chalk-like scent did not bother him. He felt a bit of sympathy with the mephit though, for nearly his entire body had to be dusted with flour. Every time his tail flitted from side to side, a miniature snow storm erupted from behind him.

“Where’s Burris?” Charles asked, as he scanned about for the woodpecker who was to burn the bridge.

Berchem pointed upwards into the branches far above and then winked. “He’ll watch us from above, and alert us if any Lutin parties are about. We should be able to walk along the ground the entire way. The Lutins appear to be staying close to the roads. We should not run into any unpleasant company on our journey until we near the bridge.”

“Good, I’d rather we not run into any opposition until then.” Charles then glanced back at the two humans standing behind him. “This is Jerome, and that is Krenek. We are at your disposal.”

Berchem nodded and then pointed to the three Glenners who had accompanied him. “Good, I was wondering what your names were. I’m called Berchem in case you had not heard, and this is Ralph, “ he gestured to the stout vole who was missing a tooth, “Anson,” a lithe arctic fox who had not needed any powder, “and Baerle.” The last almost appeared to be a rat, judging by the long tail, but it was white, and not grey, and her teeth were sharp instead of protruding as Charles’s were. It took Matthias a moment to realize that the young, female Glenner was an opossum. She saw the rat staring at her, and flashed him a smile that dimpled her furry cheeks. Matthias quickly turning away, trying not to let his blush show through his drooping whiskers.

“Well, now that we know who everyone is, shall we be off?” Charles asked, thumbing the button of his surcoat.

Berchem nodded, and pointed off towards one corner of the Glen, “Once we pass out of this grove, speak quietly if you must speak at all. I will lead us down the path. As my men are archers, I would ask that you three cover out flanks and rear while we walk. Can you climb?”

This last was asked of all of them, but Charles spoke for them. Ever since they had arrived at Glen Avery, the rat found himself their voice. He idly wondered if Jerome and Zagrosek were nervous about being surrounded by so many animal-men. “We’ve been trained to climb most surfaces. Though it has been stone in the past, trees are hardly more of a challenge.”

The skunk weighed the answer, but decided against debating that generality. “If we find ourselves surrounded by their army, just follow us into the trees. We’ll climb too high for them to follow, or observe from the ground and lose them that way. We shouldn’t have to, but we shouldn’t be forced to destroy our own bridge either.”

Charles nodded glumly at that. He’d never been along the road as far as the Giant’s Dike. He had been north of the Dike of course, the raid to Stepping Rock being the foremost instance in his mind, but they had followed a path through the hills on the eastern side of the valley. And now, he followed after the artificially white skunk into those unknown northern hills. The trees closed about them very quickly, casting them into a deep darkness, though not one impenetrable to his night vision. Despite Berchem’s admonition not to speak once they left the grove, none of the travellers said a word at all, and so, in the still calm of a forest gripped by the frost of winter, they marched into areas that none of the Sondeckis had ever trod.

Wistfully, he tried to spot the path through the trees that Misha and he had traversed while in animal guise to spy on the Lutins in the ravine between Mount Kalegris and Mount Nuln over half a year ago. Yet, it was lost in the shrouds of his memories, and obscured by the lay of the winter land. Should he spend enough time at Glen Avery, he was sure he could retrace his tracks, but for now, it would simply have to remain a memory. There had been something almost magical about that trek into the thick of the woods, into gulches and up to the rise of the hills to overlook the mountains yonder as the sun began to shine its first rays upon those lofty peaks. He had to wonder how many more such vistas would he have beheld had he become a scout as soon as he arrived at Metamor, instead of hiding from himself at the Writer’s Guild.

And then, he thought of the grey-eyed fox who had been his mentor in the Longs. In the last eight months they had grown rather close, spent a great deal of time together, and had found deep friendship. Yet, their last words to each other had been heated, and ultimatum’s had been delivered. He did not want to see everything he had begun to build here at Metamor fall apart. The worst bit of it was, none of it would ever have happened had that Kankoran not shown up.

His heart beat faster as he trudged through the snow, his eyes scanning the long, thick trunks that pierced the sky above. When he’d helped Christopher destroy that small Lutin band back at the end of March, he’d thought his life had been destroyed – he’d come within inches of striking the Duke himself because of it. Yet that had only been the rat’s rehabilitation, and the rediscovery of who he really was, a warrior. And then, just as he was coming to accept that new aspect of his life, that blasted Kankoran arrives, brandishing a Sondeshike, and turning everything on its ear.

The list of things that would be better if that man had never come to the Keep were endless, as far as Matthias was concerned. Though he would not now have the Sondeshike he held in one paw, at times it felt as if it had caused more trouble than it was worth. It had nearly destroyed his friendship with Misha, a fact that gnawed at his heart as he would gnaw on chewstick. Yet, what else could he do about it now? There did not appear to be any answers to that question, which only made the rat more sullen.

And then, he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Glancing to one side, he noticed that the opossum Baerle was idly watching him as they walked only an ell or so apart. Anson was further past her, while Jerome was some distance away. Zagrosek of course was in the rear, turning to look behind them every few steps. Ralph followed closely behind the white skunk, an arrow knocked in his bow, though he held it loosely in his small brown paws – though they were about all of him that was his natural colour.

They each of course kept each other in sight so as not to get too far apart. In case the Lutins suddenly attacked – though that was not likely, as every once in a while he could see a small, dim shadow fly overhead – they would need to draw closer together to protect each other’s backs. Yet, Charles felt as if the young archer was keeping more of an eye on him than she needed to, and he was not sure why. As he peered back at her, she gave him a ‘and-what-are-you-staring-at’ look. The rat, forced his eyes from her, and back to the trees about him, the sharply curved hills, and the shadows that lay all around. For some reason, he felt like she was laughing at him, and he didn’t know why.

Thankfully, the storm had died off in the night, and so only the occasional snowflake descended past their snouts to join its already fallen brethren. This let them move rather quickly through the meandering path that Berchem chose, winding in and out of clusters of trees, snow drifts, and the occasional pile of large rocks that had tumbled down from the western mountains in earlier generations. Upon their tired and worn surfaces, clung various lichens and moss, though most of it was shrivelled, long since dead from the cold. Every so often, a patch would stand out, only the barest of snow upon them as they held onto the sides of the boulders, making it appear to be a mosaic that had been painted, or a menhir chiselled by a forgotten hand in a forgotten time.

The lay of the land turned downwards, and Charles noticed that the hills along either side of them began to slope upwards, as they winded between them, always taking the route that led down into the gulches, and into even deeper shadows. Soon, as the mountains pressed closer to their left, they found themselves striding into narrow chimneys through the rock, forcing them to stand side by side, and sometimes single-file. For some reason, Baerle had trouble staying on her side of the pass as they walked, continuously bumping into his shoulder, and accidentally poking his round ear with the tip of her long bow slung across her back.

