Part 5 of Dominion of the Hyacinth!
---------
May 5, 708 CR
James woke early that morning with a smile
stretched across his snout. His ears wouldn't
stop bouncing from side to side as he gathered
his scouting gear. In an hour he would meet up
with Baerle the opossum for a quick two-day
patrol of the relatively peaceful southern
expanse of the Glen. She wasn't in love with him
the way he was in love with her yet, but she was
always so happy to see him. One day he hoped he
would be as happy with her as Charles was with Kimberly.
A knock at his door roused him from the reverie
he'd begun to enjoy of their last venture into
the woods together. The donkey opened the door
and saw the haggard cervine face of Jurmas. The
deer already had velveted antlers gracing his
brow, and a weariness in his face that spoke of
the lack of sleep his two-month old twin
daughters were providing him. He had a small letter in his hoof-like hand.
This just came for you. Jurmas offered the letter.
James took it in his two-fingered hands and
turned it over. He saw the horsehead seal, but
didn't recognize the handwriting with his name. How are your girls?
They are all legs and bleats! Jurmas said, his
ears flicking from side to side as he shook his
head to shake the weariness. But they are my
girls and I love them. Everyone says I'll get
sleep again soon. I'm told they have a most
interesting brew in Metamor to help me wake in the morning.
Next time I go I will ask for you, James
offered. I suppose I should read this.
Jurmas nodded and stepped back from the door.
I'll have something ready for you to eat when
you come down. I hope your patrol is... he
didn't finish his words, only smiled and walked
back down the corridor of the Inn.
James brayed a laugh to himself and swung the
door shut. His hooves clopped on the wood as he
walked toward his pallet and gear. He broke the
seal and scanned the words. A moment later and
the donkey sighed; he hoped Baerle wouldn't be too disappointed.
----------
Kayla had been surprised by the letter she
received that morning. She recognized Andwyn's
handwriting but also Rickkter's on the outer
envelope. Despite the oddness this combination
presented to her she followed the instructions
without question. She gathered traveling gear and
a sword that her raccoon had helped her choose
that fit well in her paw and was light like the
dragon swords she had once wielded, and then
borrowed a horse from the stables and started the ride toward Lake Barnhardt.
And yet the biggest surprise was not a half-hour
into her ride being overtaken by the very man who
had written her name on the letter. The sun just
rose over the edge of the mountains, and for a
moment as she stared back down the winding road
behind her she could only see a shadow chasing
her. But then the road dipped between two hills
and behind a stand of trees and the gray-and
black furred figure emerged from the glare.
Rick! she cried when his horse galloped
alongside hers. She slowed down to a comfortable
trot so they could talk. What are you doing here?
I'm wondering the same thing myself, Rickkter
admitted with a shake of his head as he slowed
his black steed. First off, what are you doing here?
Well, Kayla knew she wasn't supposed to tell
anyone. But this was Rickkter and it was his
handwriting that had specified her name on the
outside of the letter. I was ordered to go this way.
As was I. By myself apparently.
Kayla had long since learned how to read the
subtle changes in the raccoon's face. The way his
triangular ears were lowered and his narrow snout
curled ever so slightly showed his irritation and
uncertainty. You don't know why?
Which is never a good sign. There was only this
note I left myself on my desk last night that said this was important.
Kayla shook her head. Well, if you did that, it must be very important.
We'll find out when we get there, Rick said
with a long sigh. I hate not knowing what's happening.
Could it be a trick?
It would have to be a very, very good one. I
apparently had something to do with this but for
the life of me I cannot remember it.
But you wanted me here, Kayla pointed out with
a smile. She reached across the gap and put her
paw on his arm. He looked down at it and smiled.
It must not be so bad then, whatever it is. As long as I have you here.
Kayla tightened her grip. You always have me here, Rick.
He reached over and patted her paw, a slight
smile creasing the corners of his muzzle.