At the very least, the snow drifts had been swept out of most of these chimneys, or had simply not fallen into them at all, as they collected overhead, the roots of trees dangling out over the shallow precipices that they descended through. Glancing up once, he saw Burris perched on one of those roots, his long beak turning this way and that about the landscape before he launched himself into the chill twilight air. Of course, when he took off, he dislodged the snow collected on that branch, and it had fallen onto the rat’s head. He grimaced and swallowed his pride as he brushed the flakes off, while Baerle chuckled beneath her breath. His grimacing stare only made her try harder to suppress her mirth.

When they finally emerged from that chimney of course, Charles rather adroitly switched sides with Jerome, placing Anson between himself at the rather vexatious opossum. The fox’s wintry blue eyes, cold and flecked with white about the slit pupil, appeared to try to say something to him, but Matthias was not sure if he wished to know. Looking back at the tube through the rock, he could see Zagrosek stepping out of its dark embrace and back into the dim twilight that surrounded them even in the more open portions of the woods. The Sondeckis flashed him a quick grin and a nod, before peering once more backwards.

Berchem stopped a short while after that as they came to a cluster of hills that lay low against the wall of mountains that had grown ever closer to their left. The trees were thinning, not nearly as large as their giant brethren back in the Glen, and also permitted more of the faint glow that was brightening on the Eastern horizon. To their right the land continued to descend a short ways, then began to climb steeply higher before it spilled out into the northern reaches of the Valley. To their North, the Dragon mountains began to curve, boxing them in on two sides, tall, angry peaks rising up in protest of their journey.

Turning to face the others, the skunk held out his paws, and motioned for them to stop. They had reached a slight depression, and, as they had been walking for at the very least two hours, almost certainly the end of the first leg of their journey. Scanning those hills all around them, he could see through a thicket of bushes a small frozen lake half covered in snowfall, the rest blown up onto the banks by the winds. Even as he thought of them, they came as if summoned, buffeting his fur and streaming it back over his face. But the powder held fast to his fur, and the elements gave up their battle only moments later.

Circling down from the sky, Burris landed in the small copse of trees with the seven travellers, and began to shift back into his normal form. Strangely enough, his beak, which was already rather long and pointed, appeared to grow first, carrying the rest of him upward, as if it was only expanding to suit the weight of its heavier burden. Finally, bright red feathers clearly visible, and his plumage neat and orderly, the woodpecker glanced over the rest of them, and then turned to the skunk. “The gorge starts only ten minutes Northeast of here. I haven’t seen any Lutins, or their hounds patrolling this area, so it should be safe to proceed when you are ready.”

“Has the sun risen?” Berchem asked, crossing his arms before his tunic, which had been dusted with the flour as well.

“In another half hour I believe. The storm clouds are mostly to the South now, but there is a thick fog covering many of the hills to the East. It will probably give us some trouble spotting any Lutin forces when we do run across them.” Burris’s beak dipped into his chest feathers and picked at them for a moment before his small eyes regarded the rest of them. “You have made better time than we had anticipated.”

“One always does, when there is no trouble,” Berchem added, as if quoting a maxim. He then looked to Ralph , his dark eyes capturing the vole’s attention immediately. “Would you and Jerome go with Burris to find a path to the gorge.”

Ralph nodded his thick head, his brown paws tightening about the stout pine of his bow. “You’ll never know we were gone.” The vole smiled proudly and then gazed up nearly two feet to the massive Sondeckis who lumbered easily through the snow after him, flexing each of his fingers one by one. Burris hopped along after them, shifting to a smaller form in mid hop, and then swooping up to perch on the Sondeckis’s shoulder. Jerome looked at the woodpecker curiously, but could only sport a wry grin as he disappeared into the fold of the white hills.

Charles stepped over to Anson, thumbing his belt idly, ready to simply wait for the three to return, but soon heard the skunk calling his name. “Charles, would you and Baerle climb up those hills and watch for the sunrise? I don’t want to enter the gorge until then. Lord Avery’s forces will be leaving with the sun.”

“And the plan will work best if we both reach the bridge at the same time, I know,” Charles finished for Berchem. “We’ll keep a sharp eye out for any Lutins while we’re up there too.”

For some reason, as he moved to join the opossum, she flashed him that dimpled grin again. Uneasily, he strode off into the trees, and up the eastern rise, back-switching when the terrain became too steep. Baerle was behind him of course, easily following the trail he set, her foot paws crunching the snow lightly, or not at all. He almost imagined he heard Zagrosek chuckling behind him through the trees as he worked up that slope, though he could not imagine why that would be so.

The trees continued to thin, fur and pine having long since replaced the oak and birch that was predominant towards Metamor Keep. Ice hung from the pine needles, crystalline like fragile glass, trapping the trees in their glossy cocoon. Finally, after a few dips and rises, they saw one peak that opened out onto the valley beyond. It was even steeper than before, and slippery rocks jutted up from the hard earth. Digging his claws into the ice-locked stone, Charles hefted himself up the last few feet, before he crouched in shallow snow atop the slender rise.

“Um, could you help me up?” he heard the opossum’s voice call from behind. The vista before him did not even have time to register, before he naturally turned about and looked down the rock slope at Baerle who stood at its base, her narrow snout admonishing, though her eyes were pleading earnestly. She held out one slender paw, short claws reaching up towards him. Charles held out his own, and gripped her warm hand in his own, and pulled, letting his Sondeck draw her towards him.

Her foot paws clawed at the ice of the rock, scrabbling some of it free before she finally leaped up the last of the incline, and landed atop the rat, knocking him over onto his back, his face full of surprise. She laughed gently as she peered down at his embarrassed face. Before he could reach out to object and before he even realised what she was about, the sly opossum had planted a firm kiss on his pink nose. “Thank you!” she exclaimed spritely, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Charles scooted backwards then, extricating himself from beneath her embrace, though in the process managing to shove a good deal of snow down his tunic, his whiskers twitching in a furious blush. “Uh, you’re welcome,” he stammered, rubbing at his nose, still in disbelief about what she had just done.

She giggled slightly, and then sat back on her haunches, clearing the snow away with one paw. She then rested her legs, her long fleshy tail curling about them as she turned to look out across the hill. “Have you ever been this far North?”

“Um, twice before,” Charles said, still shaking slightly, though he peered out over the landscape on the other side of the hill too, still unsure of what had just happened. The valley dropped off slightly just past the rise, but they could not see far, as the fog layered the hills on the other side of the depression, all the way to the mountains several miles distant. It was still too dark to make out many details, but the clouds on the eastern horizon were brightening.

“This is as far as I’ve ever come,” Baerle said, when Charles did not speak further. She crouched down a bit lower, resting her head on her paws, elbows buried in the half inch of snow. Their clothes were much warmer than the Sondeckis robes that they’d arrived in, and so the rat found himself quite comfortable in the chill. “You’re a scout from Metamor?”

Matthias nodded, letting his eyes trail down the hillside, trying to spot anything he could. When he wasn’t looking at the young, female opossum, he could almost imagine that she hadn’t kissed him. He cringed at the thought of how irate Lady Kimberly would be when she found out another girl had kissed him. And his beloved would probably blame the whole affair on him too he thought sourly.

But, he kept all of that in his mind, and let his mouth stay where it belonged. “Yes, I’ve been on missions for the Keep sporadically over the last nine months.”

“Is that why everybody knew you when you arrived last night? Have you been to the Glen before?”

Charles nodded again and found himself, despite his best efforts, glancing over at her. She was not looking at him, but was scanning the valley and the hills, as the fog threaded through them. “Yes, it was one of my very first missions in fact, back in April. I don’t remember seeing you, did you just move to the Glen recently?”

“This last summer. My father finally died, and so I came out here. I like the Glen better anyway.” Her voice was bereft of any melancholy, but Charles suspected that it was only because she hid it rather well.

“Where were you living before, and how did your father die?”

When she turned to meet his gaze, her dark hazel eyes finding his own as if by instinct, the rat returned his attention to the valley. “We lived in Mycransburg. Before Nasoj attacked the first time, my father was Lord ard’Kapler’s butler. He lost both of his legs when their manor was destroyed, so I had been taking care of him since then.” Her voice remained level as she spoke, and Charles found himself gaining an odd sort of sympathy for her. Caring for an invalid could not have been easy, especially after the way Mycransburg had been decimated.

“So why did you come to Glen Avery after he died?”

She turned back to the valley, her voice taking on a slightly distant cast. “It’s where my mother was from.”

“And where is she?”

“My mother? I never knew her. She died giving birth to me. But many of the folk at the Glen knew her.” She giggled then, her face brightening, her short whiskers laying back against her narrow muzzle. “Do you know the tailor’s wife?” At seeing the rat nod, she continued, “She treated me so wonderfully when I fist arrived, I’ve started calling her Auntie Levins, and me her niece!”

Charles could not help but smile, at the thought of the plump hedgehog acting as a surrogate mother for a friend’s bereaved daughter. “That’s rather lovely, I’m glad you found a home here.”

“Do you like Glen Avery?” Baerle suddenly asked, shifting about on her belly. Charles noted that she appeared to be lying closer to him than she had been before.

Even so, he pretended not to notice. “Yes, I do. If I did not already have a life at Metamor, I would move her, for it feels as much a home as any place I’ve ever known.”

Baerle smiled then, her tail curling about her legs rather supply, more tightly than Charles could ever manage with his own tail. Even so, she did not speak for several more moments, preferring to lay there, watching the valley move slowly in the last few minutes before dawn. The only thing that moved before them though was the mass of fog that drooped over the hillside, shifting and eddying over the contours of the land. A gentle breeze came up the incline, rattling the trees behind them, the ice covering the needles tinkling a silvery melody.

At that, the opossum shivered visibly, and chattered her teeth together, “It’s cold!” She wrapped her arms about her chest to emphasize the point.

Charles moved closer and wrapped an arm about her back, and pressed his side into hers. He gave her a small smile then, “This should help keep us warm until that sun rises.” She grinned back at him, her muzzle dangerously close to his. He then remembered that kiss she’d planted on him earlier, and he was half afraid she’d strike again. Yet, she kept her lips to herself, pressing her side into his as well, and slipping her own arm underneath his.

The rat felt slightly uncomfortable at that. He’d never been this close to any other woman but Lady Kimberly, and he’d no intention of being this close to any other. But, this was to help keep them warm, as it was frightfully chilly laying there on the bare hilltop, with the wind rising over their fur. And that was all it was to him, two companions huddling together for warmth. “Feeling better?” he asked then.

She favoured him that dimpled smile again, and nodded. “Much better.” Her eyes turned back towards the fog bank, as it started to yellow with rising sun. Charles watched in rapt fascination as the fog started to glow with the dispersed morning sun, looking more like a mound of warm cream melting into the groove of the hills they topped, like a delicious biscuit fresh from Gregor’s ovens back at Metamor. The glints of light began to make the ice gleam brightly, casting ephemeral light about them on all sides, reflecting it subtly even into the dense thickets. The two animal morphs huddled together for several minutes more as they watched dawn bring light into Metamor Valley once more.

---

As the scouts had reported, the area around the bridge was respectably guarded. Groups of six or seven Lutins circled the area at the South end of the long wooden bridge, accompanied by at least two of their arctic hounds. Ten Lutins stood sentinel at each end, bearing spears of crude but serviceable make, as well as hatchets and an assortment of stolen iron daggers. Over the chasm, the long wooden bridge spanned, with one central support descending into the darkness below. A few Lutins patrolled across it, though they usually stopped midway to see how long it took their spit to reach the bottom.

Angus set his ponderous form behind the tree trunk, nestled in the midst of snow covered branches. Despite his bulk, he had little trouble climbing the natural towers, though he did find it tricky at times seeking out trees with branches wide enough to support his weight without buckling. As it was, he was only twenty feet from the ground, but it had been enough to gain him a good view of the Lutin forces, as they milled about.

Taking a deep breath, he fixed his claws into the ice covered bark, and began to slide down the slippery oak, shivers of white glistening from his black claws as he descended. He held on tight with his legs though, keeping his descent both slow down quiet and enough so as not to attract attention. Though he easily could have had one of his subordinates go up to take a look, he always preferred to do this sort of task himself. And no one was likely to argue with a three hundred pound badger either.

Lord Avery waited while the badger wiped the snow from his sleeves after landing with a silent thump in the thick snowdrift. The grey squirrel was grey no longer, his fur a snow white from the powder, his dark eyes shone like pebbles against them. They were four standing in the snow so close to the bridge they wished to destroy. The rest of their men waited several minutes back, while they went ahead and made one last survey before their plan of attack was set. Garigan stood next to the noble, two wicked daggers clutched firmly in his paws, while to his left was Alldis, whose wide rack of antlers threatened to catch the squirrel’s tail as it flitted anxiously from side to side.

“It doesn’t appear as if they’ve changed any of their patterns from yesterday. Ten men at the end of the bridge, two groups of scouts patrolling the woods. An equal number on the opposite side, though it will take a minute to cross once they know what is happening.” Angus spoke in a low gravely voice, keeping his head close to the ground to further muffle the sounds.