----------
Captain Dallar led Weyden and his friends on
patrol to Tarrelton that morning and they would
be gone from Metamor for four days. Jessica had
for a brief time joined them on patrol, but the
importance of her studies had quickly brought her
participation in something as pedestrian as a
simple jaunt across the Valley looking for Lutins
and brigands to an end. It was a great relief to
the black-feathered hawk to know that her husband
would be away that long. The ideas percolating in
her mind and about which she dreamed would doubtless prove shocking to Weyden.
Four days would give Jessica the time to
determine the best way to broach the subject on his return.
More importantly, it would give her ample
opportunity to continue her experiments. So with
a warm Spring day shining through her windows,
casting rays of light across the slate floor of
her workroom, the black-feathered hawk set to
work. Outside she could hear the normal birds
singing happy songs, their twittering and fluting
voices cascading above the morning bustle of
Metamor like the tinkling of bells on a washline
hanging over a busy street. And from the window
the hearty aroma of baked bread, the succulent
flavor of tough-cooked jerky, the heady bouquet
of the many perfumes humans used, and the slight
miasma of refuse that hadn't washed down the
gutters all rushed past her nostrils one after
another. The taste of last night's meal still
tickled the back of her throat and coated the inside of her beak.
Jessica allowed each of these sensations to
occupy her mind for several long seconds before
setting them aside, bringing more and more of her
mind into focus upon the slate before her, and
the trio of runes drawn upon it. First she put
aside the delicious and disgusting blend of odors
that pervaded Metamor's streets and which
filtered into every crack of thought like a bit
of rain water boring through an ancient stone.
And then she silenced the cacophony of voices
human and beast, dwelling not just in her chamber
but deep within her own flesh. She recessed
there, everything else, even the bookshelves
choked with scrolls and loose parchment and her
scrawling designs that were only a few feet from
her, stretched away as if they were as far from
her as the swamps of Marzac were from Metamor.
There, in the inner vaults of the self, she
allowed the magic wellspring to blossom. A
brilliant ribbon of purple endlessly twisting and
shimmering like the dust on a butterfly's wing
erupted from the hawk's essence like water
burbling up from a deep well after a night of
heavy rain. This was the deep, the unseen
vibrancy that could not be named or labeled yet
it animated Jessica's thought and being. Even as
her physical form bent over, wings splayed in
front of her so that each wing touched one rune
and her beak the center rune, she sank into the
maelstrom like a thousand millstones bound together with iron chains.
The ribbon of light wound around her, while the
tendrils of magic flowed into the whirligig until
they were stretched taut and balled tight inside
with Jessica. Gone completely now was all that
existed outside. She was within the magic in a
way she had never conceived before. The ribbon of
purple light shimmered as it stretched into a
nearly perfect sphere, while the veins of magic
flowed into a centrifuge pressing them tighter
and tighter together until she could not longer distinguish individual strands.
Everything became a seamless whole through which
no part of the Valley untouched by the hyacinth
could remain closed to her. With a mere flicker
of will she could see Rhena brushing the fur of
her tail at the back of the Inn while casting
coquettish smiles at a young tabby across the
room. Another blink and she saw Kuna and the
other urchin boys pilfering breakfast in the
sleepy market still waking to a new day. But on
these things the hawk did not linger long. There was much work to be done.
As if they were a set of tools, she arrayed her
feathers before herself, dipping each one by one
into the turbulent flow of magic. Whispered words
trilled on her tongue, bouncing back and forth
within her beak until they were shaped into
power. The purple ribbon wound around each
feather in turn, its texture as soft as silk but
as warm as the heaviest quilt. A touch of that
hue glinted from each feather so that they too
shimmered with a vibrancy they'd never had even
when they'd been red like Weyden's.
Four days, Jessica mused to herself as the
transforming spells were bound to her feathers,
ready to be released at her will on those who
might bring her to harm. In four days there would
not be a feather on her that could not reshape
anyone in the world into a child, a beast, or
even the sweet and endearing smile of her
husband filling her thoughts into a woman or a man.
The ribbon blossomed with a new brightness and
song. You will set all things right.
And with the hyacinth, Jessica knew she would.