Lord Avery nodded, and then began to absently gnaw at the end of his long bow. He quickly stopped himself, affording only a slight moue from embarrassment before speaking. “Let’s kill the scouts first, as quietly as possible.”

Alldis shook his head, “They have hounds. They’ll start baying as soon as they smell us.”

The ferret let his eyes trial between the three of them, but held his tongue in check. Brian Avery though bore an amused expression. “True enough. We should give them something to bay at though. There are many animals in these woods, and we are certainly animals after all.”

The deer scowled unpleasantly as he found the Lord of the Glen’s eyes upon him. “The last time we used that tactic, they shot the animal full of arrows if you recall.”

Brian nodded. “I know, but it is probably the only way we can take out those scouts without the rest of their party realising what we have done. Let’s regroup with the others, and then I’ll want you to be our animal for us, Alldis. I know it is a great deal to ask, but–“

“But I am going to do it anyway,” the deer morph affirmed, bowing his head thoughtfully.

Angus gave his friend a comradely pat on the back as they retraced their steps through the snowbound earth, a good distance from the road. Garigan slunk off ahead, eyes darting this way and that as he slipped between the trees. They were tighter packed here than at Glen Avery, as they were much shorter, and thinner. Even so, a few giants rose up among them, stretching upwards to the sky itself, though none were large enough to build a home in, as had been done at the Glen.

The return trip to their comrades waiting in the woods clustered between the trees, and in most cases, invisible amongst them, was uneventful. The Lutin patrols stayed close to the bridge, preferring to run as close to the road as possible. The Glenners though were at home in the woods, and even though most of them had never been this far from their home, they still walked among the trees as spirits riding upon the wind. Only as they were so used to their own techniques were they able to even spot the guard of archers that had nestled in the crooks of branches all around their temporary camp, and even then, Angus was certain that he missed at least half of them!

When Lord Avery motioned for the others to approach, shapes materialised from the woods, as if they had just been created out of the trees themselves. Even those who had only been living with them for less than a year had become skilled, like the ermine Fellen who was suddenly at the badger’s back, thumbing the pommel of his mein gauche. Angus waited, giving the short musteline a firm pat on the shoulder, glancing from side to side as his friends made peace with whichever gods they worshipped.

“There are two groups of patrols, and we need to silence those first. Alldis will distract the hounds, so you should be able to kill the Lutins quickly. The Lutins at the bridge must not know we are here until we attack them directly. Archers, you will come with me to hide in the trees near the bridge. The rest of you will go with Angus and Garigan to kill these Lutins. It is nearly noon, so Burris should be at the bridge soon. If we can take it before he arrives, all the better. Now, let us fight for the Glen!”

Though Lord Avery’s voice barely rose above a whisper, the last statement felt as if it had been shouted directly into their hearts. Angus could barely contain his pride. Fighting for his home was one of the greatest joys he could think of. Drawing his thick blade into one paw, gripping it tightly, and feeling the weight responding kind, a grin began to cross his features. The badger did not enjoy battle for its own sake, rather, he was charged by the love of his homeland, and hatred for all those who would destroy it.

His group consisted of roughly six other Glenners, including Fellen. He watched for a moment as Alldis rubbed the snow across his muzzle and arms, removing the powder rather quickly. He did not stay to watch his friend undress and shift. Instead, he tasted the wind, and began to lead his group to the left of the road, circling far out into the thick woods, his men close behind. The archers were already lost to sight far above in the trees, moving between them as innocuously as normal squirrels might.

The stink of Lutins permeated the air. Aside from this glaring fact, the patrols were decent soldiers among the Lutins, making little noise, and hardly talking amongst themselves as most were inclined to do, sharing bawdy jokes and the usual assortment of boasts and mischief. If it were not for their foul scent, Angus was certain that he would have had a difficult time moving his men in behind them and their hounds. As it was, they crept up on the unsuspecting patrol, weaving in and out of the trees, their blades ready and yearning to taste flesh.

A flash of brown from one side caught his eye, and with a bit of a wry grin on his muzzle, the badger knew that Alldis was doing his best to attract the hounds. And he did a marvellous job, as the poorly trained dogs began yapping and straining at the leashes to chase the deer, galloping through the woods. Several of the Lutins swore at their animals, even as the Glenners crept up behind them.

Angus was the first to reach them, followed by Fellen and a stoat. He plunged the thick end of his blade into the first Lutin’s neck, and grabbed another with one hairy paw, and snapped its neck with a single twist. Fellen slid the mein gauche across one of the green-skinned throats, spilling the black blood across its studded armour and onto the mounds of disturbed snow below. After the first three of the seven were dead, the other four began to take notice, and one of them almost managed to cry out, but his voice was cut short when an arrow suddenly protruded from his warty lips, struck from some unseen perch among the trees.

Their master’s now dead, the hounds, still intent on the deer, ran after it, their leashes bouncing along behind them as a horse’s pinions might after its rider had been dislodged. They could hear a bit of laughter from the bridge as the deer and the hounds bounded along down the road. Angus waited quietly, standing amidst the dead bodies, listening to that laughter, hoping not to hear the sound of iron being drawn. Yet, only the laughter continued, and it was followed by the silence of the thick woods, save for the baying hounds receding down the road.

The badger surveyed the bodies, and noted that Fellen and the stoat were making a quick search of their garments. However, aside from their patch-work armour and a few cutlasses, the Lutins possessed nothing to distinguish them from the tribal savages that they had been before Nasoj had united them against Metamor. Angus pointed towards the sound of the laughter, and his group nodded slowly. He would trust that Garigan had met similar success, as no sounds of alarm had been raised. Now, it was just a matter of dispatching the ten who stood at the bridge’s end, and holding it against the forces on the other side.

The woods had been cleared for a good twenty feet on either side of the bridge, and obviously not recently. Most of the lumber from the felled trees had certainly been used to build the current bridge. And it was not the first bridge to span the chasm before them either. The old stone bridge had been fashioned in the days of the Suielman Empire, but it had crumbled a century ago from rot and neglect. Many of the crumbling stones were still at the base of the chasm, and even now were holding the present edifice aloft, as the central support rested upon their remains far below, though most had been pilfered over the years by the locals who did not wish to pay to have stone shipped from the quarries to the South.

Yet, as Angus peered out at the group of ten Lutins standing watch over the bridge, his concern was not so much for the history as for what his eyes now witnessed. There was a man crossing that bridge, flanked by two humans, and a dozen Lutins, armed not with spears, but swords, and well-crafted ones at that. With the foul taste of bile filling his throat, Angus could barely keep from spitting in disgust as he recognised the slender man as Baron Calephas. What was he doing here?

Holding his paws up, he motioned for his men to wait. Clearly, Lord Avery and Garigan were also holding back, as the forest remained quiet and still. In the distance, the hounds ceased their baying, as Alldis had undoubtedly lost them in his escape. The badger gazed across the wide ravine to the other side, and began to count the number of Lutins he saw over there. The number had tripled form only moments before. How had the Baron known of their attack? He couldn’t have, and they’d given no warning. Unless of course they’d captured Burris, Charles, and Berchem, and forced them to confess. That was an unpleasant, if unlikely thought.

As there was little else he could do, Angus waited, alongside of his men, many of whom were anxious from spilling blood. The black ichor slid from their sabres and daggers, staining the snow around them, darkening and melting it as it sunk down to the ground, as if even the Earth itself did not wish to remember it. Absently, he wiped his own blade clean in the snow, even as he pressed his shoulder firmly against the bark of the nearest tree, watching between the leafless thickets as the Baron’s party reached the other side of the bridge.

The Lutins there stood more firmly at attention, but as they were Lutins, that was hardly any better than a slouch, their spears pointing at odd angles. “Why were the hounds running down the road just now?” one of the men at Calephas’s side asked in a hot voice, as the Baron himself just glanced about the woods, his dark eyes searching randomly. Though Angus had nothing but contempt for the pederast’s tastes, he had to confess that the man was tactically sound, and rarely made the same mistake twice. He had to wonder what was going through the man’s mind, and if their enemy knew or suspected that they were lurking in the woods not thirty feet away.

“Ah, they were chasing a stupid deer,” spat one of the Lutins, waving a negligent paw down the road.

Calephas sucked in his breath and snapped his eyes to the other man at his side. “Get back across the bridge. Now!” The Lutins at his side faltered for a moment, but began to run back the way they had come, surrounding the Baron and his two human companions as they bid a hasty retreat. The ten Lutins standing guard stood dumbly for a moment, blinking, unsure exactly what had just happened. And then, a volley of arrows descended from the trees about them, piercing eyes and throats, arms and legs, including that of one of Calephas’s human soldiers. Five of those Lutins ran, dropping their clumsy spears in their haste. The other five lay dead or dying, clawing at the arrows in their limbs, even a the second round ended their last moments.

Angus did not emerge from the trees, and he put up his paws for his men to wait, though with as many arrows descending into that bridge, they did not need to be told to do so. He watched with a bit of surprise as Calephas and the other human stopped a moment to grab their fallen comrade by the arms and hoist him between their shoulders. The Lutins that had been protecting them continued to flee, leaving them exposed, yet they still managed to make the rest of the journey back across the bridge. Once on their own side, Calephas and his two human soldiers moved back into the woods, leaving only the Lutin guards to stand at the open, thirty or so, Angus figured from his rough count.

“Why did they give us this side of the bridge?” Fellen murmured softly, mostly to himself.

Angus shook his head. “Probably because he knew that they’d be decimated if they tried to hold it. They have archers themselves on their side. It does us no good to hold this side as long as they can shoot at us from across this chasm.”

“So what do we do?” the stoat asked, turning his short sword over in his paws.

Angus nestled in closer to the tree, loosening his grip on his blade a moment to stretch his claws. “We wait. We wait for Burris to set that bridge on fire. Once they do that, they can have that side all they want. They’ll be stuck on it, and Nasoj’s supplies with it. We just have to keep them over there.”

His men nodded, hunkering down amongst the snow drenched trees, but not a single one of them relaxed. It was never possible in a standoff. They watched the woods about them, hoping that Calephas did not somehow get word to troops on their side. It would be a disaster to be caught between Lutins and that chasm. Angus though, kept his eye on the other side of the ravine, watching to see if Calephas would ever emerge from the trees again. If the archers could just get one clear shot, a menace to their lives could be eliminated.

Of course, Baron Garadan Calephas was not such a fool as to fail to realise that himself. Sheltered amidst the pine, he helped the burly Northerner Andrig set his fellow Gaerwog against a tree. The latter was protesting bitterly, staring at the arrow that had plunged through the flesh of his thigh, completely through the scale of his hauberk. Calephas grimaced, rubbing one hand up and down his smooth cheeks as he considered his sergeant. “The wound does not appear serious, we can probably pull the arrow once we saw off the tip. Do you think you’ll be able to walk?”

Gaerwog nodded as he gripped his leg tightly, squeezing the flesh of his thigh, which was nearly as wide around as the Baron’s head. Both of his men were from the region about Arabarb, and so bore the characteristic red beards at only eighteen, as well as the build more reminiscent of a bear than a man’s. Reaching over with one hand, he gripped the handle of his axe and held it before his mouth. “Get it over with,” he said through clenched teeth, before biting down hard on the leather grip, his teeth chewing into the thick hide.

At a nod from the baron, Andrig leaned over his companion and held his shoulders down, while Calephas leaned over the leg. Taking a sharp dagger, he pressed it firmly at the arrow shaft just above the feathers, and began to press deep into the wood. After only a second it snapped and came off in Calephas’s slender hands. Depositing that in the snow, and giving his sergeant a warning look, he gripped the shaft firmly just above the man’s thigh, and yanked hard.

Gaerwog did not stir, but remained still, his teeth biting through the leather, spit dribbling into his beard as the blood coated shaft came free from the wound. Blood suppurated into the mail, before the Northerner pressed down again, stanching the flow. Andrig handed his friend a cloth to place over the wound, while Calephas tossed the bloodied shaft to the side.

“Will you be able to stand and fight soon?” the Baron asked, turning to glance over at his Lutin armies amassed at the one end of the bridge. He grimaced at their terrible formation, but was loathe to leave the safety of the trees to correct it.

Gaerwog nodded, his thick beard ragged. Pulling the axe from his mouth, he spat the bile onto the snow at his side. “Just give me a moment to tie this off.”

Calephas nodded once more and motioned for them to wait there. “I’ll marshal the troops, though I doubt there is anything that can be done just yet. We shall have to wait and see. I just wonder how the Keepers could have gotten past the main body.”

“Perhaps they aren’t from Metamor, but from one of the outlying towns?” Andrig offered.

The Baron shrugged, accepting the answer as the only that could make sense. “I knew we should have been more thorough when we pushed South, but I suppose they might have been able to get a message through to the Keep despite the blizzard. Well, we shall never know now.” With that, the Baron of Arabarb turned off and left the two humans alone together. They gave each other quick looks, and then scanned the immediate area to be certain that they were alone.

Lowering his head close to that of his friend’s, Andrig whispered softly into his ear, “This may the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

Gaerwog nodded, his face grim, his lips drawing out a thick line upon his weather-beaten cheeks. “Perhaps, but there are too many Lutins for us to fight alone.”