----------
It was still early morning by the time that
Captain Dallar and his patrol arrived in
Tarrelton to begin their patrol of the roads and
forests near the small town an hour's walk north
of the Keep. It was in Tarrelton that the
northward road from Metamor forked with a road
leading east to Mallen and a road leading west
toward Lake Barnhardt. The northern road that
branched shortly after the village was lost to
sight around hills and trees, with the eastern
fork heading to Mycransburg and the western
angling northwest toward Glen Avery. There was a
northbound road that lead directly to Hareford,
but few merchants braved it even in the best of
weather because of the strange rumors and
frightful noises many had heard coming from the
Haunted Woods that lay on its eastern flank like
a growling dog resting one paw protectively over a bone.
Despite being the northern crossroads for the
Metamor valley, Tarrelton remained a small
village with a ten foot high wall surrounding an
old Suielman tower and a dozen or so waddle and
daub houses. Most who lived in the area pastured
sheep on the rocky swards or grew potatoes and
beets in the softer fields. A small hostel served
travelers forced to remain overnight, but that
was all. Why would a merchant stop in this place
when for an hour or two more of travel they could
reach the more prosperous markets of Lake
Barnhardt, Mallen, or Mycransburg? And merchants
from south of the valley had even less reason
since their fortune would always be made or lost within the walls of Keeptowne.
But for the patrols, Tarrelton was an important
vantage from which they could keep an eye on
nearly all of the foot and hoof traffic in the
northern reaches of the Valley. They were five:
Dallar the ram, their captain and one time gaoler
who led the squad and kept one hand on the pommel
of his sword and pipe stem clutched between his
flat teeth; Larssen the giraffe who walked at the
rear at a leisured pace, his head and neck
stretched high enough to see past the nearest
shrubs and almost over the wall of Tarrelton
itself; before him was Maud, his wife and now
also a giraffe who led the packhorse with their
gear; and between them on their other horse rode
Van who was stuck in the body of a thirteen year
old; flying high above as a normal hawk was
Weyden watching over everything and noting every
twitch of the Spring blossoms and coniferous
branches for signs of brigands or Lutins.
At the base of the old tower a new house had been
built from stone with a small second story with
narrow windows that could peer over the edge of
the guarding wall. After greeting the town guards
at the small gate and being ushered inside onto a
road that was no more than a muddy track that
would have sucked at their hooves if the last few
days hadn't been dry, Dallar led them straight
past the wooden homes, a goose waddling along as
if he owned the town, and a pair of barking dogs
chasing each others' tails toward the tower in
the center. The doorway to the house was too
small for either Larssen or Maud, and so they
remained just outside while Dallar and Van
stepped through to let the soldiers stationed in
Tarrelton know that they had arrived for their
patrol. Weyden settled onto the lintel over the door and perched there.
How was the sky? Larssen asked as he turned his long head toward the hawk.
Weyden couldn't respond while still a full hawk
so allowed himself to grow enough in size to make
human speech possible. He stretched out his
larger wings and then folded them along his back. It tastes of rain.
But there's no clouds in the sky, Maud noted as
she craned her neck back. She lifted one hand to
the two knobs on her forehead and peered upward,
a blue tongue extending from her jaws to lick
crumbs from the side of her snout. Are you sure?
Weyden nodded and then preened his shoulder a
moment. When he looked up both giraffes were
staring at him. The wind is coming from the
south. We should see the clouds start by noon.
The rains might be here this afternoon, this
evening, or perhaps tonight. It just... tastes like rain.
You would know, Larssen conceded with a bleating laugh.
Van slipped back out the door with a blank
expression followed by Dallar who had a sealed
letter in his hands. The ram lifted his head,
ears flicking against his curling horns, and
said, Wait here a moment. It looks like we might have new orders.
The four of them did as instructed while Dallar
stalked away a short distance, just enough to
keep his body between them and the letter. The
ram's short tail shifted from side to side as
opened the letter. Larssen shrugged, turned to
Maud, and stroked one hand down her long neck.
She smiled back at him but pushed his hand away with a not-while-on-duty look.
Dallar took a deep breath and rolled his pipe
around in his snout. New orders. We're to go to
Lake Barnhardt and meet somebody outside the
gates there. They'll explain what we need to do.