“We have to get the Lutins back on the bridge again somehow. If we an convince Calephas as well, it would be even better. I imagine the Keepers would be delighted to have one of Nasoj’s lieutenants to question.”

“We’ll, let us keeps our eyes open then.” Gaerwog looked up as he saw a small force of Lutins come trundling up the forest road towards them. “Quiet, we’ll talk later.” Andrig smiled down to his friends as he watched the green-skinned fiends move back into the woods after the Baron yelled at them a few times. They would keep their eyes open indeed.

---

What had begun as a simple down slope between two hills that rose on either side, rather quickly became a narrow ravine that twisted and wound its way through the Northern countryside. The walls that held them varied in height from just twice as high as Jerome, to nearly the summit of the towers at Metamor. Sunlight barely broke past the first few feet beyond the ground far overhead, leaving them walking through shadowed path, tripping over loose stones and bumping into each other when they got too close. Snow littered the ground haphazardly, the confining walls of the gorge proven resilient against the storm.

Burris was flying overhead, scouting along the ravine to see what lay ahead. Berchem and he had worked out signals in advance to warn of Lutins in the area, but so far, Charles was glad to see that they’d not used any. As the base of the ravine was sometimes so narrow as to only allow them to walk single-file, the three Sondeckis were interspersed between the archers, and Charles invariably found himself behind Baerle, who looked back over her shoulder at him the rat felt more often than she watched where she was going.

While they were climbing over a pile of old rocks that had fallen from the hills above, he whispered, “Where did this gorge come from? I mean, what made it. It doesn’t appear to fit with the rest of the Valley too well.”

Baerle shrugged her head, taking a moment to look over the rat’s shadowed figure. In the darkness, neither he nor she cast their own shadows, but relied upon the towers ridges along either side. “This is the first time I’ve been here, too.”

Anson, the arctic fox who had been giving Charles queer looks, a half-bemused smile usually, then spoke up from behind him, “An old earthquake some say. I heard one tale that one of the old gods of myth was punished to dig while blindfolded for some transgression, I’ve forgotten what exactly it was.”

The rat let his eyes stray up to the crevice of light far above. It was turning into a bright day now, the fog having long since rolled off to the South, leaving them with clear skies. The deep blue above him appeared almost crystalline, as if it were only a dream that would shatter should he throw a rock high enough. A tiny speck passed over the crevice, and he knew it to be Burris circling back to find them as he flew about. Charles hoped sincerely that the Lutins did not take to using the woodpecker as an object of sport, for he could think of no worse way to go, than having been killed by those who thought him nothing more than an animal.

Charles watched the avian mage circle the air a few times before dipping lightly at the lip of the ravine and heading East once more, before gazing back into the solemn gloom. Baerle was climbing up a pile of rocks, scampering up their slippery sides. The one constant at the bottom of this abyss was that it was damp. If the snow wasn’t covering it, then a slick of moisture coated its mouldy surface. This made climbing up the piles of boulders tricky at times, and the morphs had to rely on their claws to chisel their way over.

As his eyes made sense of the darkness, he realized that Baerle was holding her paw out towards him, urging him up. Charles reached out and clasped it, her sharp little claws digging into his wrist as she hefted him up the incline. Digging his toe claws into the rock, Charles brought himself up next to her, their chests alarmingly close. Though it was too dark to be certain, Matthias suspected that the opossum was flashing her dimpled smile his way again.

Turning, and trying not to blush, he helped Anson up that same incline. A sudden spark filled him as he felt Baerle’s tail curl about the tip of his, drawing it up, lifting it high as she continued on down the ravine. His Sondeck was aflutter at his embarrassment, so much so that he doubted he could use it at that moment. Anson was giving him that bemused grin again. The rat wanted to snap at the archer, ask him what he found so amusing, but was afraid that he already knew.

As they continued to walk along the ravine floor, it slowly began to widen, and straighten out. The light from the noonday sun filtered further down, casting the littered ground in pale shadows and vague outlines. Once there was room enough to walk side by side, Charles scooted up to Baerle’s right, nd leaned towards her ear. That dimpled smile was clear in evidence upon her muzzle, and she leaned back, her bright brown eyes warm.

“Yes?” she asked rather archly. Her tone set the rat of for a moment, and he began to blubber the first words that came to his mind rather nonsensically. She continued to fix him a curious stare, but it only confused the rat more.

Finally, Matthias grimaced, shook his head in disgust, and stepped back from her, shaking out his thoughts. He couldn’t tell if the girl was flirting with him or not, and it only made his head spin all the worse. If she were just consistent about it, he could understand, but this back and forth was playing havoc with his mind.

However, as they came around another bend, his eyes caught the red speckled shape of Burris descending past the ledges towards the skunk who was still powdered white. Charles caught his breath as he watched, forgetting his opossum troubles for the moment. His paw reached inside his thick tunic to the retracted shaft of his Sondeshike, feeling its cool surface and grain against his skin.

The avian shifted back to his most human form and pointed one wing tip towards the bend just up ahead. “The bridge is only a few minutes more away,” he said quietly.

“And the Lutins?” Berchem asked, his voice gruff, weary from the hike.

“They’ve retreated to the Northern side of the bridge. Lord Avery has pushed them back across it. Neither side is willing to take it back, as they both have archers.” Burris then lowered his beak a trifle. “Calephas is with them, and he brought two dozen more Lutin soldiers.”

Anson snorted at that, drawing his bow from over his shoulder and notching an arrow. Charles glanced past the arctic fox to Zagrosek who was thumbing his Sondeshike. The black-haired Sondeckis nodded in return, casting his eyes warily to the left ridge. Sucking in his breath, the Long waited for the skunk to make up his mind.

“We continue on as planned. Ready your bows,” Berchem drew his own, testing the string a few times before he continued on. Charles followed closely after Baerle, being careful not to step on her tail as they made their way around the last bend in the chasm.

The bridge itself, when he finally saw it for the first time, was hardly astonishing, but it did make him pause a moment to gaze. It was made entirely from wood, with three supports holding it aloft, two on each ridge, and one directly in the centre. The railing was at least five feet high on either side, and it was wide enough to hold two four-horse carriages side by side. At present though, it was as Burris had said, empty.

Crunching his feet through the snow, Charles followed after the opossum as they marched very close to the Northern ridge. If the Lutins were watching, they’d have to be peering over the edge to notice them as long as they stayed flush with the wall. Matthias drew his paw across the old stone, seeing the signs of age and mould corrupting its surface. Faints cracks cobwebbed their way up the surface, until they were indistinguishable in the dim light. He idly wondered if any creature lived down here where the sun refused to shine.

Yet, as the bridge loomed closer and closer to his eyes, and growing even more gigantic with each stride, did the reality of the situation come to him. They were going to destroy this bridge, send it crashing into the ravine so that the Lutins could no longer ship their supplies to Nasoj’s army at Metamor. Burris, whose specialty was working with wood, was going to convince the stressed timber to catch flame, which would be sufficient to do the job. Only Burris was a bird and cloud fly away when the bridge began to collapse. What about the rest of them? What would they do when the structure came tumbling down about their heads?

Also, as they began to draw near to the bridge’s underside, they began to hear the cries and snarls of the Lutins far above them. Most of them were unintelligible, but the rat did catch, “Come out, you bloody animals! Stop hiding!” The archers were watching that ridge, claws twitching on their bowstrings as they listened to the stream of invectives shot across the gorge. Yet, the other side remained silent, a testament to the patience and surety the Glenners possessed. Somewhere on the South ridge was Garigan, his student, waiting, possibly with blood already dripping from his daggers, waiting for the Lutins to finally charge across the bridge.

He did breathe a sigh of relief as they finally passed under the structure, and back into the thick shadow. Berchem slowly moved out along the ravine itself until he came to stand next to the centre support for the bridge. Burris hopped along after him, his thin legs sifting the snow about him. Anson and Ralph followed after them, their bows pointed up at either side of the North face about the bridge, their eyes bright. After a moment, Baerle went after, her tail curling up around her ankles as she did so.

Charles stood with Jerome and Zagrosek by the cliff wall, watching the five Glenners make their way into the path of danger, circling and covering the bird from any enemy attack. Grumbling slightly, Jerome patted one of the supports abutting the North face, “Well, we made it this far.”

“This far, yes,” Charles muttered sourly. “How are we going to get out from underneath this thing when it falls?

Zagrosek peered up at the wooden beams far overhead, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps we should start running as soon as it catches fire?”

The rat bore an unpleasant moue at hearing his friend’s suggestion. “Just run? The Lutins will be shooting at us for certain.”

“Then we try not to get hit,” the black-haired Sondeckis added dryly. “We have very few options at this point, Charles. Let’s just do what we can.”

Jerome pointed a bit further down the gorge. The two Sondeckis followed his thick finger, and saw a large pile of rocks that were clustered haphazardly a good twenty yards off. “We can probably climb in those rocks. They should shield us from most of the collapse.”

They both nodded at that, and Zagrosek added, “Yes, I think we can easily make that. And if the Lutins start shooting at us, they’ll hit the rocks most likely as well.”

Before either could even voice another thought, a shout descended from the North face above. Glancing up, their ears caught the strains of a strangled cry from first one Lutin, and then several more, as they clamoured about the edge of the chasm, looking down into the darkness at the mischief the Glenners were about. “Damn it,” Charles swore beneath his breath. “Now we have to do something.”

“But what?” Jerome asked, even as the archers began to let fly their arrows into the sky, their arcs long, yet most of them falling short on the first volley, crashing into the side of the rock, and clattering back down to the damp ground. In response, a vaguely familiar voice began shouting orders, and was quickly followed by haphazard arrows streaming down beneath the bridge, imbedding harmlessly into the snow, or coming dangerously close to the quartet flanking the woodpecker.

Charles knew that the Lutins were not aware of their presence yet, but hated himself for standing there while the Glenners were shot at. He looked into their concerted faces, fixed ever upwards on the lofty heights above, firing strained shots towards the lip of the ridge, while a rain of shafts fell about them. There were several choked howls as the shafts met their targets high above, and even one lone wail as a Lutin toppled over the edge, landing with a resounding thump in a pile of snow, sending gusts of white floating about him as he lay dead.

The vole grimaced as an arrow nicked his arm, causing him to take a step back before he could fire another arrow. That was all the catalyst that the rat needed to dart forward, heedless of the arrows cascading about him, until he was standing in front of the four archers, the Sondeshike extended in his paws.

“What are you doing?” Berchem shouted amidst the twang of the bowstrings.

“Covering you.” Charles called over his shoulder, even as he began to spin the staff, quicker and quicker between his paws. Out of the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed Baerle’s glowing back at him, even as she continued to shoot. At that moment, it made the rat feel a bit surer that what he was doing was not going to get him killed.

Zagrosek saw what he was doing, and darted over to help, standing before Ralph and Anson, spinning his staff in his hands as well, until the ferrules whined as they twirled through the air. A faint nimbus appeared to shield those twirling staves, deflecting arrows that came into their path, smashing the wooden shafts into splinters. Jerome waited beneath the arch for several moments more, before running to join his friends, standing behind the archers, and striking the base of the bridge with the palms of his hands, even as the woodpecker continued to mumble barely audible enchantments.

“What’s taking him so long?’ Charles cried as yet another arrow shattered before him, yet this one had come straight towards his head. Blinking in fearful surprise at the averted death that had come so close, he added, “Let’s burn this bridge and run!”

“The wood is too wet as we feared, Burris is going to need several more minutes.” Berchem called back, letting loose another bolt. A cry arose from a Lutin’s throat, before the limp form tumbled down the ridge, bouncing off the rock face and dislodging mouldy stones until he collapsed in a heap beside his brethren in the piles of snow.

“Well, he’d better hurry,” Charles growled. His paws were not sore, and in fact, found the grove quite relaxing. He knew that he could have continued to spin his Sondeshike for a good fifteen minutes before he would have started to feel the effects of it, but he doubted that he would live that long. Surely one or two arrows would get through their impromptu shield, and then, it would be over.

Yet, fortune was in their favour, as Lord Avery realised this as well. Scampering down from his perch high in the trees just before the clearing, he quickly found Angus’s party nestled in the trees, their faces set in grim lines. The badger looked up as his Lord darted amidst them, his paws held out empty, long bow slung across one shoulder.

“Lord Avery, I take it you have seen the abominable situation before us?” Angus rose slightly from his kneeling position, but not fully.

The squirrel nodded, his tail flitting from side to side. “Yes, and we need to distract those Lutins. Take your men and get at the end of the bridge. Do whatever it takes to anger them enough to charge you. I’ve ordered the archers to hold back until they are at least two-thirds of the way across. I’m going to tell Garigan the same thing. Now move, we mustn’t waste a moment.”

Angus nodded and rose to his feet, drawing his thick blade into his paws once more. The five soldiers with him also stood ready, their bodies tense. Finally, Angus gave Brian Avery a wink, and then darted out from the trees, bellowing at the top of his lungs, brandishing his blade high in the air. The sound of bowstrings twanging ceased for a moment, as the Lutins looked up in surprise to see the Glenners emerging from the woods, charging towards the bridge. Moments later, a second group joined them at the end, shouting curses and challenges across the chasm to the angry Lutin soldiers.