Those seem like strange orders, Larssen noted
with narrowed eyes. He crossed his arms and
tapped one hoof. Who are we supposed to meet?
It doesn't say, Dallar replied as he folded the
letter closed and slipped it between his tunic
and linens. But it must be important. Duke
Thomas's signet was used. Only his closest advisers have that.
I guess we go to Lake Barnhardt then, Van mused with a boyish laugh.
I like it there, Maud said with a smile. It
will be good to be there again. I hope we'll have a chance to see our friends.
Well, our orders don't say one way or another,
so I guess we'll just have to find out. Let's get
moving. Break out a little of the bread and juice
on the way. Weyden, back to the skies.
The hawk nodded his head, his eyes ever fixed
upon the bulge in Dallar's tunic where the letter was pressed.
----------
James was delighted when he was joined on the
road south by a very familiar rat riding on a
roan pony. The donkey was not surprised that
Charles had also received a letter instructing
him to journey to the gates of Lake Barnhardt to
await instructions. Nor was he surprised that it
took Charles much longer that morning to take his
absence from his duties. James's duties had been
a simple patrol and a message left with Jurmas
was sure to get to the right people; he had
stopped to let Baerle know personally but the
opossum had only hurried him along once she understood.
For Charles there was the matter of his four
children and his wife whose side he never liked
leaving. Only a few days before when they had
traveled to Metamor Keep together to gather with
their friends it had taken the knight rat nearly
two candlemarks to hug and kiss his children with
repeated promises that he would be home in time
for the evening meal and to give his children a
ride either on Malicon or on his own back in taur
form. That morning had been little different
except this time Charles wasn't sure when they would be getting back.
This is Andwyn's handwriting, Charles groused
from atop his pony. James walked along beside him
and his long ears were nearly as high as the
rat's. At least inside the letter. I don't
recognize who wrote my name. But I suspect... hmm...
What?
The calligraphy has a bit of a southeastern
flair. It might be Rickkter's pen.
James blinked a few times as his hooves carried
him down the road through the hills as they
sloped toward the lower-lying dells around the
large lake. His frown deepened as he tried to
understand what it meant for the names to have
been written by Rickkter and the orders by
Andwyn. But he couldn't think of any good reason
why that would be so. Are you sure it's from Rickkter?
Nae, Charles admitted with a shrug. I've never
seen that... raccoon's handwriting. But he's the
only person I know from that land here at
Metamor. And it looks like the script of the people of southeast Sonngefilde.
They write differently there?
Every land has their own style of letters. Not
every land has as many who can read let alone
write as does Metamor. Still, I don't like the
idea of Rickkter and Andwyn joining their
resources together. It sounds very dangerous to me.
James brayed a laugh but the rat wasn't amused.
James hated seeing Charles upset and so turned
their conversation to his new land, the
anniversary of his children's birth which was in
two days, and whether he planned to compete in
the joust at the Summer festival. The last
question caught his friend off-guard.
I.. I don't really know. I hadn't even thought
about it. I need a squire to joust and it is a
little late to train someone so I suppose I will
not. I'm not sure what Sir Saulius has planned.
I'll have to ask him next time I see him.
James was about to ask him how the other rat
knight was when they both turned their ears as
the sound of another set of hoofbeats came from
the north, these much heavier than either
Malicon's or James's. They stopped and waited at
the side of the road where short birch trees
provided shade and shielded them from a quick
glance. They had to wait almost two minutes before they saw the rider.
The road from the Glen wound its way along mostly
gentle downward slopes to avoid the rocky ledges
nearer the western edge of the valley. The
rolling hills leveled out for a good twenty
minute walk before resuming their descent the
rest of the way to the wrinkled plain and
depression that formed Lake Barnhardt. That brief
level stretch was commonly called the Narrows and
it was this land that Lord Avery had given
Charles as his fief. James realized as they
stared back up the road this would be the first
time that his friend had welcomed a traveler on his own land.