Several of them dropped their bows at that moment and drew daggers, running down the length of the bridge, intent on silencing the Keepers. Yet, a voice from within the woods cried out to them, “Stop, you fools! Keep shooting at the Keepers in the ravine!”

“Calephas,” the badger said in distaste, before dropping his sword to the ground. With his large paws, he undid the belt at his waist, and dropped his trousers to the ground. Turning about, he gave the Lutins a good look at his tail and rear, waving it about in the air behind him as he continued to shout. Many of the Glenners did the same, which only caused the Lutins to cry out in further anger, a good number of them rushing across the bridge disregarding the Baron’s shouts for them to fall back.

Angus stared between his thick furry thighs at the Lutins racing towards them, and at the ones who had remained by the ledge. He offered a quick prayer of thanks that the Lutins had not thought to bring long bows with them, otherwise they would have been able to fire across the chasm with ease. As it was, they were safely out of range of the short bows that the green-skinned savages preferred. So he simply watched, and continued to shout, as the Baron began trying to frantically organise the undisciplined Lutin forces.

In fact, he kept waving his rear at the oncoming Lutins until he could distinguish the lacing of their bucklers. Then, with a final swing of his short tail, he stepped out of his trousers, and grabbed his sword, meeting the enraged soldiers half-naked. Even as he raised his sword above his head, slew of arrows descended from the trees behind him, pinning all but two of the dozen who’d charged them.

The first of those came at the badger, heedless that his companions lay dead or twitching on the wooden planks of the bridge. He raised his axe to swing from the left, but found himself neatly skewered on the long thick blade, the hatchet falling limply from his calloused hand into the snow at his feet. The second clutched at a dagger that protruded from his chest, falling to his knees, gurgling blood and bile from his lips, before collapsing on his side, clawing at the snow feebly until there was no strength left in him.

Angus let out a cheer and continued to swear at the Lutins still on the far side, many of whom were trying to ignore the Glenners and continue shooting down into the ravine. Baron Calephas was certainly not going to allow any more of his soldiers to foolishly squander their position, only to be skewered by the Glen’s archers. He had suspected all along after all that they had been waiting on the other side of the bridge for a reason. That a group had somehow managed to reach the bottom of the crevice and was attacking the base of the bridge, vindicated him in his suspicions.

However, as he shouted orders to the line of Lutins at the ridge’s lip, he did not consider the intent of the two men at his back. Gaerwog had finally manage to climb to his feet, the cloth tight beneath the mail, though he limped slightly. Andrig held the pommel of his sword tightly between his fingers, the two friends certain of their intent. They approached as quietly as their large feet would allow through the snow crusted road, ever watching their quarry, the tall, slender Baron Calephas.

The man whom Nasoj had appointed over Arabarb never once looked back, but continued to cry out to the disorderly Lutins, keeping them in check against the Glenner’s obstreperous challenges. Andrig brought the pommel of his sword hard against the back of the man’s head, causing the body to suddenly jerk, and then fold in on itself as consciousness fled the Baron. Gaerwog grabbed him in his arms, to keep him from falling over completely.

Andrig then sheathed his sword, and draped one of the Baron’s arm over his shoulder, holding him aloft. Gaerwog did the same, and Calephas’s feet dangled in the air between the two massive Northerners. Taking one last look at the Lutins lined along the rim of the chasm, not a one of them glancing back to see that their commander had been betrayed, they set off at a run, matching each other despite the one’s limp, straight across that bridge and toward the animal-men hollering on the other side.

It only took the Lutins a moment to realize just what the two Northerner’s were up to, and their shouts became that of war cries, as many of them abandoned their quarry in the ravine, and turned their sights upon those men. Discarding bows in favour of knife, cudgel, or axe, they charged after Andrig and Gaerwog, their collective rage making them faster than was commonly thought possible. Their footfalls were like thunder upon the bridge, a following storm that threatened to overwhelm them.

And it was a sound that did not go unheard by the eight down in the ravine itself. Charles watched in befuddled amazement as the ranks of the Lutins’s broke, and they began to charge across the bridge overhead. He stopped spinning the Sondeshike, to gaze up at the massive structure overhead. He then turned back to where Burris and Jerome were assaulting the base with their arts, a sudden look of shock crossing his features.

Berchem set down his bow and pointed towards where the flames were beginning to lick along the wooden supports. “Hit this thing with those staves of yours. If we can knock it down now, we’ll take out the Lutins too!”

The skunk then waved the rest of them over towards the pile of rocks that they’d spotted earlier. Baerle stopped a moment to watch in fascination as Zagrosek and Charles stood beside the flaming base, their Sondeshikes held firmly within their hands. Matthias peered into the bright flames that corroded the support, dancing madly up and licking at the wood higher an higher, spreading rapidly across its surface. The black-haired Sondeckis met his gaze then, through the flames, burning brightly, absorbing their entire world. The stresses creaked and the rock that it sat upon charred under the intense heat. And for a brief moment, Matthias could feel the pendant that Murikeer had given him, which he wore next to his chest grow cold, as if to war him against the inferno and the bridge overhead ready to collapse.

And then, the two Sondeckis swung, smashing their staves into the crumbling timbers that held the central support up. The entire bridge reverberated with the impact, as it buckled in the middle, the ends twisting and bending as it sagged. With the base racked and splintering, each new cross section thudded into the rocks, only to break apart, causing the bridge to sag even further. Finally, as the Lutins above realised just what was happening, their screams turning to ones of fear instead of rage, the planks overhead began to splinter, and the walkway broke apart, dropping the central section to the ravine far below, and with it the greater portion of Calephas’s forces.

Of course, by this point, both Charles and Zagrosek had run from beneath the bridge towards the large pile of stones that the others had fled to. Baerle stood open mouthed just a few feet from those rocks, staring as that great structure collapsed, the bodies of their enemies falling into the yawning pit, as if the earth itself were swallowing them up. Charles came up beside her and grabbed her arm, dragging her to the rocks, even as the two sides that had been abutting the ridges finally fell, crashing downwards into the large pile of broken timbers that had already accumulated at the bottom of the gorge.

Matthias pressed the surprised opossum down into a crevice within the stones, and lay atop her, even as the thunderous detonations continued, the crackling of the fire as the carnage spewed outwards. The freakish screams of the Lutins s they dies were lost in the roar of the bridge as the last of the struts slammed into the earth, showering them with debris. Snapped timbers splashed across the pile of rocks, throwing slivers across them, into their fur, and drenching them with thick dust.

Yet, one of the larger pieces slammed into the rat’s back, the force somewhat diminished by the rocks on either side, yet the pain was excruciating and brief. The last thing that he saw before blacking out was the dimpled smile upon the opossum’s muzzle, even bigger than after she’d kissed him.