In the end the figure riding over the last hill
proved to be a familiar face. He'd selected a
common bay quarter horse which meant he towered
over both of them as did his prodigious black and
white tail. He didn't see them at first, but by
the time he had, both James and Charles had eased
out from under the protective awning of the stand of birch. This was a friend.
Ho, Murikeer! Charles called and waved his paw.
What brings you away from your homestead this day?
Murikeer drew his steed beside them and inclined
his head, keeping his tail pointed the other
direction. Sir Charles. James. We are well met
on the road. But I'm afraid I cannot mention my purpose.
You received a letter too? James asked in
surprise. Charles gave him a sullen, reproving
glare, and he chided himself. He needed to better
learn how to obey the Duke's orders.
The skunk's surprise lasted only a moment before
it was replaced with a calmer expression. James
did not know Murikeer that well. He had seen the
skunk only a handful of times and then usually in
the company of his friends for their gatherings
at the Deaf Mule. Despite both of them living in
the Glen and the very good reputation the skunk
had not to mention the complimentary room and
board that Jurmas the Innkeeper provided them
both they had never really gotten to know one another.
What mattered most to James when it came to
people whose power was not apparent in their
appearance like this master illusionist was the
opinion of his friend Charles. Charles trusted
Murikeer enough to allow him to tutor his wife in
magical arts. That said more about the skunk's
character than anything he had ever seen the
fellow do or say. James admired him and was very glad to see him.
Aye, Murikeer admitted with a smirk. His only
eye narrowed as he glanced past them at the stand
of birch trees. Were you expecting someone else?
We weren't sure who to expect, Charles replied.
He stroked one paw down Malicon's neck and
shifted his long tail to keep it from dangling
across the pony's flank. There is still a ways
to journey before we reach Lake Barnhardt. We
would be honored by your company.
Since it seems we are going to the same place, then I am honored to join you.
James felt good to be walking again as they
continued southeast along the road. When the
trees ahead of them thinned out he could see the
mountains and the broad lake at their base as
well as the towers of Lord Barnhardt's castle. He
flecked his lips and turning back to the skunk
asked, Was your name written by Rickkter? That's
who we think wrote our names.
Murikeer frowned a bit while scratching just
under his chin. It was my mentor's handwriting.
But I didn't recognize the script inside the
letter. I was curious that the letter didn't have any scent.
It's Andwyn, Charles noted as his eyes moved
from side to side, taking in the rough country
that was now his. I'm not sure how he removes
the stink of bat from his messages, but I've
never received anything from him that had so much
as a hint of fragrance on it.
A very curious message indeed, Murikeer
admitted as he leaned back in the saddle. Their
pace was measured but a comfortable walk. James
was grateful that the Curse had gifted him with
hooves and long legs, even if his stomach wasn't
always happy with him when he dined on roast. I
suppose this means that the person we are to meet
outside the walls of Lake Barnhardt is none other than Rickkter himself.
The rat's expression visibly soured. Probably.
Murikeer did not have a left eye anymore and so
to better see them both had directed the bay to
walk on the left side of the road. The skunk
still turned his head to stare down the length of
his short snout at the rat. Do you still hate him?
James noticed Charles tighten his grip on the
reins. The knot-work buckler over his right wrist
bulged with his veins. I do not hate him
anymore. He is... not the man I expected him to
be. But he is, or was, Kankoran and that is hard to forget.
You left your order. What ties you to the feuds of your order?
History and habit I suppose. A group of us were
hunted in the Darkündlicht mountains by Kankoran.
I lost a few friends to their hands.
Murikeer's snout wrinkled for a moment, the jowls
lifting to reveal his short, sharp fangs. I did
not know that. I am sorry. But Kayla is right;
you should let it go. You are not in those lands or those clans anymore.
Nay, we are not. The rat sighed and nudged
Malicon into a trot. James quickened his pace to
keep up but Murikeer shook his head. The donkey
waited a moment and saw that his friend slowed
again after he'd put a dozen paces between them.
James kicked at a loose stone and it clattered
across the hard earth before disappearing into
the brush. In an unhappy silence they continued
their way south following orders they did not understand.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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